Page 8 of The Lie That Stole Christmas

“Eight years, Ash, and you’re still running.”

Chapter four

Carter

Damnit.Thatwasnot how he wanted their first interaction to go after all these years.Carter didn’t think it would be civil, but he definitely had hoped for something a little less… hostile.She had looked at him as if she wanted to throw him in a bonfire and douse him in gasoline.

Not that he could blame her.He’d been a total ass, then twisted the knife with that last line.“Eight years, Ash, and you’re still running.”As if she hadn’t begged him to go to New York with her.She hadn’t run.She moved on with her life, just as he had wanted her to.

The click of her heels against the marble floor echoed off the walls as she hurried away.For eight years, he’d imagined what he would say if he ever saw her again.A million forms of apologies and explanations were only the tip of the iceberg.But the one thing that stayed consistent was the fact that, despite it all, he never stopped loving her.

Instead, he managed to piss her off in a record-breaking thirty seconds.Fanfuckintastic.

A door creaked behind him, and he turned as Ms.Porter’s voice cut through the quiet.“That went about as well as I expected.”

She stood on the threshold, sturdy and solid as a granite pillar, arms folded across her ample chest.Her silver-streaked hair was twisted into a no-nonsense bun, a few wisps escaping around her face.Sharp blue eyes peered at him over half-moon glasses, and the faint smell of lemon polish clung to her starched uniform.

Carter scrubbed a hand over his face.“Thanks for the boost of confidence, Ms.Porter.”

“Don’t mention it, dear.”

He sighed.

“But you have twelve days until Christmas,” she said.“Plenty of time to fix what’s broken.”

“I’m not sure there’s enough time in the world for that.”

“Have a little faith.It’s Christmas.”With that, she slipped into the service staircase and was probably making her way to the kitchen.Ms.Porter had been head of housekeeping and a beloved member of the staff since 1984.She saw things, knew things most of the staff would die to know, but she never gossiped.

Over the years, being the son of the estate manager, his mother having died when he was twelve, Ms.Porter had always felt like a mother figure to Carter.He appreciated her advice, and maybe she was right.Maybe twelve days was enough time to make things right.

He closed his eyes and about-faced it toward Mr.Wetherby’s office.He tapped his knuckles against the thick wood and waited for Mr.Wetherby to motion him in.Carter shut the door and took a seat across from the old man, who graciously gave him the estate manager job after his father had passed.

“Well, that went about as well as I could have hoped,” he said, steepling his fingers under his chin.

“They're all still here, sir, so I’d say it’s better than you hoped.”Carter had vehemently warned him against this charade.Death was something that should not be taken lightly or made a spectacle of.But Mr.Wetherby was as stubborn as the North Star was bright.

At least Mr.Wetherby didn’t task him with making the phone calls.Poor Hawthorne was left with that task.Ash was already furious with him; he could only imagine how much she’d despise him if he had broken the news that her grandfather was dead, only for her to find out he wasn’t.

“They’re angry,” Mr.Wetherby noted before pouring himself a splash of scotch.

“But they're all in one place—under the roof of Winterridge—which was the end goal, wasn’t it?”

“Exactly.They’ll get over it.Somebody had to blow things up for us to rebuild.”

“Now that they’re here, does that mean the plans are in motion?”

“Yes, and I expect you to make sure everything runs according to those plans.I want this place to be filled with so much Christmas spirit that Lily will smile down on me from heaven.I want the trees, the garland, the music.I want the sleigh rides with the horses, the matching pajamas.I want it all!No matter the cost.Make it happen.”

Christmas decorating wasn’t exactly Carter’s forte, but luckily, they had an entire staff willing to resurrect this family's Christmas spirit.

“Understood, sir,” Carter said, though his chest tightened.He could handle the staff; it was his job.He could even handle the chaos that was the Wetherby family.

But Ash… she was something else entirely.

Mr.Wetherby tossed back the scotch, eyes glinting over the rim of his glass.“Start with the grand hall.I want it finished by tomorrow night.And don’t forget the Winterridge Christmas Cake.It wouldn’t be Christmas without Lily’s cake.”

Carter’s jaw tightened.“Tiny’s been trying, sir, but she can’t get it right.”