to see her today, and she said she’s having trouble breathing. She also said that you looked quite worried about it.”
Abbey had made sure not to show any emotion when she’d checked Caroline. How did she know that Abbey was worried? “I won’t be concerned until I have a formal diagnosis. I’m not able to pinpoint her exact condition, so I can’t offer options for her. I told her I’d make an appointment with the doctor.”
“Will you keep me informed of her condition, please?”
Abbey nodded.
“I also wanted to have a chance to discuss the Christmas party with you. I hope you don’t mind having a working dinner.”
“You’re always working,” she said with a smile. She’d meant it to be a lighthearted comment but there was no shred of amusement on his face. She looked down at her plate. It looked like chicken. At least she knew how to eat that.
“I’m pleased with what you’ve done in the ballroom,” he said, draping a linen napkin in his lap. “I was wondering if you could buy a freestanding bar for one end so that I can hire someone to bartend. It will need to be substantial—holding a small refrigerator and wine cooler. There are outlets hidden in the flooring—you’ll have to figure out where they are to install the bar.” He cut a piece of chicken and left it sitting on the fork in his hand.
“Are you getting into the festive spirit?” she asked, glad to hear he’d given the party some thought.
“I’m making sure loose ends are tied up,” he said, but she did notice a slight acceptance in his eyes. “I’m planning around a hundred people, plus my family. My sister, her husband, and her son will be heading down from New York. My mother will be coming as well. They’re scheduled to arrive Christmas Eve. I’m hoping we can have it all finished by then. I’d like you to help plan the party as well. Just the ordering mostly. I’ll get you the information that you need.”
“Sure.”
“Can you think of anything else for the ballroom that would facilitate a gathering of that size?”
“Hmm. Let me think about it.” She reached down into her handbag and pulled out her sketchpad, jotting down a note to herself.
“Tell me about your progress. How are the bedrooms coming?”
“I’ve sketched out a basic plan for the first three, and everything has been ordered. The furniture should be arriving early next week. The bedding and decorations will trickle in within the next few days, and I’ll be working on paint and lighting soon. Would you like to see my sketches?” She turned the pages back and began to show him, but he dismissed it, holding up his hand to stop her.
“Forgive me. You have the artistic eye. I trust your vision. Please. Eat. I’d hate to be a host who serves cold food.”
“Does everyone always do what you say?” It was a bold question, but his eyes had given her the courage to ask.
“Everyone who works for me, yes.”
“But I want your approval on my ideas. I want to know that I’ve met your expectations.”
“Believe me,” he said, a slight smile playing at his lips. “You’ve exceeded my expectations.”
She wanted to do a good job, finish the deal. This money would give her enough to have a real Christmas for Max, one where she could get him everything on his list and make it the best Christmas ever.
Max had asked her once why some kids in his class got such big things from Santa, but he didn’t. He’d worried that he’d been bad somehow, and he didn’t know it. Her heart ached when he’d said that. Under the pressure of that moment, she’d said that Santa did his best to get everyone what they wanted, but he didn’t have enough room in his sleigh to do that for everyone. She promised Max his year would come, but as he was getting older, and the items on his list were more specific and more expensive, she feared it wouldn’t happen. She was running out of years. Pretty soon, he wouldn’t believe in Santa anymore, and she