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All I want for Christmas this year?
To forget just how good my boss is in the bedroom before my heart starts to get other ideas.
Prologue
KATE
“Come on. Come on. Come on.”
I hold back tears as I turn the key for the fourth time, praying the engine turns over this time. The car whines loudly over and over again as panic builds in my chest.
“Of all fucking days.” I can’t hold back the tears that prick my eyes any longer as I pound the steering wheel. I stare at the blurry clock as big tears tumble down my cheeks. I wipe at them desperately as I realize that not only am I going to be crazy late for work and face a sharp tongue-lashing from my asshole boss, but now I have to figure out how I’m going to get my car fixed in time to drive home for Christmas.
I look over at my passenger seat to the large pastry platter and two coffee cartons that should have already been on the conference table ten minutes ago. I feel bile build up in my throat as I picture the giant vein on my boss’s forehead about to burst.
My thoughts are interrupted by the shrill ringing of my phone and I glance down to see his name plastered on the screen—Damon Wells. “Speak of the fucking devil,” I mumble as I swipe the screen to answer.
“Mr. We—” I start with my most chipper voice but I’m quickly interrupted by his enraged bark through the phone.
“Where the hell are you, Miss Flowers?” he hisses. “The partners are all here, sitting around the table waiting for you with the goddamn breakfast food and reports. Surely you can’t be so incompetent that you can’t handle picking up some pastries. Hmm?”
He’s whisper shouting at me and I can picture him pacing, running his hands through his hair in exasperation as he pinches his nose dramatically. It’s his classic temper tantrum demeanor, something I’m very used to at this point in our professional relationship.
“Mr. Wells, I can explain. I have the coffee and pastries and I’m on the way. I ju—”
“Get here in ten minutes or you can pack your shit!”
“I—hello? Mr. Wells?” I pull the phone away from my face and see that the prick hung up on me.
“Ahhhh!” I scream in my car, wanting nothing more than to punch Damon Wells in his perfect white teeth. I’m sure it’s deranged but the thought of seeing his bloody mouth and watching him flip backward over his desk gives me more glee than I care to admit. I should probably get back into therapy. I would if I could fucking afford it working for Mr. Tight Wad.
I look at my phone; there’s no way in hell I can make it in ten minutes but I have to try. I grab the tray of pastries and two cartons of coffee while trying to hold my purse and hail a cab. I trudge through the dirty slush of melted snow that has now filled my high heels as I step to the curb and raise my hand. I manage to get a cab quickly and pile into the back seat as I rattle off the address to the office.
“If you could hurry, please, that would be great.” I offer the most genuine smile I can muster but the driver just ignores me. I reach into my wallet and look at the cash I have; I’ll be lucky if I have enough to cover the fare and maybe give him a few dollars for a tip. I don’t even have enough to bribe him with an extra five dollars to step on it.
I stare at my phone the entire way. We’re less than half a mile away when I get a taunting text from my boss along with a picture. I open it, confused at first to see the image.
“What the—?”
Damon:Two minutes, Miss Flowers. Look, I was even nice enough to grab a box for you.
The image shows a large box on my desk. “What a fucking sicko!” I say loudly, causing the driver to look up at me in the rearview mirror. “Oh, sorry, sir. Not you. Just my… never mind.” I pull the wad of cash out of my wallet this time and stare at the meter. Looks like I have just enough to cover it. He slows the cab down in front of my building and before he’s even stopped, I throw open the door.
“Whoa, lady. Hold your damn horses!” he shouts.
“I don’t have time!” I yell as I scramble out of the cab with my bag slung over one shoulder, the pastries in the other, a coffee jug in one hand and one under my arm. I go to hand him the cash that I’ve tucked under my chin when I drop one of the coffee jugs.
“Shit!”
“Crazy woman,” he mutters as he takes the cash and speeds away.
I pick up the jug and inspect it briefly; it’s one of those cardboard containers so it appears undamaged. I tuck it back under my arm, holding it tightly against me as I scramble to the front doors.
“Hold it!” I yell as I sprint through the lobby toward the open elevator doors. I’m breathing heavy, doubled over, and laughing that I made it. I glance at the watch on the guy next to me and see I have thirty seconds to spare.
“Hey, you’re, uh—leaking something?” The man says as he takes a step away from me. I glance down to see what he’s looking at and see that coffee is running down my leg and pooling onto the elevator floor. In my rush, I didn’t even feel the warm liquid soaking through my blouse.
“No, no, no!”
