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And there wasn’t a chance in hell of me magically fixing anything tonight. If I were to be fully honest with myself past my healthy dose of self-confidence that may be considered arrogance in certain circles, she was far more equipped to make lemonade out of this bushel of lemons. Her complete certainty and masterful capability in her career were things my father had lauded more than once to me and a key reason he wanted me to understand all she brought to the table. It was something I’d quickly come to respect and admire in her, which only managed to deepen my physical attraction to her to something more meaningful—and much more dangerous.
Leah gnawed on the cap of her pen across the table as she stared blankly at her computer screen. A new idea began to take root in my brain. Nope, I couldn’t fix this, but maybe I could find another way to make her smile.
I grabbed my still-half-full mug and her now-empty one. “Let me go rinse these out. I think we should take a step back, go home, relax and get ready to tackle all this tomorrow.”
Just as I knew she would, Leah immediately shook her head and rose from her seat. “No, we need to try to get ahead of this, do as much damage control as we can with our performers and—”
Awkwardly I moved her cup to grip it with three digits while I placed my index finger across her mouth, both cursing and applauding the decision. “We are already behind. You’ve sent out emails to the rest of the team, and you’ve responded to those who want to back out. You have done absolutely everything you can do for right now except rest.” I smiled, hoping to coax a mirrored response from her. “Drink a glass of wine or make another cup of the tea you love so much and forget about all this until tomorrow.”
She stood so still that I wasn’t sure she was even breathing. A moment of panic washed over me, fear that I’d crossed a line I wouldn’t be able to step back over.
But then she offered a tiny little sigh and a light crimson spread over her cheeks. “Maybe you’re right. I’ll grab a bottle of zinfandel on my way home.”
I dropped my hand and took a step back, doing my damnedest to ignore the frissons of electricity shooting along my nerves from the brief and benign contact—and to silence the plaintive cries of my body for more. “I should’ve known you were a sweet wine kind of girl.”
I measured my steps so I didn’t look like I was rushing to the sanctuary of the break room, even though I most definitely was. I unceremoniously dumped the discarded mugs in the sink, some of my coffee sloshing over the side, and I pulled my phone from my khaki pants.
A quick search gave me exactly what I was looking for and I ordered a home delivery of gourmet teas to Leah’s address. I thanked every deity I’d heard of that I had her address saved in my phone from when I’d plugged it into my GPS to stop by her house and pick up some promotional material my father had requested. When the clerk quoted an exorbitant delivery fee that was nearly three times the cost of the product itself, I nearly choked.
But it didn’t stop me from reading off the number of my black AmEx card once he’d assured me that it would be delivered within the hour in ‘tasteful holiday wrapping paper’.
“Would you like to include a note with the package, sir?”
I opened my mouth to tell him to simply sign my name when a far more intriguing idea popped into my head. “Yes,” I rattled off a neutral, semi-unemotional message, but then a lightbulb of creativity blinked over my head. “And please sign it ‘Love, Your Secretly Admiring Santa’.”
I hummed an old Christmas song and smiled to myself as I rinsed the dishes and placed them in the tiny drainer.
Maybe this doesn’t have to be a one-time event.
Chapter Three
Leah
“Go away.”
I groaned the statement more than actually verbalizing it as I threw a far-too-juvenile temper tantrum for my thirty-two years of age because I had to leave the comfort of my couch and the warm, fuzzy blanket covering me to answer the door. I intentionally kept my heat just a little too low so that I could snuggle down with a warm cup of tea and find a non-holiday-themed movie to watch—a near impossibility this time of year.
Sliding my feet into the slippers that were resting on the floor beside my sofa, I made my way to the entrance grumbling, mostly under my breath, the entire way. I never got visitors, and I’d picked up a ready-made meal from the grocery store when I’d snagged the bottle of wine so I didn’t look like a complete loser to the cashier when I checked out. There was absolutely zero reason for anyone to be disturbing me.
I glanced down at my ‘Let me sleep’ black pajama set with the simultaneously creepy and funny eyeball pattern on the pants and shrugged.Good enough. Anyone who was going to annoy me at almost nine o’clock at night after the day I’d had deserved my messy-bunned, comfy-clothed self.
After first checking my peephole, I slowly opened, but just a crack. “Hello?”
A rounded man not much taller than my five-foot-three-inches beamed at me from the other side of the threshold. “Ms.…uh”—he glanced down at the tag attached to a brown manila bag with red and green glittery stripes angled along it—“Ms. Leah Carson?”
I pulled the door open farther and frowned at the man. “Yeah, that’s me, but I didn’t order anything to be delivered tonight.”
His annoying—and just a little too bright for my taste—smile managed to somehow widen even farther. “Yes, ma’am, I understand, but the person who ordered this was very insistent that you needed it tonight, no matter the cost.” He all but shoved the sparkling package into my arms, and I grabbed the handles just in time to keep the shimmering crystals from clinging to my pajamas and thereby completely infiltrating my existence for the next six months.
Damn holly, jolly bullshit.
“Hang on. Let me find my purse and get a tip for you.” I set the offensive gift on the floor at a safe distance from me and reached to the hook where I hung my pocketbook and coat every night when I came home.
He held up a hand and took a step back, dancing precariously close to the edge of my front porch that stepped down onto the sidewalk. “No need, ma’am. Not only did the sender pay a hefty delivery fee, but they also included a generous tip.” He inclined his head. “Have a Merry Christmas, and enjoy your present.”
With that he turned, all but hopped down the three concrete stairs that led to the walkway and whistled a Christmas tune as he climbed into the unmarked van parked at the curb. A shot of cold air holding the promise of snow blasted my face and was the only thing that made me finally move. I shut the door, collected the package and padded back into my living room. I opened the tag to read the finely written message.
You deserve a night of relaxation. Hope this helps.
