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I swing my gaze to my colleague standing next to me. “Thanks, Suzie. You do, too. I love that color on you.” She looks stunning in a dark emerald-green mid-thigh dress sculpted to her body. She’s also wearing high black peep-toe heels and a pair of sparkly wreathes in her ears. That’s Suzie—put together and classy, but still with a splash of sass.
Meanwhile, I’ve chosen a red number, a shade that clashes with my hair. My older sisters always tease me about my lack of fashion sense. Still, I don’t dress to impress the fashionistas of the world. I dress for me, sometimes for my date, but primarily for me. And I like what I like. I look for comfort, meaning clothes that flow over my curves rather than hug them. I’ve never been super comfortable in my body. No matter how much I diet or not, exercise or not, I seem to have inherited my mother’s genes. Cuddly, she and my father used to say.
“Are your parents here tonight?” Suzie asks. Everybody knows I’m the owner’s daughter. At first, I worried it would cause problems, but nobody has teased me about it or tried to take advantage of it.
My parents are part owners of Kismet Publishing. There’s this story that goes with the name. It has something to do with my great-grandfather meeting his wife at work; it was love at first sight—yada yada.
My father and his two brothers now co-own the company, and there’s this unwritten rule that all the kids, cousins, etc., have to spend at least one solid year working for the company. When I turned twenty-five a couple of months ago, I was told it was time to put in my stint at the office. I like to read, so it’s no hardship. Though, I much prefer my books to come with a whole lot of sexy.
“My parents never miss a company party.” I turn and lean my hip against the counter. “When I was a kid, I spent one Christmas with chicken pox. My parents still went to the party.”
“Seriously? How old were you?”
“Ten. Mom made sure I was settled, dotted with lotion to keep the itching to a minimum, and then left me in the care of my older sisters. Who, by the way, couldn't care less that I was sick.”
“I’m sorry.”
I spin back to finish with my makeup. “Don’t be. My parents got me a couple of extra presents that year to make up for the fact I was sick.”
“Have you seen Kris yet?”
“Not yet.” Kris Nichols is the adorable guy that I ran into on my first day. Well, he ran into me in the hallway. When I stooped to help him pick up the pile of books he’d dropped, I could smell cinnamon rolls on him. I thought it was strange, until I heard he has breakfast at the corner coffee shop with a mid-morning coffee. I can’t fault a guy for enjoying sugar and cinnamon.
We work in the same department, so I’ve seen Kris many times, and I feel more drawn to him each time. He’s friendly and dresses professionally, on the shy side, though. What I like most about him is how he gets all flustered around me. Others find it silly, but I find it cute. Not puppy cute, the man is handsome as sin. He gives me all kinds of feelings. He has this mop of curly dark brown hair that he tries to control with some pomade. And his eye color matches his hair. I could melt into a puddle each time our eyes connect.
I’m just surprised somebody would like me enough to get all discombobulated. His neck and the tips of his ears turn red, and he struggles to talk to me. I think he might stutter. That’s what I heard, and I wonder if he thinks I’d laugh, but I’d never. I understand the feeling of being scorned for something beyond your control. And I try not to be cruel.
Now, naughty? Flirtatious? A ho? Yes, I can absolutely pull that off, and Kris brings it out in me. I caught him staring at me two weeks ago at the staff meeting. He looked sexy in his suit and tie, all professional. I couldn’t stop myself from giving him a playful wink as I fantasized about strolling over and mussing up his hair.
When Human Resources got tagged to organize the Christmas party, Suzie suggested a Secret Santa exchange, and I was thrilled. I love Secret Santa. When I was a kid and we lived closer to my cousins, we used to do a gift exchange every year. But then my parents moved us here to California, and my one uncle moved his family to Texas. The family get-togethers unfortunately dried up.
This time, though, I fought tooth and nail and managed to rig the game just a bit to get Kris’s name. But unbeknownst to me, the morning of that meeting, Suzie admitted that she took it one step further and somehow arranged for Kris to get my name. I don’t know what she did or who she bribed, but I remember the look on his face when he read my name on the slip of paper. It made every moment of the subterfuge worth it.
“So”—Suzie’s eyes are dancing with delight—“are you ready for Secret Santa?”
“I am.”
“What did you get him?”
“I’m not telling. You’ll have to wait like everyone else.”
I got him a sexy version of Truth or Dare. I’m hoping we can use it as an ice-breaker to get to know each another much better after the staff party.
“They’re going to start the exchange soon. Let’s go.” Suzie tucks her lipstick into her small purse and props her boobs in her dress.
We leave the ladies’ room and walk down the hall to the ballroom where the party is being held. Popular Christmas music is playing, spilling beyond the open doors. Hotel staff is scurrying about with emptied appetizer trays, while Kismet staff are wondering about the room, talking to colleagues, or finding their assigned seats.
Inside, a photo booth is set up in the corner with props like reindeer antlers and Santa hats. Against the far wall near Santa’s throne is a huge majestic tree, its branches cascading out with a mix of shimmering silver, white, and red ornaments. Smaller trees stand regally in the corners in different color schemes. Elegant draperies entwined with delicate white fairy lights flow from a center point in the ceiling out to the edges of the room. The unmistakable scent of fresh pine fills the room.
The tables are covered in crisp, white linens, each with exquisite centerpieces of lush, fragrant winter flowers—deep red poinsettias, ivory roses, and evergreen sprigs.
“Ho, Ho, Ho!”
I spin around in time to see Santa enter the ballroom, a heavy-looking sack over his shoulder. A couple of helper elves tag along behind, each lugging their own red bag of gifts.
I glance at Suzie. “This should be fun.”
“Do you want to sit at our table or stand on the sidelines?”
