Carol for Another Christmas Read Online Free PDF Page A

obligation concerning the gift. She loathed fruitcake. Still, she had to pretend to be pleased. “If you don’t mind, Senator—Bob—I’d like to share it with my staff. They’re working so hard on finishing our project, I’m afraid many of them have had no opportunity to celebrate properly.”
    â€œDo as you wish, of course, my dear, though I had hoped you’d accept it as a personal token from me.”
    A personal fruitcake! If he thought a fruitcake was personal, then there was more than one fruitcake in the room. “Er—certainly,” she said. Bob was perfectly correct, of course. There was no reason to throw the fruitcake as a sop to the whining of the employees about the free company cafeterias she’d closed. She had no need to help the employees, really. They got paid, didn’t they?
    â€œAfter the project is over, Monica, I’d really like to have you over to dinner to celebrate. I have a lovely houseboat on Lake Union.”
    He also had a wife, three children, an ex-wife, and a mistress, according to the press, but none of them controlled an international corporation.
    â€œIt sounds divine, Bob. I’ll look forward to it as a special treat.”
    He looked deeply and meaningfully into her eyes while kissing her hand. “The first of many, I hope. Merry Christmas.”
    â€œSame to you,” she said, walking him to the door.
    â€œMs. Banks?” Brenda stopped her from reentering the office. “Ms. Banks, what about those contribution requests from the Salvation Army, the March of Dimes, Paralyzed Veterans, the Gospel Mission for the Homeless, UNICEF, and United Way this year? You said you’d review them.”
    â€œI have,” she said, impatient at all the interruptions. Returning to her desk, she picked up the senator’s Christmas gift and handed it to Brenda. “Here. Let them eat fruitcake.”

Five

    By evening, the rain outside had turned to sleet and Monica thought her employees should be glad she had required them to remain at work instead of having to commute on the icy highways.
    Doug had, of course, left her the mansion he had built for himself, but it was full of complex electronic controls, and she preferred the suite of rooms adjoining the office. They were simpler and more conventionally appointed, though still furnished with computers in every room, including the bath.
    She decided she might as well fix herself something to eat. From her window, she saw a pizza delivery van pull up outside the building, and the delivery man emerged with a pile of boxes. After a few minutes, one of the employees met him at the door and took custody of the boxes. She had forbidden any deliveries inside the building. Her competitors were perfectly capable of disguising themselves to steal Databanks’s secrets.
    Well, she had a TV dinner left in the fridge, she thought. Last one, and she was tired of them. But if the cat went away, the mice would play, so she had to stay within pouncing range. Honestly, these were supposed to be such intelligent people. Why couldn’t they just act like adults and get on with the job? She knew they weren’t applying themselves. They’d always come through on deadlines for Doug.
    While the dinner was in the microwave, she clicked on the news.
    KING-5 showed a huge traffic snarl on I-5. A reporter who looked as if she were trying not to freeze to death stood, microphone in gloved hand, near the freeway entrance. Snowflakes coming down big as teacups and thick as excuses at a tax audit fell around her at a strong slant, propelled by the heavy north winds the weatherman had mentioned.
    The Dow Jones was down, the Sonics had lost again, some stupid people had managed to burn down an apartment building including a set of parents and a small child. Four children survived out of the same family. Probably they’d be taking up beds in Bob Johansen’s boarding school when it opened,