He laughed shortly, a harsh sound with no humor in it. “Oh yeah, retailers are notoriously kinder at Christmas.”
“I’m talking about people. In general.”
“The ones who spend themselves into bankruptcy and then have nervous breakdowns because nothing turned out the way they thought it would? Or how about the kids waiting for a Santa that never shows up? Or the drunks killing people on the road?” He snorted again. “Yeah, that’s the kind of thing we should see all year.”
“Isn’t Christmas huge for your business?”
“I just build the games. I don’t force people to buy them.”
“Wow.” Ivy looked at the dark, fierce expression on his face and knew that this was going to be much harder than she’d thought. Not only did Tanner King want to be isolated and alone, he actually hated Christmas. She’d never met anyone who hated the holiday before and she wasn’t sure what to say to him now. How did you argue with someone who was determined to see only the negative in a situation?
And why, she couldn’t help wondering, did he feel that way?
As if reading her expression clearly, he muttered, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to go off like that.”
“It’s okay,” she said, watching as the shutters over his eyes closed again, sealing him in and her out. He’d taken a mental step back and did it so neatly she knew it was a way of life for him. “But I have to ask, if you hate Christmas so much, why’d you buy a house right next door to a Christmas tree farm?”
He shot a glance out the window at the darkness, and as if he could see the farm, shook his head. “Because I thought it would be quiet. I thought that Christmas would be the only time I would be bothered by it.” He shifted his gaze back to hers. “Turns out, the owner of the farm feels the same way you do. Year-round Christmas is the theme.”
“Is it really so bad?”
“Yeah.” He picked up his bowl and spoon, then carried them to the sink. Setting them down in the mixing bowl full of water, he turned. Bracing his hands on the counter behind him, he said, “I’ve got kids running in and out of my yard, a dog I’ve never seen leaving messes for me to clean up and holiday music blaring all day long. It’s that bad.”
“Have you tried talking to the owners?” she asked, knowing damn well he hadn’t. If he had once come to her, she might have tried to accommodate him. She wasn’t sure how, but she’d have tried. Instead, he’d gone to the sheriff, setting himself up as her enemy and leaving her no other choice but to fight this stealth war.
“No. I spoke to the sheriff. Several times. But haven’t had any luck with it yet.”
“You know, Angel trees has been in this valley—”
“—for more than a hundred years,” he finished for her. “Yes, I’ve heard. That doesn’t mean they have the right to make their neighbors miserable. I’m guessing the Christmas carols they assault me with every damn day aren’t heard wherever you live.”
She winced, but hid it as best she could. Who hated Christmas carols?
“I don’t think it’s ever been a problem before. I mean,” she said, “the person who used to own this property, Mrs. Mansfield, she loved Christmas. She used to work at the farm during the season, selling jams and jellies and the wreaths she made.”
And she’d been like a surrogate grandmother to Ivy. Just remembering the old woman made Ivy’s heart ache at her loss. If she’d known when Mrs. Mansfield died that a modern day Scrooge would be buying her property, Ivy would have mourned her loss even harder. But the deed was done and Tanner King was the new owner and she somehow had to get through to him. Although that task was looking more and more difficult every second.
“Maybe if you found a way to work with them…”
“The only thing people understand is money and power,” he told her flatly, crossing his arms over his broad chest again.
“That’s not true of everyone.”
He smirked at that, but didn’t argue the point. Instead, he said, “We were going to talk about the job.”
“Right. Okay then, what is it you want from me?” The instant the words came out of her mouth, Ivy wanted to call them back. She’d sounded a little more seductive than she’d intended.
His eyes narrowed briefly, then, as if he were deliberately mentally moving on, he said, “How long will it take you to clean and make a meal for me every day?”
She had to think about it. Big house. Lots of rooms. Still, it wasn’t as if he were a partier. Everything she’d seen so far had been organized to the point that the beautiful house was more like a model home than a real one. She half expected to see a realtor pop out of a closet, talking about staging.
“A couple of hours a day, probably,” she said, knowing that would be stretching it. She could probably clean the whole house in a half hour considering how barren it was. The cooking was different of course, but still doable.
“All right then.” He nodded. “Then we’ll try it for a week. See how it goes.”
A week wasn’t very long, she thought. But she would be here. On his turf. She could wear him down inside a week, she told herself. Wasn’t her grandfather always saying that nobody could take a stand against Ivy Holloway and come out the winner?
Well, she was going to put that theory to the test this week.
And she couldn’t afford to lose.
“I still say this is a bad idea.” Mike Angel’s voice sounded like sandpaper on stone and his deeply tanned, weathered face folded into lines of disapproval.
Ivy sighed, knowing her grandfather was not going to stop trying to argue her out of her plan. From the moment she got home from Tanner’s house an hour ago, Mike had been muttering and grumbling. “Pop, we’ve already talked about this.”
“I talked,” he countered. “You’re not listening.”
“I did, too,” she told him. “And I made my own decision. Just like you taught me to do. Remember?”
His scowl only deepened. “Hardly fair play throwing my own words back at me.”
Ivy smiled at him. Her grandfather had always been there for her. He’d been a constant in her life since the first week she and her mother had moved in with him following Ivy’s father’s death. She was ten that year and the older man had stepped into the void left by Tony Holloway and had become both father and grandfather to Ivy. She had spent countless hours walking the acreage of the tree farm at his side. She’d learned early where to plant, when to plant and when to cut. She’d worked alongside him and his employees to trim the pines into Christmas tree shape and along the way she’d become as much a part of the land as Mike was.