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But my boss is staring so hard he might burn a hole through the canvas bag. Like his x-ray vision is about to nix my December bonus. Why oh why did I go gift-shopping on my break? Why get cocky like that? Why risk it all?
“Nothing,” I lie. “Just stuff.”
Maybe because this rigid, severe man makes meyearnto push his buttons. To test his control. If we were in kindergarten together, I’d be stealing Reid’s crayons just to get a reaction.
“Stuff,” the boss repeats, his tone sour. “What kind of stuff?”
“Tampons,” I tell him brightly. “Boxes and boxes of tampons. Would you like to inspect them one by one?”
Reid rolls his eyes and stands, striding back to his own desk. Muttering under his breath aboutassistantsandridiculousandmore trouble than they’re worth.
I don’t take it personally. I never do.
But I do watch him go, biting the inside of my cheek at the way his dark pants hug his toned ass. It’s inappropriate, but then itisFriday night. A girl needs to live a little, you know?
“Send that reservation,” Reid says, kicking his own chair out and throwing himself down. “If you can even find it in the nuclear wasteland of your inbox.”
A heart of gold, I’m telling you.
I’m ninety-nine percent sure.
Two
Reid
December is always one long migraine for me. A seemingly endless month of gaudy string lights, raucous crowds of tipsy shoppers, and cheesy holiday tunes that grate on my last nerve.
It’s inescapable. Everywhere I look, wide-eyed kids warble out carols in choirs; scruffy Santas ring bells and shake buckets at passers-by; and store windows bristle with tinsel and plastic trees.
Half the Santas aren’t even fat, for Christ’s sake. They’ve got pillows shoved up their ugly red jumpsuits—fake padding to match their fake stringy beards.
Hideous.
“Brace yourself,” Noelle says as I lock up the office for the evening, stamping her ankle boots to keep warm. We’re crowded close together on the top step, but I try not to notice that fact. Try to ignore the warmth of her, and the telltale crinkle of that tote bag that says she lied to me before, and the green apple scent of her hair. “When I came out here earlier, this street was holiday mad.”
I grunt, shove my hands in my coat pockets, and lead the way down the steps. At this time of year,everywherein this city is holiday mad. No—everywhere in the country. In the goddamn Western world.
Nowhere is safe.
Noelle and I fall into step easily as we drift onto the sidewalk, strolling in the direction of her apartment. It’s a seven block walk, and in the exact wrong direction for me, but she doesn’t know that.
It’s better this way. If she knew I detoured out of my way each night to walk her home, that might raise questions.
Inconvenient questions—and I don’t have good answers.
“We’ve got the Aspen Ridge meeting tomorrow.”
Noelle hums, her shoulder brushing mine as we walk. And tomorrow is Saturday, but she’ll work it without complaint. She always does. That’s why I pay her astronomical wages for an assistant role—Noelle’s evenings and weekends aremine, damn it, and I guard them like a dragon’s hoard.
“I’ll pick you up at eight AM sharp. Don’t be late.”
She laughs. “When am I ever late, boss?”
That’s fair. Noelle Granger is punctual, bright, sweet, and funny. Efficient and—disastrous inbox aside—unfailingly reliable. She’s the perfect woman and perfect employee, and I’ve somehow kept her with me for the last three years.
Probably because she has bottomless supplies of patience. Will she ever grow tired of me? Ever leave? Surely she will.
Chest burning, I scowl at a fabric snowman in a department store window. Its eyes are lopsided buttons. Is that supposed to be cute?
