city-christmas
EROTIC NOVELS

City Christmas

City Christmas

by qhml1
20 min read
4.81 (34900 views)
adultfiction

Literotica Winter Holidays Contest 2024

City Christmas

Consider this a reverse-engineered Hallmark movie. I got the inspiration from a meme I saw.

Chapter 1

Alisa Amy Anderson got off the train, hugging herself in her jacket, which was too light for the time of year. But it was the newest and best she owned, and she needed to project an image. Underneath the jacket was a thick turtleneck sweater, and she wore her best pair of jeans. The jacket pocket had a stocking cap, but she'd worked too long on her hair to mess it up. Then again, the way the wind was whipping it was probably a moot point. She clutched her battered portfolio case, a legacy from her father, tightly to her, knowing she had to keep the papers inside safe. The weather matched her mood: gray, overcast, dark clouds threatening the season's first big snow. Damn these Northern winters! It had been pretty mild the last couple of years, and she thought global warming wasn't bad, but long-range forecasters predicted the worst winter in forty years. Thank you, El Nino.

She had checked the bus schedule and knew she had time to make it to the office she was seeking, so she got a coffee and tried to relax. She would need her wits about her for this, the most important meeting of her life. Alamy, her mother's nickname for her, a combination of her first and middle names, walked the half block to the address and looked up, unable to see the top floor. The town she came from had one skyscraper if you counted five floors as a skyscraper.

The doorman held the door open, wished her a nice day, and gave her directions, pointing her to the 48th floor. The elevator seemed to take forever, but it opened to an expensively decorated lobby and eventually led to a receptionist's desk. The woman was attractive and friendly but the ultimate professional, checking her appointment information and smiling.

"Please take a seat, ma'am. He'll be able to see you in fifteen minutes. Would you like some tea? Coffee perhaps, or water?"

Alamy took an expensive brand of water, sipping it slowly while she marshaled her thoughts, trying to find a calm place in her mind, and the fifteen minutes passed soon. A young, well-dressed man in his early twenties fetched her, and she thought he looked way too young to be a senior Vice President of a national bank. Then he stopped before a door and knocked, motioning her forward. She paused just long enough to read the doorplate. Winston (of course, it would be Winston, a name like Bob wouldn't be pretentious enough), Warrenton Jr., Vice President, Amalgamated Holdings, Trustee Bank, and Trust.

Expecting to see a stuffed shirt, balding and overweight, but when she got into his inner office, she was so shocked she hesitated before speaking. He was in shirtsleeves, his jacket draped casually on a chair. His longer-than-normal hair was jet black, and one stubborn curl, drooping over his forehead, refused to be tamed. He stood as she approached, and she was shocked by the intensity of his blue eyes. "He's Superman," she thought. She saw the definition of his muscles rippling under his shirt. His hand was out, and when she shook it, she was amazed at how firm and warm it was.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Anderson. Thank you for coming all this way to speak to me. Please, sit."

Instead of returning to his desk, he picked up his laptop and guided her to a comfortable loveseat, sitting on the armchair opposite. "It's Miss, Mr. Warrenton. Thank you for seeing me."

He sighed. She was a very persistent woman, hammering at the walls of corporate shielding until one crumbled. Winnie (only his close friends called him that) was not looking forward to this conversation. Nobody else in the company was, but he drew the short straw, so to speak. "Very well, Miss. I'm more relaxed myself. Winston is fine. What have you got for me today?"

"I've updated the information your bank requested, and you will see that I should receive that loan extension. If next season succeeds, I can discharge most of my debt and be solvent again."

He watched her as she made her pitch, noting the stray tendrils of her hair as the blond locks floated around her face, and she absently flipped them back, probably unaware of it. Her body seemed lean and fit, and from what he'd seen, she had an exceptional ass, and her turtleneck did nothing to hide the firm breasts that seemed to stand straight out. Winston sighed, thinking of his current girlfriend and how unpleasant she had been lately. She was pushing for a ring, and he knew eventually he would have to disappoint her, but he was holding off. Nobody needs to be dumped during the holiday season.

