Chapter One
LIZ
I’m staringat my computer screen, wondering if its glow can make up for the lack of sunshine in the dark winter months, when a distinctive rustle of paper from across the office distracts me, and then makes me inwardly sigh.
It’s that time again. My least favorite time of the year.
Secret Santa season.
I am absolutely crap at buying Christmas presents for my friends. Trying to guess what a coworker that I know even less might want gives me hives. And I don’t think I’m the only one who feels this way.
The office isn’t exactly buzzing with excitement. People shuffle around with their usual half-smiles, avoiding eye contact so that they don’t get pulled into a chat or worse, a new project. Everyone wants to finish their work so they can start the long list of tasks to do before the holidays. Or maybe they just want to get out of the office because they have people at home that they actually like to spend time with. Adding more non-essential tasks, like buying a gift for a coworker, to your work schedule is cruel. Or maybe that’s just me. I’m not exactly known for beingcheerful around here. Which is unfair, because I am. But only on the inside.
On the outside, I struggle with social anxiety.
As I take a sip of my iced coffee—yeah, it's winter, but I’mnotgiving up on iced coffee—Sara, my best friend in and out of the office, leans in from the cubicle next to mine. Her blonde hair is up in a messy bun, and she’s grinning like she’s plotting world domination.
“Liz, you ready for this?” she asks, holding up the office Secret Santa list. If I’m the office grump, Sara is definitely the holiday cheerleader. She even volunteered to organize the office Christmas party. Every year.
I groan. “Do we have to? I’m still recovering from last year’s... disaster.”
She snorts. “How were you supposed to know that Kevin is allergic to cactuses? Or is it cacti? Google what the plural of cactus is.”
“You’re missing the point. I almost killed my coworker. And everyone else knew about his allergy.” Because everyone else is not a weird introvert like me who hates making small talk. When I actually make myself do it, I’m so flustered I can’t remember what the conversation was about.
Sara giggles. “Don’t be so dramatic. He didn’t die. Once we found the EpiPen in his front pocket, we cancelled the emergency services call and everyone was fine.” She thinks for a beat. “Well, he still had to go to the hospital, but at least the ride wasn’t with sirens.”
I sigh, trying to push down the anxiety rising in my chest. “I just feel like this whole thing is... pressure. I’m supposed to buy someone somethingpersonalbut without it being creepy, and I’mterribleat picking out gifts.”
Sara taps her chin in mock-thought. “Well, I maybe you’ll draw Ethan.”
I freeze. The name makes my heart thud a little harder than I’d like. Ethan Reynolds, my boss, the guy who couldruinmy entire day just by glancing at me. Not because he’s mean. He’s actually incredibly kind and professional. But that’s the problem. He’s perfect.
Tall, dark-haired, with a chiseled jaw you could use as a paper cutter. He’s the whole package, and his toned bod is always dressed in crisp, expensive suits. Add to that gorgeous, warm, brown eyes that make me feel like I’m under a spotlight whenever he looks at me. He’s the kind of guy you look at and think,how on earth did someone like him end up in this office?
“Yeah, no chance,” I say, trying to sound casual. He’s my boss. I can barely even speak to him without tripping over my words. My brain keeps reminding me we’re professional, that we’re colleagues. That we’ve had exactly three conversations over the past year, all of them about work. Even so, my stomach flips when I think about him. And the rest of my body, especially certain sensitive zones, light up as if my libido hooked itself up to an alien energy source.
Sara’s lips twitch. “Oh, sweetie, I know you too well. You’re already freaking out just thinking about getting him as your Secret Santa.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “You are a mean and horrible friend.”
She just giggles. “I don’t even think he’s taking part. It would be too awkward for anyone to have to get him a gift.”
“Why would it be awkward?” I say, suddenly feeling defensive about Ethan being left out of the exchange. The same exchange that I myself would love to miss out on. “He deserves a gift as much as anyone else.”
She smirks. “Of course he does.” She pats my arm. “No need to be defensive just because you have a crush. I just mean thatpeople would feel extra pressure if they have to find their boss a gift.”
Sara means normal people. People who don’t feel overwhelming anxiety over having to get a gift for their peers. There’s no need to refute her statement about me having a crush. She knows me too well. And also, in a moment I now thoroughly regret, I confided in her about my crush one night after too many glasses of wine. So, I just roll my eyes at her.
She sticks out her tongue in reply. “Let’s go find out who we’re supposed to buy for.” Her eyes twinkle. She really loves the holidays. Freak.
I sigh inwardly. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”
There’s a long line in front of the Secret Santa box, which is ridiculous. I’m an adult. I don’t need a grown-up version of a middle school gift exchange to give me anxiety. There are plenty of other sources of that in my life.
I step up to the box, trying to look like I enjoy these shenanigans, but can already feel the weight of all those slips of paper staring at me, judging me. I reach in and pull out a single name.
I glance down at it, and my bloodfreezes.
