Right off the bat might want to take a look at your introduction you have Aldon Cavill as Aldon Miller. Oops! This was a fun book. With all its banter, between the characters, it was a clean read.
Amy Lindas was told to meet her boss Chris, in Warroad, Minnesota, her hometown. One she had never planned on coming back, however, she had gone home a handful of times. Wanting to avoid him and all the memories that were associated with him and her hometown. She was trying to figure out why Chris would bring her to Holiday Hell. Every nook and cranny had been decorated, and the whole town got involved. Chris was being vague as to whom their client might be. All he kept saying was you’ll see. Amy was getting annoyed because she knew it wouldn’t be long before her mom found out she was in town.
She didn't like not being in control. She was dragged there and didn't like it. Sure enough, her mom sent a text saying, “Will we be seeing you for dinner?” When she looks up and out the window, she sees none other than, no, no, no, it can’t be. When the bell over the dinner door chimed, in walks Aldon Cavill. The very man she had been trying to avoid for the past two years strolls in like he owns the place. She hates that she remembered at all. “What the hell is he doing here?” She hiss at Chris, her hands gripping the edge of the table so hard her knuckles turn white.
Chris doesn’t answer, but his smile grows wider, and she wants to slap it right off his face. “Fancy seeing you here, Amy,” “I could say the same, Alden,” “But I’m not feeling very fancy today.” “Still as sassy as ever, I see. I missed that.” “Trust me, the feeling’s not mutual.” “What is this, Chris? Why is he here?” “I’m the client.” “You? The client?” “That’s right,” “Alden’s planning a big comeback after his injury, and he wants the best agency to handle his photos.” She snorts.
“And you think that’s us?” “Not ‘us’, Amy. You. I want you to be the main photographer for my sports magazine feature and the photo book.” “Why me? I thought you’d prefer some fangirl who’d swoon over every shot of your perfectly chiseled jawline.” “Oh, you think my jawline’s perfect?” “Well, to answer your question, pretty Amy, I want you because you’re the best.” “And I’ve seen your work,” he continues. “I’ve also read your reviews. You don’t sugarcoat things, and that’s exactly what I need. I need you.”
“I’m flattered,” I say with a deadpan expression. “But I don’t have time to babysit.” Chris clears his throat. He probably sensed my growing irritation. “Amy, this is a huge opportunity for us. For you. Think about what it would mean to have Alden Cavill’s comeback photos under your name. It could put Pro Shots on the map.” “Are you concerned about me, or about Pro Shots?” I ask. “You are Pro Shots, Amy, and Pro Shots is you,” he says with a winning smile.
“I don’t care about the map,” I mutter, feeling like an ill-mannered child. These two bring out the best and the worst in each other always had. Had they constructively used their words to communicate, how they were feeling, even thinking back then in those days, and even present-day they would, and could have saved so much heartache. Amy learned a valuable lesson about who you allow in your inner circle of friends. Her parents and brother tried telling her that Aldon was a good man who loved her, but she liked living in her unfounded righteous anger.