“Sally,” I say.
She flinches. “Yes, Ethan.”
I feel bad for startling her, but I can’t afford distractions right now, so I focus on the mission. “How attached are you to your Secret Santa assignment?”
She squints at me. “Is this a trick question?”
“No tricks. Just… flexibility.” That’s not really an appropriate synonym for cheating, but this is definitely a situation where the positive outcome justifies the method of achieving it.
She considers this, tilting her head as she studies me. “Who would I be getting instead?” I like her immediately for not asking why I want to trade. Sally’s obviously the type of person who’s mostly interested in what’s in it for her. I don’t blame her. The corporate world is brutal, and Christmas seems to bring out an even more mercenary spirit in most of us.
“Your desk neighbor, Mark.”
Her eyes light up. “Done.” I suspected she had a crush on him, but say nothing as I wait by her desk. “Immediately?” She asks, eyebrows raised.
“Yesterday, if possible.” I don’t have time to waste on this. There are more trades to negotiate before I am at my end goal. But luckily I trained for this. Well, I doubt Secret Santa cheating is what business school had in mind when they taught me strategic project management, but I’m using all the tools I have to get my girl. My sweet, sexy girl, who likes dirty talk and vibrators.
Sally digs around in a desk drawer and hands me a slip of paper. I make the switch before she can change his mind.
Two more trades later, and by noon, Liz Harper is officially my Secret Santa. I’m a little surprised that nobody asked why I wanted to trade, but I put some thought into the trades, so maybe people are just relieved that they got someone they actually know a little. Or maybe they’re going to rat me out to HR and I’m about to get fired. But it would be worth it.
And they probably don’t have time to get rid of me before the office party and the official Secret Santa gift exchange, so I have time to complete my mission.
The rest of the week unfolds, and I’m in full operation-Secret-Santa mode. Navy SEALs on covert operations use less finesse than I do. Actually, that’s probably not true, because they are skillful mofos, and sometimes have to use deadly force, but for once, I’m actually enjoying going to the office.
Each day, I look at the schedule and figure out what I can do to make Liz’s day better. Having a list of tasks that are enjoyable puts a cheer in my spirit I never thought I’d have this time of year.
I notice when she’s shivering and quietly adjust the thermostat. When she drops her pen, twice, I retrieve it without comment. When she looks overwhelmed during a meeting, I steer the conversation away from her before she can be put on the spot.
None of it is obvious. All of it is intentional.
And she notices. Several times, I find her pretty green eyes studying me. A frown on her forehead as if she’s trying to figure something out.
Outside, the weather sharpens. The first real cold of the season settles in, biting and persistent. Frost clings to car windshields in the mornings. My breath fogs the air as I walk to the office in the mornings.
The town leans into the season anyway, making their workers don extra clothing and decorate with garlands strungbetween lampposts, white lights outlining storefront windows, evergreen wreaths tied with red bows that flap in the wind.
It’s all very… earnest. And, surprisingly, I don’t hate it.
Friday afternoon, Liz lingers by my office door.
“Hey,” she says. “Do you have a second?”
“For you?” I reply. “Always.”
She smiles despite herself, then grimaces. “I just wanted to confirm, you are coming to the Christmas party, right?”
“I am,” I say. “Unless you’re trying to convince me otherwise.” I hold my breath as I wait for her answer. Did I come on too strong? Did I make her feel uncomfortable by paying too much attention to her? I thought I’d been careful.
She exhales. “No, I just…okay, good. Because Sara said you might skip it and then HR would panic and, never mind.”
“You don’t sound thrilled,” I say, trying hard to sound casual and not give away how much her answer means.
She rolls her eyes. “I hate office parties. Too loud. Too many people. Too much pretending we’re all having fun.”
Relief floods my stomach as I nod. “Agreed.”
She blinks. “Really?”
