“Not my favorite time of year thanks to a certain someone.”
“You mean that idiot of an ex you were engaged to?”
“Please . . . I don’t want to talk about him.” Especially not with him.
“Understood.” He nudges me. “I could help you forget him again.”
I roll my eyes. “No thanks. Besides, I don’t really think about him at all.”
I’m too busy thinking about you.
“I’m glad to hear that. He wasn’t good enough for you anyway.” He shrugs and folds his jacket in half and then sits on the floor beside it. He doesn’t speak as he extends his hand for me to sit there.
“Why is that?”
Dean cracks his neck, looking a little uncomfortable as he offers a simple, “Because.”
I laugh and cross my arms. “Well, that clears all that up.”
“Why don’t you sit, Holly? We could be in here for a while.”
“Thank you.” I sit on the jacket, crossing my ankles in front of me since I’m not wearing panties. “I’m sorry I was being sort of bitchy. Troy does that to me.”
“Don’t be. I don’t exactly like talking about my ex either.”
I nod. “Yeah, they aren’t usually a great topic.”
“Okay, so let’s move to neutral ground. We could talk about us,” he suggests with a hint of mischief. “Or we can just be quiet . . .”
Oh, the possibilities for that suggestion are as endless as they are unlikely. And with as low on the list as talking to Dean about Tony is, talking to him about what happened is even lower.
“Can we keep talking? Please? Just not about any of the aforementioned things.”
“Okay then, what about your pitch, do you want to practice?”
I laugh. No freaking way am I going to tell him my pitch. “I’d rather swallow nails than go there.”
“Is it because you aren’t confident?”
I raise my brow. “No, it’s because I would rather not give you an edge.”
Or because I don’t have it done and don’t want him to know that.
“I don’t need an edge, babe. I plan to kick your ass.”
“Really? You’ve had a whole a day to get your presentation together, and you think you’re going to win?”
Dean’s eyes narrow and he leans close. “You hate Christmas. This is all about why the holidays are the best time of the year. You’re sort of the poster child for who not to hire.”
“I can fake it.”
“Ahh, but I know the real thing. You’re exquisite when you’re not faking it.”
I scoff. “You do not get to bring up my orgasms in a business conversation.”
He chuckles that deep laugh that does things to my girly parts. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Why would you even want this account? You’ll have to practically pretend you live in Santa’s workshop and you’re his bitch.”
Admitting this will make me sound so stupid, but it’s the truth. “I want to love the holidays again. I want to remember the magic and smile when I put my tree up again. I thought . . . I thought that maybe this would help.”
Dean’s hand rests on mine. “You shouldn’t have ever had to feel that way, Holls.”
I shake my head, not wanting to spill any more of my crazy in front of him. “Next topic.”
“All right, why don’t you tell me why you ran off last week?”
He’s like a beacon for topics I want to avoid. “Jesus Cringle! Can’t we talk about the damn weather instead of the worst topics possible?”
“Cringle?”
I know . . . I’m a dork. My mother used to say it when she was mad instead of cursing, so I can’t help it. “It’s my version of Christ.”
His smile brightens the dim space. “Adorable.”
My stomach clenches, and I look away. Is he calling me adorable or does he think the word is adorable? Either way, it shouldn’t matter. Dean and I are nothing, and we’re about to battle for this account where I will make everyone believe the holidays are nothing but joy because I’m a professional.
“Do you think we could talk about something else?”
“You want to talk, I pick what we talk about. You just mentioned the sex, I’d like to find out what the hell had you bolt like that.” His eyes are the most beautiful shade of green.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Really, they are almost hypnotic in their stupid, deep color.
“I disagree.”
I tuck my hair behind my ear and sigh. “I didn’t bolt. It was late, we clearly hadn’t been thinking, and I didn’t want to make things awkward. I got my coat, and when I looked back, your office door was closed and the lights were off.”
Dean pushes a piece of my hair that fell from its place and shakes his head. “I was waiting for you, Holls. I heard you talking to yourself.”
My eyes bulge. “What?”
“I heard you say this was a mistake and that you wished you never saw me again.”
It was what I said to myself to make whatever happened next okay. “I . . .”
“I get it, you were scared.”
My heart races as I stare into his eyes. “Of what?”
He leans in closer. “Me.”
He does scare me. I’m scared because my brain clearly stops functioning when he’s around and I will end up saying something dumb or making a bigger fool of myself. I’m scared that I’ll spend another Christmas/birthday wondering what’s wrong with me. I’m terrified that, once again, I’ll be left alone.
“What do you want me to say?”
“The truth for starters.”
“The truth is that we had sex and then you never called.”
He shakes his head. “You wanted me to call?”
I don’t know what I wanted. “No. Yes. I just . . . let’s not do this, okay?”
“There’s a reason I didn’t call. Contrary to what you think, Holly, I’m not a dick.”
“Regarding work, you are . . .”
“Okay, maybe with that.”
I sigh, which is a bit of a laugh, and so does he. We all know that Dean
