“I took part in the Secret Santa exchange. That’s enough forced holiday cheer for one quarter.”
“That was Christmas. This is Valentine’s Day. Completely different holiday.” He was practically jogging to keep up with my longer stride. “And it’s not one gift. It’s four gifts. One for each week of February. Small tokens of appreciation and affection among colleagues. Team building.”
I stopped walking and turned to face him. “Lucas, I’m not doing it.”
“Please?” He actually clasped his hands together like he was begging. “Everyone is participating. Even Allie from accounting, and she once told me she thinks Valentine’s Day is a capitalist conspiracy designed to sell chocolate and flowers.”
“Allie sounds wise.”
“Dane.” He shifted the pink and red bucket he’d been carrying around all day. I had seen it in the conference room. Little paper hearts were sticking out of the top. “It’s good for morale. The CEO participating shows he cares about company culture.”
Anger burned through the weary fog in my brain. “I care about company culture. I’m the only reason all these people have jobs in the first place. And I pay competitive salaries and offer excellent benefits.”
“Money isn’t everything.”
“Said no one who’s ever actually needed it,” I muttered, but I could feel my resolve weakening. This was Lucas’s superpower, wearing people down through sheer persistence and strategic deployment of guilt. He would have made a good hostage negotiator.
He must have sensed the crack in my armor because he pressed forward. “Four itty-bitty little gifts. That’s it. You don’t even have to choose the gifts yourself. Delegate that shit. Just put your name in the bucket.”
I stared at him. He stared back, completely unfazed by what I’d been told was an intimidating glare.
“I have actual work to do and this conversation is eating into my already limited time,” I said finally. “Fuck it. Give me the bucket.”
His face lit up like I just told him Christmas was coming twice this year. He thrust the bucket toward me with both hands, nearly dropping it in his enthusiasm. “You’re a poet and you don’t know it.”
I reached in without looking and pulled out a folded piece of paper. The name was written in looping handwriting, feminine and careful.
I stared at the name for a moment and inwardly sighed. “Can I pick again?”
“Not on my watch,” Lucas said. “Who are we to defy the whims of fate?”
I folded the paper and slipped it into my pocket. “Happy?”
“Ecstatic. You’re a good sport, Dane Kavanagh.”
“I’m really not.”
“Agree to disagree.” He was already backing away, probably sensing he should quit while he was ahead. “I’ll see you bright and early for the commercial rehearsal. Five a.m. sharp. Don’t be late!”
“When have I ever been late?” I retorted.
“I’m just saying, Heidi wants to do a full run-through before the actual shoot.”
“Alright, already,” I groaned.
“And wear something nice but not too nice, because you’ll be changing into your on-camera outfit anyway.”
“I’m no longer listening to you,” I said.
“And try not to look like you’re being marched to your own execution. We’re selling love here, remember? You’re supposed to look happy.”
“I’ll be happy when you’re gone.”
He laughed and finally left, taking his damn bucket with him.
CHAPTER 3
INA
