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“What do you mean, my last gift?” Her eyes watch me carefully and I try to avoid her sharp golden gaze.
I reach over and drag her dress over her head, smoothing it down her curvy body. Then I lean over, the palm of my hand resting beside her hip on the table and reach down for her high heeled shoes that dropped to the ground when we were making love.
“Ummm. Well, I’m your secret Santa this year.”
“You’re what!” She shrieks. She sits up and crosses her arms over her plump breasts, her entire body quivering with anger.
“Yeah. It was me.”
Not exactly Shakespeare here but I’m not sure why she’s so angry.
“You snuck all those gifts into my office. You sent me a diary? You sent me a snow globe? You?”
“Yeah, me. And you could sound a little less shocked. I’m a good guy.”
“Sure. And I think I know that. But why the hell did you do all that stuff for me? And what do you mean, my last gift?”
I reach over and pull an envelope out of my jacket pocket. “Here. This is it.”
She stares at it like it’s a bomb about to go off. “What is this?”
“Open it,” I insist. For just a second, my heart jumps in my chest. What if she doesn’t like it? She’s a proud woman. She might bite my head off instead of hugging and kissing me.
Opening it slowly, her eyes dart up to mine, wide and startled. “A receipt?”
“Yeah. I know how much you need your car to get around with your son so I am paying to have your car fixed.”
She shakes her head, her lips tightening as she slips the paper back in the envelope. “No way. I’ll pay my own way, Drake. I absolutely don’t want you to do this.”
“It’s too late. It’s already done.”
“Well then undo it!” She growls, her tiny body stiff with rage.
“I can’t do that either. It’s already done.”
“You should have discussed this with me.”
“It’s a damn gift, Promise! I’m not supposed to ask permission to give you a fucking gift!”
“It’s too much. And I don’t need you feeling sorry for me. I’ve managed to take care of myself and Justin for quite a few years without your help!”
The air quotes around her words have me pissed off and spoiling for a fight.
Then the door rattles and shakes and both of us freeze. “Is somebody in there?” Our boss asks. And he juggles keys, while he struggles with the locks.
“Finish getting dressed,” I hiss while I hop around, pulling on my shoes and shirt quickly.
Both of us scramble, gasping with shock when the door finally bursts open and Mr. Alexander almost falls through the open doorway.
The security guard behind him gapes at the pair of us and I turn, wincing when I see Promise’s disheveled clothes and hair. And I probably don’t look any better.
“What’s going on here?” Mr. Alexander asks, his sharp eyes missing nothing.
“Nothing, sir.” Promise flushes and twists her hands together. She’s a terrible liar.
Alexander’s eyes shift my way. “Are you sure it’s nothing, Drake?”
“Absolutely. I was just talking to Promise about some work that we need to get done if we want that ad campaign for Vista jewelers to go out in time for Valentine’s Day.”
