His features harden. A flush creeps over his cheeks. It’s as if I told him I replaced the company logo with a Santa hat emoji.
NowthatI’d try, to see what happens.
He’d probably have a cardiac.And that wouldn’t be fun. I don’t wish him any kind of ill health. In fact, I like him as is. Healthy, larger-than-life, and ripped. Sweet candy canes. He’s so alpha male, it makes my teeth hurt to look at him.
No. No. No. Don’t go there.Need to think of my fiancé.Engaged. Fiancé. Engaged. Fiancé. Keep it professional.I chant to myself and manage to find my focus.
Just in time for my bosschuckles, only the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Your résumé didn’t indicate you also have a sense of humor.” The smile vanishes. In its place is his cold, hard, forbidding visage.
“Is there anything else?” he asks in a voice which clearly indicates that I'm wasting his time.
But I’m persistent. I'd have to be to get this far in the corporate world in such a short time. So, I square my shoulders, smooth out my features, and fix him with my best steely gaze. “Celebrating the lead up to Christmas is an opportunity not to be wasted.”
“Oh?”
“People want to celebrate the holidays, but not being able to openly do so causes stress levels to spike. If we let them express their happiness, it makes them feel appreciated, increases motivation, and hence, productivity levels. It helps boost morale and provides enough momentum for the troops to weather the dreaded January slump.”
“Hmph.” He continues to frown but, at least, he’s listening.
“Look, no one wants to hit Q4 targets while silently crying into a spreadsheet. A little Christmas cheer is a strategic investment.”
“Is that right?” His tone is half sarcastic.
I nod. “Decorating a tree is cheaper than the team having to take time off due to post-holiday burnout.”
“Oh?” He seems intrigued. “I assume you have research to back up these observations?”
“Absolutely.” It’s true.
I did get my facts from an article written by an academic in a very well-regarded business magazine.
He drums his fingers on the table. His expression tells me he’s not dismissingeverythingI said.
“Besides, even the most forbidding executives are twenty-three percent less terrifying when wearing a paper crown and holding a mince pie,” I say, half-jokingly. “It definitely breaks barriers and fosters better communication within teams.”
He tilts his head, a considering light in his eyes. “You really believe in all this Christmas shit, don’t you?”
Anger coils in my stomach. Did he call my favorite time of the year Christmasshit?Argh. I draw in a few deep, sharp breaths. Losing my temper is not going to help at all. And I did get him to, at least, listen to my reasoning. That’s a win, right?
“Of course, I do. I’ve seen these strategies work before. It mightseem trivial, but a little festive warmth and holiday spirit directly impacts employee productivity which, in turn, feeds the bottom line.”
He seems skeptical again.
“I mean, you won’t know until you try it, right?”
He rubs at his jaw where his beard is beginning to show, and its only midday. Good God.
Is this man so virile that the only way his body can cope with all that excess masculinity is by extra fast hair growth on his face? I shove the thought aside.
He’s my boss. I can’t have such carnal thoughts about him. I can’t.I’m engaged. I have a fiancé.
“You make some good points”—he leans back in his seat—“but no.”
“No?”
“Not happening. Everything you said is a distraction.”
I set my teeth, and swallow back the insults hovering at the tip of my tongue. Calm. Cool. Collected. You don’t want to lose your job on the first day, do you? “At least, think about it.”
