I share that Atlanta’s a natural leader and mentor. I share several tough projects that she helped turn around, plus her integral role in helping the firm winning the AIA Gold even as a junior designer.
After we hang up, I sit there holding my phone, feeling hollowed out.
She’s leaving. Atlanta’s leaving Hope Peak, leaving Big Sky Architecture, leaving me. And I gave her every reason to go.
I think about the promotion I dangled like a carrot. The way I held it over her head as payment for helping me with someridiculous curse. How I made her feel like she had to earn something she’d already proven she deserved a hundred times over.
I’m the worst kind of boss. The worst kind of man.
Atlanta deserved better. The woman I love deserved so much better than what I gave her.
The woman I love.
The realization sits heavy in my chest. I’m in love with Atlanta Creekmore, and instead of telling her, instead of promoting her months ago and asking her on a proper date, I manipulated her into helping me and then kissed her while she was still technically working for a promotion I should have given her freely.
I’m not just a bad boss. The parking lot Santa was right. I’m an asshole.
My doorbell rings, pulling me out of my spiral. I’m not in the mood for visitors, but the ringing persists. I yank open the door.
It’s Carter.
“Get dressed,” he says. “We’re going to Perfect Brews.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
“I don’t care. You’ve been moping for three days. You need coffee and fresh air.” He sniffs the air. “And a shower, man.”
Forty-five minutes later, I’m walking down Main Street with Carter, the same holiday traffic clogging the sidewalks. Snow sits on the ground, people milling about, happy with the season. We park two blocks over from Perfect Brews, and as I step out of the truck, I see him.
Santa.
The same Santa from four weeks ago, standing on the same sidewalk in his red suit, black boots rooted to the pavement. Those piercing blue eyes watch me from behind round spectacles.
“No way,” I mutter.
Carter follows my gaze. “What?”
“The parking lot Santa. The one who cursed me.”
Carter squints. “That’s just the town Santa. He’s been doing photos with kids all month.”
“No. It’s him.”
Santa walks toward me, and this time I don’t try to push past. I stop, waiting.
“Holden Carmichael.” His voice carries that same weight it did before.
“You’re real.”
“I’ve always been real.” He pulls out that small notebook, the one I’ve seen him mark in twice now. “You completed your third good deed.”
My heart pounds. “What are you talking about?”
“The reference you gave this morning.” He flips through the pages. “Completely selfless. You knew you were helping her leave, and you did it anyway. You put her needs above your own.”
“That’s just basic decency.”
“Is it?” He tilts his head. “The Holden Carmichael from four weeks ago would have given a lukewarm reference. Would have found subtle ways to make her stay. But you didn’t. You gave her your blessing to go because you finally understand that truly giving means doing what’s best for someone, even when you don’t benefit.”
