She takes a sip of the latte, grimacing. “Blech. Horrible.”
It’s fucking adorable when she wrinkles her nose like that. “Why’d you take a sip if you hate flavored coffee?”
“I thought maybe I’d like this one.”
“Serves you right for being an optimist. I need the contracts for the Branson deal in front of me.”
“Emailed them to you five minutes ago. Would you like me to purchase a Secret Santa gift on your behalf? I’m leaving early this afternoon to take my niece shopping—I can pick something up for you.”
I pull up the email on my computer. She added a winking face emoji to the subject line. “Not necessary.”
“You have to participate, or it isn’t fair to whichever unfortunate soul whose name you drew.”
“I am participating. For your information, I happen to be a world-class gift giver. I will be purchasing it myself.”
I scan the documents and make a couple of notes, but it seems she’s still standing there, staring down at me.
“Anything else?”
“Once again, I would like to request the 25th off so I can spend it with my family.”
I get an email notification on my personal phone and glance down at it while she’s telling me that none of the other executives or their assistants are working from the 23rd until the 28th.
“Once again, I must remind you that you will be earning premium holiday pay.”
The email is from my brother Brady. I delete it without reading it. This means my sister called him right after she called me. That means a call from my mother is imminent. That means I’m going to have to lie to my ma. That means instead of feeling sorry for myself, I’ll hate myself.
“I don’t care about making overtime on Christmas,” she continues. “I want to see my sister’s baby and hang out with my family.”
I vigorously scrub my face with the palms of my hands, grunting.
“You can see them for dinner. It’s not my fault we’re so busy, and it’s definitely not my fault Christmas is on a weekday.”
“It’s on a Friday.”
“Friday is a weekday, Cooper. Would you like to try to convince me otherwise, or would you like to let me finish reading through this contract before Drucker calls?”
She mumbles something about my moods and me being the devil while turning on her four-inch heels and giving me a fantastic view of her perfect round ass in that tight black skirt. I watch that ass sway all the way out of my office. I keep watching her through the glass wall between us as she takes a seat at her desk, blowing air out of her big puffy lips and cursing me under her breath.
I wish she were whispering those angry filthy curses into my ear, but my day has still gotten so much better already.
Three
Maddie
FROSTY, YOU BLOW, MAN
In the grand scheme of things, being subjected to the moods and demands of a horrifically gorgeous man in a beautiful suit isn’t the worst thing anyone ever had to deal with. But Declan Cannavale can bite me. He can kiss my butt and he can blow me and he can go take a long walk off a short, icy pier. I might have to strip his beautiful suit off and lick him from head to toe first before marching him out into the freezing-cold December air. But only because I’d want him to suffer more.
Not because I’m dying to lick all six-foot-two-inches of his stupidly amazing body from head to toe.
Because I’m not.
It’s not like I can’t handle working for him. I mean, I’d rather handle him firmly around his neck. But I know how to deal with these guys who think they can get away with anything just because they’re lickable.
Still, if I could go back to working for Artie, I would.
In a heartbeat.
I had worked for Artie ever since I graduated from college. He’s old and sweet and never gave me a single moment of grief. I would have worked for him forever. But no matter how much I beg and plead with him, he refuses to come out of retirement just so I can quit this ridiculous well-paid job.
I remember when Declan’s office would call Artie, back when Declan worked in Big Law. I’d listen in. Declan even dialed the phone himself every now and then and we’d chat. He was fine back then. Apparently, when he’d heard that Artie was going to retire, he told him he wanted to hire me ASAP.
Artie vouched for him. Said he was “a class act with a heart of gold.” Told me he really hoped I’d take this job instead of the one for the partner at the law firm because I’d have better work-life balance. You know what I got? A grumpy boss with a heart of coal. Fifty-five-hour work weeks. Texts and emails every night and all weekend. So many eye-roll–inducing one-liners that I’m afraid my eyeballs might get stuck in the back of my head one of these days. A chronically clenched jaw and a nonstop angry lady boner. My teeth are being ground to a fine dust, and the head of my Hitachi Magic Wand now has a dent in it.
“Aunt Maddie, why are you stabbing at your keyboard like that?”
“What? Oh…” My niece has been sitting beside me so quietly, I completely forgot she was there.
Piper. She’s thirteen and adorable. My sister has been so busy with the new baby, and Piper’s been all bummed out because she’s the only girl in eighth grade who doesn’t have boobs yet. So I offered to take her Christmas shopping, but for some reason she couldn’t wait until the weekend.
She closes the textbook she’s been reading, carefully using her highlighter pen as a bookmark, and asks, “When can we go shopping?”
“I just have to wait until my boss gets back from his meeting in a minute, and then we’re outta here. That okay?”
“Okay.” She nudges her glasses up the