He got up and made a coffee using his single-cup device. It looked like some kind of evil monster, but it could make just about every coffee drink you could think of, although he mostly used it to make plain coffee. After hesitating, his guest asked for black coffee. He was so used to his girlfriend ordering the most outrageous, sugar-laden, fruity concoction popular at the time that he found it refreshing.

He read through the paperwork twice before laying it down and sighing. "I was excited when we acquired this small string of banks in rural areas. I had grand visions of helping farmers and ranchers navigate the pitfalls of modern finance, but in reality, most of the older ones are so stubborn and set in their ways I fear nothing will help them. 'That's The Way We've Always Done It' doesn't work anymore, especially if a chain swallows up a small community bank. We didn't grow up together, our kids didn't go to school or play sports together, and we haven't intermarried. Sadly, all we are is a faceless entity that does what's in its' mission statement: make money for its shareholders. The fact that Gary's your uncle or you were Maid Of Honor at Jenny's wedding doesn't mean anything to us. Our main concern is ensuring the payments are made and the institution stays solvent. I know it sounds cold and cruel, but that's the nature of business these days."

He sat, gathering his thoughts, before speaking again. "You inherited nine hundred acres of valuable land, two hundred bordering a lake. Your father refused to see the writing on the wall, but you must face reality. You can't make a living farming anymore. I'm surprised real estate companies haven't started eminent domain proceedings to latch on to the lakefront property. I'm sure they've made offers, and now they can smell blood on the water. You're a month over our foreclosure policy and almost two years behind on your property taxes. I'm surprised the county hasn't already started proceedings against you, and I only allowed you to come here today to help you try to salvage something. I can give you another month if you let us help you. If you don't, you'll lose the farm, and the best you can hope for is to be clear enough to start a new life, and we'll try to keep your house off the table."

Then he paused, watching the slow tears roll down her cheeks despite her stoic face. She knew he was offering her a lifeline and wondered if she had the courage to take it. Luke would be furious, but it was partially his fault for her dwindling fortunes. He assumed they'd be married by now, but lately, judging from things he'd said or didn't say, she wondered how much he loved her and how much he loved the property.

She felt slightly sad over his apparent distaste for making her face reality. She composed herself and rose, shaking his hand. "Thank you for the truth, Mr. Warrenton, as unpleasant as it was. Truth has become a rare commodity, don't you agree?"

His hand was still warm and gentle, and she had to fight the urge to hug him. He looked incredibly sad before smiling. "Thank you, Miss Anderson. Usually, they shoot the messenger. I'll get your parking sorted out."

"I didn't drive. I took the train into town and then bussed over here. I'll cut it close because the conversation took longer than anticipated, even though I knew the answer. Have a good Thanksgiving, Mr. Warrenton."

"You as well. If you'll wait a minute, I'll arrange a car for you."

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"You don't have to do that!"

"You're right. I don't have to, but I want to. I think Dad's limo is available; he's out of town at the moment. Give me just a minute." Over her protests, he made a call, and the same young man who escorted her in accompanied her down, handing her off to the driver in the parking garage. He wished her a pleasant holiday as well. Alamy looked at the driver, noticing his smile. "What kind of car is this?"

"It's a Bently, ma'am, a classic. It's Mr. Winston's favorite means of travel unless he drives himself."

Alamy was still determining what a Bently was, but she assumed it meant luxury. The driver opened the back door, and she hesitated. "Can I sit in the front? I have a touch of car sickness every time I ride in the back." The driver never hesitated, closing the back door and opening the front. She had to admit she enjoyed the ride and the admiring glances as they stopped for lights. "They must like this car," she thought. She would have been more surprised to learn at least half of the admiring glances were for her. Alamy was handed out of the car like a queen, the driver thanking her for letting him serve her. She smiled at him. "Thank you, Mr. Smith. I must say I've enjoyed the ride and the conversation."

He beamed. "You're entirely welcome, ma'am. Perhaps I could drive you on your next visit."

She assured him she would ask, knowing she would probably never be back.

Chapter 2

It was spitting snow, and as usual, Luke wasn't there to pick her up. She got out her phone and made a call. "Bull Shop." The Shop, short for Bullshit Shop, was a little hole-in-the-wall dive bar big enough for twenty stools, two pool tables, and three pizza-size tables. Still, it did a good business for the size.

