Snow Job

By Christie Ridgway

Note: This is a short story of 16,600 words, a complete romance designed to be read in about an hour.

An 8000 Ocean Avenue story...

When PR account executive Becca Collins needs snow to come to Southern California, she contacts acquaintance Sam Stone, whose company, The Ice Man, can provide everything from ice cubes to snowflakes. It's a little awkward, sure, because Sam sort of made a move on Becca and then neglected to make a promised follow-up phone call. Ten months have passed though, and surely they can work together—on a strictly business basis.

But Sam wants so much more than a professional relationship. It's going to take some explaining and certainly a little loving to warm Becca up to his oh-so-personal plans for her and their future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christie Ridgway
• Release date: Oct 27, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301067305

Christie Ridgway

Christie Ridgway is the award-winning author of over forty-five contemporary romances. Known for stories that make readers laugh and cry, Christie began writing romances in fifth grade. After marrying her college sweetheart and having two sons, she returned to what she loved best—telling stories of strong men and determined women finding happy ever after. She lives in Southern California. Keep up with Christie at www.christieridgway.com.

Book preview

Snow Job

Published by Christie Ridgway

SMASHWORDS EDITION

© Christie Ridgway 2012

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Chapter One

No more stalling, Becca Collins said aloud, as if hearing the words would overcome her reluctance. It's time to call The Ice Man.

She glared at her hand where it rested on the desk in her small office. Call, she repeated, mentally ordering the stubborn thing to move toward her phone. The Ice Man.

When her fingers refused to even twitch, she slumped in her chair and stared out the fourth-floor window of her building on the business campus located at 8000 Ocean Avenue. Situated on a bluff across the Pacific Coast Highway from the beach, it afforded an expansive ocean view. The campus itself was a piece of primo Southern California real estate, green grounds surrounding two modern glass-fronted high rises. Usually the environment as well as the view stimulated Becca's creative juices—a boon for someone with the job of account executive at Winthrop & Wise, a public relations firm, but today their beauty barely registered.

Because she was going to have to call The Ice Man.

Becca considered taking a short stroll down the hall to visit her colleague and friend, Haley Cunningham. The other young woman would be properly sympathetic as well as willing to brainstorm another type of event to benefit the charity for which Becca did pro-bono work on W&W's dime. But her boss had loved the idea of a snow party on the sand when she'd floated the notion and coming up with something else to garner that much enthusiasm wouldn't be easy.

Nor would it be easy to bring snow to a Southern California beach.

That's where The Ice Man came in.

This is ridiculous, Becca muttered, then lunged forward to grab her phone, ignoring the nervous twinge in her belly and the instincts that were screaming out warnings. Gripping the receiver in her right hand, she flipped through her old-fashioned metal Rolodex with her left. It had been her father's, and seeing it every day, using it every day, made him seem closer, though he'd passed away six years before.

A brisk female voice answered on the second ring. The Ice Man. How may I direct your call?

This is... After a second's hesitation, she decided against giving her name, just in case it led him to duck her call. This is Winthrop & Wise Public Relations. Is Sam Stone available?

Just a moment.

Becca was left with silence in her ear as she was put on hold. Why didn't it surprise her that rugged, man's man Sam hadn’t opted for canned music to soothe the wait of his company's clients? Not that she was much of a fan of it herself, but the quiet offered no distraction from her growing unease. Yes, she knew it was silly of her to feel so awkward about talking to him again, but there it was.

While she waited, she fished her cell phone from her purse in the bottom desk drawer. It only took her seconds to access her photo gallery. Maybe if she looked at Sam's face, she'd remind herself he wasn't some jitter-inducing ogre.

Two swipes, a tap, and she had him on-screen.

Yes, he wasn't an ogre.

But she was still jittering anyway, just looking at him.

He was so damn handsome! She'd photographed him in his baseball uniform. That's how they'd met—he was on the same rec team as the guy she'd been dating at the time. The white jersey Sam wore matched the brilliant flash of the grin splitting his lean, tanned face. His hair was straight, and a shock of the golden-brown stuff had fallen over his forehead. Below the strands, his brown eyes laughed at the camera.

Laughed at her, because she'd thought she was being all clandestine with the picture-taking from the stands. Just as she'd zoomed in to capture his profile, he'd suddenly turned his head. She'd been too startled to adjust her pose and fake interest in another subject. Her finger had tapped the icon, catching that amused face forever. It had only seemed more remarkable the longer she knew him, because Sam Stone rarely let much emotion show. They'd only been acquainted a few months before he’d dropped out of her life, but until then he'd lived up to his company's name. The Ice Man.

Hello?

She started, Sam's voice causing her to drop her cell. Still, his face stared up at her from the desktop.

Hello? he said again. Is someone there?

Tightening her fingers on the receiver of her desk phone, she cleared her throat. Yes, sorry. I'm here.

Can I help you? There was a trace of impatience in his voice.

I hope so. She hesitated again. This is Rebecca Collins.

A silent moment passed. Who?

Heat crawled up her throat. She'd been worried he wouldn't take her call and the fact was the man had completely forgotten her! It's Rebecca... This was just too embarrassing. Never mind, she said. I'm sorry to bother you. Good—

Wait! Rebecca—Becca? Becca is that you?

She put a cool palm against her hot cheek. Yes. I wasn't sure you remembered me.

I remember you.

Just the way he said that, low, like he was murmuring the words against her ear, had her flushing hot once more. Well...I...that's good. She was floundering again, she realized, and it was mortifying, given that this was a business call. Some public relations professional she was. Look, why I called—

I'm glad you did, he said, in that intimate