So why am I shivering?
I turn the panel off and then on again, which is pretty much the extent of my tech prowess.
Unsurprisingly, nothing happens. In fact, I’m pretty sure it gets a little colder.
I swallow down the scream of frustration that bubbles up my throat. Did I do something wrong? Accidentally overtake an old lady on the motorway? Not give up a seat to someone who needed it on the tube? Maybe it was that snail I accidentally stepped on a few weeks ago? Because the only explanation for my absolutely abysmal string of badluck right now is that I’m currently undergoing some kind of karmic retribution for some heinous act or other.
I give the control panel one last try and can’t even bring myself to groan when, once again, absolutely nothing happens. Although I suppose that’s not entirely true. I actually think the room gets about a half degree colder, which, given the fact that my breath is now forming in front of me in tiny little clouds, is pretty damn cold.
I reach for my phone – 2.28am. Definitely too late – early? – to bother Hoxton right now.
The only thing left to do is wrap myself up as tightly as I can in the blankets and pray that my tiredness will win against chill and I’ll fall asleep before I freeze to death.
God. I sound just as dramatic as Eve right now.
Speaking of… I reach for my phone and send one last message before my thumbs go totally numb:
NOELLE
Worst. Christmas. Ever.
EVE
It’s December 22nd ;)
CHAPTER SEVENAlex
December 22nd
The sound of wind battering my windows snaps me out of a surprisingly deep slumber.
I frown as I sit up and the events of last night start flooding my mind with irritating clarity. The meal – the bloody Christmas meal – and the Board infiltrating my home, me scowling at Luca from across the table when he decided to play a seemingly never-ending medley of Christmas music, Noelle and her apron and those damn gingerbread cookies, and—
Noelle.
I shoot up in bed as my thoughts focus in with laser precision on my personal chef. My personal chef who didn’tleave last night. I jump out of bed and peer out of the nearest window. The glass is mostly frosted over, but I can still make out a swirling sea of white in the distance. Snowflakes dance in the air, and a thick blanket of snow covers everything for miles in every direction. I scan my drive quickly, not that it does any good. The snow is whipping itself up into a flurry and I can barely see a few metres ahead.
What I can see is untouched white snow. There’s not a tyre track in sight.
She must’ve left at the crack of dawn for the snow to have covered any trace of the tracks by now. Was she able to fix whatever it was that was wrong with her car, or did she somehow manage to cajole a mechanic into coming out in the early hours of the morning to tow her away?
Neither option is preferable right now. It’s clear that nobody should be out on the road in this. As if to prove my point, a particularly violent gust of icy wind lashes at a tree and, with a loud crack, a thick branch snaps off and careens to the floor in a cloud of white powder.
I suppose I could’ve been nicer about it all, I reason to myself as I pull on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. Last night, I mean. I didn’t have to make my discomfort so obvious that Noelle would rush out in the middle of a storm just because I’d only promised her one night of haven in my home. I could have – how does Luca put it? Right, that’s it. I could’ve been less of a miserable prick and told her thatshe was, of course, free to stay as long as she needed and that her safety was my priority. Like a perfectly rational human being would have said.
Well, no. A perfectly rational human being would’ve thanked her for her hard work last night. Would’ve told her that, hideous apron aside, she did a brilliant job and I value and appreciate the time and effort she puts into her work for me. Would’ve done anything but lightly antagonise the woman who is single-handedly responsible for 80 per cent of my Board members no longer thinking I’m – to use Luca’s verbiage one last time – a miserable prick.
Therese has already emailed enquiring whether Noelle would be willing to cater our annual summer gala for investors and signed said email with a cheerful, ‘Can’t wait to hit the slopes—you’ll have to join us next year!’ and I think I’ve somehow managed to agree to sponsor one of Brian’s kids for some charitable event or other.
I do have to admit it – Luca was right. The evening did exactly what he’d suggested it would – Grinch cookie aside – and I’d categorise the atmosphere amongst myself and my Board as tentatively jovial. Not including Wilbur, of course, who spent most of the evening sharing his vaguely mutinous schemes but, for a first attempt, I’d say things went well. I’m no longer dreading our first Board meeting in January.
I wish I could say the same for my first interaction with Noelle in the new year.
I briefly consider emailing her to check that she’s got home safely, but I dismiss the idea as quickly as it comes. A vision of Noelle and her barely concealed disdain towards me last night jumps to the forefront of my mind. The way her eyes would narrow ever so slightly whenever she thought I wasn’t looking, the tension that coiled between us as she lapped up the praise and attention from the rest of my Board.
No, I’m fairly certain the last thing Noelle wants right now is to see an email from me lighting up her phone screen. Not least because of the fact that it’s almost Christmas, and that might not mean much to me but I know Noelle is eager to get into the Christmas spirit, whatever the hell that means. All I know is, the sight of my name flashing across her screen might cause a panic-induced heart attack.
I do my best to shake off the lingering guilt I’m feeling and make my way downstairs. I should be used to the silence, but today it reverberates through the house like a drumbeat with each step I take. An irritating reminder of the consequences of my stubborn actions.
