The bells over the shop door chimed as the door opened and silhouetted a man against the twinkling lights from the Christmas market. He stepped into my shop, the winter wind following him and making me shiver as it blew away all the Christmas warmth.
This guy was emphatically not my knight in cozy flannel straight out of a Hallmark Christmas movie. Instead of a warm small-town hunk, he was an icy Prince of Winter. This guy was in a very expensive suit, with cold blue eyes that screamed corporate sociopath and platinum white hair that would not have been out of place on a Bond villain.
He was also my first customer.
Who cares if he’s going to steal the Hope Diamond? All I need him to do is buy an ornament.
I grabbed the platter of cookies.
“Looking for something special for someone special?” I chirped, skipping to stand beside him. He was super tall, and I had to crane my neck to look up into his handsome face.
He’s like a perfect ice sculpture.
“No,” the man practically spat.
I needed this sale.
Don’t act desperate!
“How about a cookie?” I offered, holding out the plate.
The man gazed down at me, his expression cold. “I don’t like cookies.”
Yup, definitely an ice prince. Also a cookie-hating Grinch.
“Do you want to buy a Christmas ornament?” I put one hand on my hip. I was not letting him make me feel small.
“Do you sell only Christmas ornaments?” His lip curled up in disgust as he looked around the shop.
“We offer a wide variety of Christmas ornaments,” I said defiantly. “They are handmade from artisans all over the country.”
“And she does not have a viable business,” the ice prince said aloud, turning on one of his imported Italian shoes to walk around the perimeter of the shop. I trotted to keep up with him.
“This is a viable business!”
He stopped abruptly and gestured with a knife hand to the nearest display.
“You’re selling Christmas tree ornaments in a small town,” he growled. “It’s not viable; I can’t believe some idiot at the bank approved you for a small business loan.”
“They didn’t give me a loan,” I said primly. “I spent all my life savings on this shop.”
He blinked. Blue eyes widened slightly.
“You are appalling,” he said finally.
“Funny because I find you extremely offensive. Now buy an ornament, eat a freaking cookie, or get the hell out of my shop.”
“Your shop? This is my shop,” he snarled. “My investment firm owns this building.”
Ugh, he was so totally one of those slimy Manhattan investors—slick, zero empathy, watching that cost more than most people’s houses.
“I have a lease,” I countered. The Prince of Winter was not going to ruin my Christmas dreams. Even if they were crumbling around me.
“That you are in violation of,” he snapped. “You haven’t paid rent in four months.”
“I already spoke with the property manager, and she was fine with me not paying until after Christmas, when I’ll make the bulk of my profit,” my voice screeched.
“The property manager,” the ice prince said, enunciating the words, “has been fired.”