"Rusty, you tell Luke to get his ass to the train station, or I'll get somebody to drive me over and take the truck home. He can fuckin' walk. Now, Rusty."

Rusty was a good friend. He was a couple of years ahead of her in high school, huge, and didn't like bullies. He saved her from some jerks once and put the word out. She was to be left alone. A couple tried to test that theory as she grew into her looks, but one broken nose and a few black eyes did the trick. He was the brother she always wanted.

Alamy returned the favors and taught him how to dance and how to talk to girls. At the following high school dance, she grabbed him and practically dragged him across the floor, as much as a five-four, hundred-pound gangly girl could drag a six-four giant, shoved him in front of the girl he'd dreamed of, and commanded them to dance. After a stunned few seconds, they did. Then, three years later, they danced at their wedding.

Three years after that, she sat beside him at the grave while they lowered her. Cancer hit her before they could have kids. Rusty took a long time to come back. Then his dad passed and left him the bar, and he ran it to have something to do. A side effect was that it became much less rowdy, and a woman could now enter and leave unaccosted and uninsulted. It took six months before his patrons understood the new rules.

She heard him sigh. "It's best he not drive, Al. He's been here a while. I'll send Jack and Barney over with your truck."

"Thanks, Rusty. Please do me a favor and make sure when the truck gets back to me, he's not in it. He still runnin' a tab?"

Alamy could hear in his voice that he didn't want to talk about it, but he had bills like everybody else. "Yeah. Look, he didn't pay last month's bill yet. What do you want me to do?"

"Tell me how much it is, and I'll dock his pay. I also want you to cut him off and make him pay as he goes. Hear me good, Rusty. I'm never paying another tab for him. If he can't afford to drink by the third week of the month, he'll appreciate that beer even more in the first of the next."She hung up, walking back into the station, wondering how her life had gone to hell.

Chapter 3

Luke showed up the next day, hungover, contrite, and hopeful. "How did it go with the banker?"

"Not great. He did give some good advice, though. Sell out before it gets taken."

Luke looked up, genuinely alarmed. "You can't do that!"

Alamy reminded him it wasn't his choice, and he wasn't helping the situation. He'd been the football and basketball star in school, and she'd been Homecoming Queen. Though they didn't verbalize it, both felt they were fated to be together. On graduation day, he'd proposed, shocked when she turned him down. Alamy tried to reason with him, telling him they were still kids and she wanted to go to college and get a degree. She didn't tell him she wanted out of their one-horse town so bad she felt suffocated. Finally, she told him to ask her again in a few years. It took a long time to get back to where they were before.

She went to community college, dreaming of going to a full university full of people who didn't know she had farted loudly during a fourth-grade play. She still flushed every time the memory came back. Alamy had gotten her associate degree and had qualified for some partial scholarships, trying to choose which university had the best program for her proposed major when her father had a significant accident. He flipped a big tractor that didn't come equipped with a roll bar.

She thought back over the years about how he preached never to drive a tractor without some piece of equipment attached to the rear to prevent rollover on a hill. When it flipped backward, there was nothing on the back. It broke a lot of bones and damaged his spine. His days of strenuous work were over. He lasted another three years, and Alamy thought he just gave up and lay down to die.

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A year before he passed, he had hired Luke to help on the farm. Luke did pretty good until her father passed, but he'd gradually been slipping. Machines weren't maintained, fields weren't prepped for the next crop or it was planted late. He'd managed to piss off their neighbor, the owner of the biggest diary farm in the county, and he no longer gave them the liquified manure they used to fertilize their fields. Commercial fertilizer was expensive and bad for the land, but she was trapped, so she paid.

The return on the crops planted were slim this year, the fields producing 40% less yield than last year, and there were still outstanding debts to be paid. Every dime that came in immediately went back out to whatever bill she was most behind on. She'd started paying her vendors first, hoping Old Man Jones at the bank wouldn't press her too much. Then the bank was sold, surprising everyone. There wasn't much of a profit line on small, rural banks, so the emphasis shifted to online banking. Suddenly you didn't have money you could touch, just numbers in an account statement.

Luke turned, sulking out with a scowl. He'd have a cow when he got his bank statement, and see she'd deducted eighty-six dollars it took to settle his bar bill. Sure enough, the next day, he came into her home office, ranting. "What the hell is this?"

