It was the perfect proposal. The one that girls around the world swoon over because it was just that romantic. And it was.
We were standing in our living room, dancing to “Silent Night,” and the fire was burning, giving me that perfect glow. Our beautifully lit tree was sending a shimmery white glow around the room as he held me in his arms. He leaned down, kissed my lips, and told me he wanted to spend every Christmas just like that.
Then he dropped to his knee, took out the ring, and I sobbed while nodding yes over and over.
I believed that Santa was real and he brought me the best gift ever.
A year later, when he decided he didn’t love me anymore, I learned Santa was a fraud and that the fat man had been fired, was on a diet, and shaved off his beard.
Troy ruined my favorite holiday, and of course, I don’t get to pretend it doesn’t exist because it’s almost my birthday. Therefore, Christmas is forever a celebration. Blah.
“Are you heading to the boss’s office?” Dean asks.
“No, you?”
“Yeah, I have a meeting today since I’m leaving for California. I figured it was better to do the pitch now.”
Oh, sure, he can go first, wow them, and then I’ll really be out. No way. I’m not going to let him weasel his way into this account like he always does.
Well, weasel is a strong word. He’s smart, cunning, and actually good at his job, which is just one more reason to hate him.
Oh, and he is really fucking good in bed.
Like, really good.
“That’s totally unfair—" The elevator slams to a stop, jerking up and down, forcing me to almost topple over. If it weren’t for Dean’s strong arms wrapping around me and stopping my second fall of the day, I probably would have.
The lights flicker and then the small emergency light goes on.
Great. This is just what I needed.
Fucking holidays.
2
“Are you all right?” he asks for the second time in the last five minutes.
My heart is racing from the punch of adrenaline and a bit from his cologne that fills my nose as I draw a deep breath. Damn, why does he have to smell so good?
“Yes, thank you—again.” I hate that, out of all the people in the building, this has to happen in front of Dean. Him constantly helping me up and catching me before I fall is so freaking contradictory. He’s the first guy I’ve thought about since Troy, I thought maybe he felt something for me, but then he brushed me off as if I were nothing.
How can he be both people in my head?
How can he be so sweet one minute but then ignore me completely the next?
It’s not as if he didn’t know about my past. In fact, that night we spoke about it. I told him about how this holiday would be hard because of my ex. We talked about work, life, our lives since both our breakups. It was great, but then he acted like I was nothing.
Although, that’s what we said before it happened.
I’m attempting to convince myself that was exactly what we both agreed to and he’s just keeping his word, but . . . I hoped.
I came in the next day, smiling with a coffee for him. He walked right past me and hasn’t said a word about what happened since then.
It’s incomprehensible to me that I finally let myself feel something other than rage toward a man, only to be . . . ignored after sex.
“Of course.” He smiles and presses the call button.
“Hello?” A man on the other end replies.
“Hi, this is Dean Pritchard and we’re stuck, can you get us going please?”
“Yes, is everyone okay?”
Dean looks back at me. “Yes, Holly Brickman and I are in here, but we’re not moving and the emergency lights are on.”
The man clears his throat. “Yes, we’re aware. There was a power outage due to the heavy snow, and unfortunately, it looks like a transformer blew, leaving the whole block out of power. The generator is broken as well, found that out late last night when we tested it, but as soon as we can get you both out, we will. Okay?”
“How long?” I yell. “I need to know!”
Dean looks back at me since the button wasn’t down and the guy on the other line couldn’t exactly hear me. He then presses it and speaks. “How long do you think that could be?”
“Not sure, sir. I’ll get back to you when I can. We’re working on getting you guys out just as fast as we can.”
“Great,” I mutter. “Another thing to add to why I hate the damn holidays. And old buildings.”
Dean shakes his head, and his brows furrow. “Why the hell do you hate the holidays? No one hates this time of year.”
“Well, I have a ton of reasons. Snow. Santa. Stupid men. Power outages. Elevators being stuck. The list really goes on . . .”
He removes his suit jacket, revealing his tight shirt that hugs all the right places. I try not to remember how it felt to have him moving above me as I gripped those arms—I fail. The memories of that night flood me. The scotch, taste of his lips, and how amazing every moment we spent together was.
“Santa?” Dean asks. “You hate Santa?”
“Yeah, him and his stupid list, which apparently I landed on the naughty side of two years ago. My gift was to get dumped. It really changed my feelings on all things holiday related.”
“Ahh.” He nods. “Yes, now I get it.”
When it happened, it wasn’t something I was quiet about. Not that I could’ve been if I wanted to be. I sobbed all the time. I swear I should’ve carried around a sign that said: Caution Slippery When Wet. With the amount of tears I cried, I left
