First, telling Abby to “carry on…”
Seriously, who even says that? I cringe so hard I nearly strain my shoulder muscles. If only I could blame the words on some earworm from a radio station that plays oldies, but nope, I just had to channel my inner Mr. Darcy meets Michael Scott, didn’t I?
And then I nearly laughed at what her cat did. I mean, a video of that proud gray furball on the tree would easily go viral on social media. I almost said as much, but thankfully, my “carry on” comment stopped me from saying more than the bare minimum.
Oh, for the love of all that’s holy, Abby would be the one who witnessed my verbal face-plant. The universe clearly has it in or me. And her cat, too. I noticed its narrowed gaze when I stared at Abby.
My crush on her—an employee, as my brain screams at me every five seconds—has gone from a gentle simmer to a full-blown boil since I first saw her in July. That’s when I was unceremoniously dumped into this office to clean up the Category 5 disaster that was Mr. Patella’s reign of incompetence.Seriously, how does one man manage to file every single document under M for “Miscellaneous”?
I never managed employees before because I prefer working with numbers. I excelled at doing computational analysis, but Grandpa said I needed management experience for when I take over the company. Not that he plans to retire anytime soon, which is why I wish he would have let me stay where I was. I don’t like being in charge of others. Numbers are so much easier to understand than human beings. They don’t talk back or make my heart go pitter-patter like Abby does, either.
For months, I’ve tried to keep my distance from Abby, but it’s like she’s a magnet, and I’m a helpless paperclip. The more I avoid her, the more I want to be near her, possibly to sniff her hair like some creepy horror-movie stalker. I’ve always prided myself on my ironclad discipline and self-control, but where Abigail Sinclair is concerned, I have all the willpower of a toddler in a candy store.
She’s not only intelligent and hardworking. She’s even better with numbers than I am. And don’t get me started on her beauty. Those soulful brown eyes, flecked with spots of amber, reduce me to a babbling idiot faster than you can say “HR violation.” And then her full lips easily curve into a smile for everyone in the office—the janitor, the FedEx guy, probably even the office plants. But or me? Nada. Zip. The Sahara Desert of smiles. Which only makes me want her more.
I’m doomed.
If I had a snowball’s chance of being with Abby, I just melted it with a blowtorch. Our employee handbook might as well be titled101 Ways to Crush Your Office Crush. To avoid any whispers of favoritism, I’ve bent over backward not to treat Abby special, even going full drill sergeant on her and demanding twice as much from her than others. It’s not fair, but switching gears now would raise too many eyebrows.
The kicker?
Abby always knocks her assignments out of the park, leaving me slack-jawed and more smitten. My heart does a backflip while my brain screams, “Abort mission!”
Talk about being caught between a rock and a hard place—or, in this case, between HR policies and heart palpitations.
I need a distraction—preferably a woman with a pulse and a penchant for guys who can’t stop blushing around their coworker. A girlfriend would be perfect, except every woman I meet doesn’t compare to her. I should ask Grandpa to let me return to the corporate headquarters so I can put this unrequited love behind me.
This is what they mean by “love hurts,” right? Because my ego feels the burn like my cheeks.
A thunderous knock reverberates through my office like the Abominable Snowman is trying to break down my door. Or maybe it’s the Ghost of Christmas Future, here to show me the terrifying spectacle of a sexual harassment suit.
What if it’s Abby again?
I run my fingers through my hair and adjust my tie to appear professional. “Come in.”
The door swings open, and it’s Anna, her face pale. “Hey, boss. The weather reports predict a snowpocalypse hitting this afternoon. They’re advising people to go home now and avoid traveling unless absolutely necessary.”
Visions of employees trapped in snowbanks dance in my head. “Looks like the holiday shutdown is starting early. Tell everyone to pack up and have a great week off.”
My grandfather, bless his holiday-loving heart, believes Christmas should be spent with family, so he shuts the company down between December twenty-fifth and January first. A waste if you ask me since the stock market doesn’t close, but hey, who am I to argue with paid vacation time?
“Thank you, Mr. Barrington.” Anna sounds relieved. “If you want to head out, I can make sure to turn off the lights and lock up.”
“You have little ones at home who must be excited for Santa’s visit,” I say, appreciating the work she does for me. “Go home now. I’ll close up.”
Her eyes widen, and I restrain myself from cackling like I’ve had one too many holiday cocktails. Have I been channeling the Grinch or Scrooge? Maybe I’m their love child—the Grooge. I’ve heard employees’ not-so-subtle whispers painting me as the ultimate holiday party pooper after I axed the Secret Santa and Christmas lunch. Abby was the only one who spoke about it to my face, which was brave of her. But hey, with this apocalyptic winter weather and everyone leaving early, I’m practically Nostradamus in a Christmas tie.
Truth be told, canceling the office holiday party was completely self-serving. The mere thought of drawing Abby’s name sent my heart into a tinsel-tangled frenzy. The only gift I want to give her is a rock so big it would make the North Pole tilt—a dazzling Tiffany’s engagement ring that screams “marry me.” So, yes, I torpedoed the whole event faster than you can say “bah humbug.” Yes, that was selfish, but what can I say? I’m a hopeless romantic disguised as a Christmas killjoy.
“Thanks.” The word rushes out, as if Anna is afraid I’ll change my mind. I still have lots to learn about managing employees, but the one thing I am is consistent to a fault. “Have a merry Christmas.”
She hurries from my office before I can say, “Drive safe.”
Word spreads fast because soon the chatter of goodbyes and season’s greetings fills the lobby. I wish I could be as lighthearted, but I can’t forget the pile of work I need to do. I glance out the window. Not that I blame anyone for wanting to get home in this weather. The snow is falling faster. I’ll just takethings with me to work on at the hotel. I need a night of peace and quiet before I go home to the madness that is our Christmas Day.
As I pack up, my cell phone rings. Grandma’s name and her number light up my screen. I accept the call and hit the speaker button. “Merry Christmas, Grandma.”
“Harrumph.” I can practically see her frown radiating through the phone. “It’s not Christmas yet, and you know better.”
