“I don’t know if they grit all the back roads. I’m a city boy.” He grins, which is utterly swoonworthy.
“Maybe I should send my apologies.” It’s a good excuse to get out of it.
Rowan tilts his head, changing his expression into a hint of a brattish pout. “That would be a shame.”
“I wouldn’t want to get us stuck out there. I’m sure you’ve got Christmas plans.”
“Actually, I don’t.”
I gawp at him. I was not expecting that.
“Iwasgoing to visit my parents, but they got a last-minute cruise deal, so it’s just me this year. Which means I wouldn’t mind getting stuck in a posh hotel for Christmas.” He tugs at his collar. “And that was an overshare, wasn’t it? Sorry, boss.”
A shiver runs down my spine.
“Not that we’re going to get stuck,” he adds hurriedly. “You’re right. The roads will be gritted. It won’t be a problem. I’ll find out about the menu and get back to you.” He turns on his heeland hot-foots it out of the office, leaving me staring at the closed door.
Him calling me ‘boss’ did things to me that it shouldn’t have done. And now it’s easy to imagine his bright, cheerful voice calling me ‘Daddy’. I take a deep breath. Employee. Boss. Nigel might own the lion’s share of the business, but I’m still a partner and hold seniority over everyone except my brother. I’m not allowed to even think about how nice it would be to hear him call me ‘Daddy’.
An email pops up on my phone. It’s from Nigel. Is he still on the plane? Most of them have WIFI now. I have no idea where he’s going. Was it a long-haul or short-haul flight? I check his email, expecting it to be something important. It’s not. His message is short and sweet: ‘Don’t even think about backing out of the ball.’ I clench my teeth, hating that he knows me so well. I put my phone face down on the table, and head out to fulfilment to check how they’re doing.
Miriam, the team leader, seems to have everything under control. She’s got everyone doing their bit, so no one is standing idle, and their mini production line is running smoothly from selecting the right products, individually wrapping them beautifully, to choosing the perfect-sized box, and labelling them. If it weren’t for the irritating Christmas music blaring through the speakers, I could stand and watch them all day. I seem to be the only one who finds the music annoying and jarring.
Rowan scoots up to me. “The meat option is chicken, with dauphinoise potatoes, and seasonal veg, while the vegetarian option is a mushroom wellington.”
I hate to admit it, but those choices sound nice.
“Nigel had opted for the chicken, but I can call the venue and change it if you’d prefer the wellington.”
“The chicken is fine, thank you.” Even if it wasn’t, I’m not going to treat him like a PA when he isn’t one. Other than sending him across London to pick up a costume for me.
“Awesome.” He pauses for a moment, staring at me, while smiling adorably, and then bounces—yes, bounces—to Miriam. “Can I help?”
“Damn right you can.” She puts him to work double-checking the orders that have been picked. “We’re good here,” she says, which is clearly her way of telling me to stop hovering over her team.
I nod and retreat to the office, where the blare of Christmas music is more of a background annoyance than a full-frontal assault. I just need to get to the end of the ball, and then I can have the relaxing Christmas I’d planned. Delayed, but not abandoned.
It’s the twenty-second. All the orders have been delivered to the post office or dropped off with the courier, with pre-paid, guaranteed next-day delivery. It won’t be our fault if a package doesn’t reach its recipient in time for Christmas.
We’ve sold an overwhelming amount of sex toys this year, from themed sets of anal training plugs, Seventh Heaven, our most effective clitoral stimulating vibrator yet, to the Mighty Meaty, which is our biggest and most popular dildo, and everything in between. It’s been a record-breaking year, which I’m sure Nigel will be happy about. Shame he’s not here to congratulate the staff before sending them home for Christmas. Instead, it’s my job to do that.
As soon as the last person is out the door, I switch off the annoying Christmas music.
“Aww, I was enjoying that.”
I’m not quite alone in the office. Rowan is here, ready to drive me to the charity ball. It’s a two-hour drive, assuming we don’t get stuck in London traffic.
“You like Christmas music?” I ask.
“Of course! It’s cheerful.”
“It’s been playing all month,” I say through gritted teeth.
“You’re not a fan?”
“No.”
“I’ll make sure I don’t play any during the drive, then. Which probably means we can’t listen to the radio. Got any requests?”
