“Sarah!” I called. “Get back in here.”
“What?” She appeared in the doorway. “What did I do?”
I felt instantly guilty. I never yelled at employees, but I had to get to the bottom of this. “I’m not sure. I thought I told you that I didn’t want to be part of that Secret Santa nonsense.”
“Yes, you did. And I didn’t include you. You didn’t even pick a name out of the Santa hat, remember?”
“Then how do you account for this?” I thrust the note toward her. “Read it.”
“Okay, I will. You don’t have to shout.”
“You’re right, but read it.” I leaned back in my seat, waiting and trying to ignore the scent of garlic and smoked meat. “Someone put me in the pool.”
She took the note from me and read it, frowning. “I don’t know, but you are 100 percent not on the spreadsheet.” Sarah pulled her phone from her blazer pocket, swiped the screen, and studied it. “Nope. Everyone but you.” She flushed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply…that is…”
“It’s fine, Sarah, but who brought this?”
“One of those delivery services, I think. Just some young guy with a skateboard under his arm.”
“Hmmm.” I rubbed my finger across the bag. “Chris’s Smokehouse. Whoever it is, they know what I like.” And the only people I’d mentioned Chris’s to were at Chained. But none of them would have done this. Most didn’t even know where my office was located. Bridger did. I sent Sarah back to her desk and picked up the phone.
Bridger answered on the second ring. “Hi, Vaughn. What’s up? I hope you’re not calling to invite me to lunch because I have a meeting in about ten minutes.”
“No. I have lunch. I thought you might know something about it. You didn’t send me a meal from Chris’s Smokehouse, did you?”
“Why would you even think…oh, I get it.” He chuckled. “Our little game the other night.”
“Right.” I tore the sack open, not able to resist any longer. “Is this a pity burger?”
“Vaughn, I can tell you in all honesty, I did not send you a pity or any other kind of burger. But I’m intrigued. Are there any clues? Did the delivery guy have any information?”
“It came with a note that said it was for me from my Secret Santa. Who else could it be? Nobody else who was there the other night has ever been to my office.”
“I can’t say, but you got a burger?” He chuckled. “I’m hungry. Where’s my Secret Santa burger? Wait…is it from that place we talked about?”
“Chris’s Smokehouse. And even the garlic parmesan fries.”
“Cosmic. Have you ever ordered that before at work…maybe mentioned it at some point because you were pretty passionate the other night.”
Oh.“I might have. Once or twice…”
“And there you go accusing a friend. Tsk. Now, I have to see if I can’t DoorDash from there because I’m deep into a new crochet pattern for Easter and I can’t stop long enough to go out. I really need a Secret Santa.”
“Funny guy.” I spread the bag on my desk, unwrapped the burger, and spread the fries next to it. “Even the aioli. I didn’t mention the aioli, did I?”
“No, but if the fries are garlic and the sauce is too, don’t go kissing anyone.”
“Like that’s going to happen.” He and Hudson were the smoochiest couple ever. “No kissing, but I do have a meeting. Lucky I keep breath mints in my desk because I am going to eat every bite of this and scoop up the last drop of the garlic mayo.” I surveyed my lunch and sighed. “I have to try to straighten out the Secret Santa business, but it would be a crime to waste this food. It’s not like they can take it back and serve it to someone else.”
“True. They can’t do that. I’ll let you eat, then. My order will be here in thirty-four to thirty-eight minutes. Enjoy!”
I said goodbye and disconnected before digging in to my bounty. I wasn’t sure the entire roll of breath mints would save the partners in the practice at our meeting, but at least I didn’t have any clients, because that would probably result in a malpractice suit that I’d deserve to lose.
I asked my business partners and checked with the personal assistants of those who employed them just to be sure, but every one of them denied getting my name in the Secret Santa drawing. My fear was that if someone got mine, I might havebeen assigned someone else’s, and they would not get their gifts, but Sarah double-checked for me when I stopped by her desk on the way home. She swore that all the others were covered and might have accused me of being a little paranoid. She might have been right.
Riding down in the elevator, I tried to breathe through my nose and avoid offending anyone, but since nobody glared, I assumed it was okay. And worth it, even if I had been glared at. Whoever sent that to me had really hit the right note, but I wished I knew who it was because one, I needed to clear up the misunderstanding that I was in a Secret Santa thing, and two, to say thank you. The vaguest inkling of Christmas spirit was flickering in the gloom of my holiday sadness, and while the grieving guy didn’t want that to happen, the counselor in me was forced to acknowledge that it was a good thing. Everyone needed to be sad for reasons like loss, but dwelling in it for two long, as I wisely informed my clients, could fester and create bigger problems.
Very easy to say—so much harder to accomplish.