She smiled, sort of enjoying his rage. "This is me forcing you to grow up. Pay your debts, Luke, or you may not be able to incur more."

It came out in a snarl before he thought. "You mean like you're doing?" He knew instantly he'd screwed up, and she felt the words like a physical blow.

'Honey, I..."

"Out!" she screamed. "Right damn now! Sleep in the manager's house tonight, and don't speak to me. I'll call the cops and have them remove you if you don't."

He knew she was serious, knew he'd screwed up with his words. But he also knew he'd pushed her into one of her 'moods', as he called it inside his head. There would be no reasoning with her until she calmed down. He also knew he had to stay in her good graces, wait for the moment when she was most desperate, and spring the deal he and his uncle had worked out. His uncle owned a real estate office the next county over, and he'd already done the research, figuring he could make a million, maybe two if he could broker a deal once he acquired the rights to the land.

All Luke had to do was hang in there, pet her a little, convince her he had found a way to save her, and they'd be home free. He was going to enjoy seeing her homeless while he lived in her old home, with Kathy Sue. He'd been seeing her on the sly, and she knew his plans. It's what kept her from getting upset when he spent a night in Alamy's bed. She'd figure out she wasn't the one getting screwed.

Alamy sat at the massive rolltop her great grandfather had built with his own hands, putting her head on the desk and crying, huge sobs of the beaten down and desperate. When she finished, she sighed. She had at most three weeks left, so she started making plans.

Chapter 4

Winston Warrenton was sitting behind his desk, a gleaming stainless steel edifice to modernism, also in deep thought. Things were getting progressively worse between him and Madison. They'd had a blowout last night, and she had stormed out, screaming she was going home to her mother, trying her best to slam the door. The doors were as modern as his townhouse and didn't slam, which infuriated her even more. He had one of the penthouses, buying it before it was finished, and the contractor gave him a hell of a deal, in thanks for arranging the financing necessary to build them.

He looked down as Madison's little sportscar tore out of the underground parking, almost hitting a pedestrian. He'd warned her several times. Just because you're angry didn't permit you to disobey traffic laws. It had gotten so bad if they went anywhere together, he drove or they used a service. Winston grinned when he saw the blue lights come on at the end of the block. One more conviction, and she would lose her license for a year, regardless of her daddy's high-priced lawyers.

It surprised him how relaxing it was to have the bed to himself, and he slept like a log.

Madison, when she saw he wasn't rushing to get in touch with him, called him, even though she hated it. When he didn't respond after the fourth time she started text bombing him. His phone dinged almost constantly all the way to work, where he shut off his personal phone, pulling his professional phone out of the desk. Unfortunately, she also knew that number, and after twenty minutes he shut it off, tossing it back in the drawer.

He was told he had a visitor just before lunch, and he sighed, knowing it was her, pleasantly surprised when his dad strolled in, grinning. "You're too busy to answer your phone now?"

"No, just hiding. Madison is driving me crazy."

That brought a frown. "I know, she and her mother have been calling your mom nonstop, and now they're on me. You know they're already talking about the flower colors and the date? She's even planning the honeymoon, someplace I've never heard of."

He was smiling slightly as he relayed the information. Winston stood up, stretching his muscles. "I haven't popped a question, and I want you to be the first to know," Winston paused while his father tried to compose his face, "that I'm not going to. She doesn't have a serious thought in her brain, and the thought of her holding a job would probably make her faint."

Winston Senior smiled in relief. "That's good to know, and I know your mother will be relieved. She can't stand Madison's mother, and wasn't too keen on Madison."

Junior smiled, the world looking brighter for the first time as a burden slid off his shoulders. "Lunch?"

"Absolutely. Something greasy and delicious. Mexican or burgers?"

"Fats. I hear he's trying out a new-fangled restaurant addition. Paper napkins."

His dad grinned. "No way! It'll never be the same." Fats was a blue collar diner they had found by accident. It was only fifteen blocks away, and noise went to a standstill when they walked in the first time. An older waitress seated them, asking if they need a menu. "Nope," said Winston, "I hear if you're looking for the greasiest, nastiest cheeseburger in town, loaded down with onions and chili, this is the place. I hope your reputation is justified."

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