“Vermont is not the North Pole. We’re nearly twenty-five hundred kilometers from the Arctic Circle.”
“What’s that in miles?” I ask because any reference tononsensical American metricsdrives him crazy.
I reach for my suitcase, but the Dread Lord lifts it out of my reach. I slip and nearly fall again. He catches me with his free hand, and without any apparent effort, he guides me and my suitcase all the way to the grand oak doors.
“Don’t worry, Wellesley, you’ll be home for Christmas. We’ll be done with the deal with All Cap by midnight. The jet will return you to your hovel, where you can dine on cold Chinese takeout and watch horrible holiday movies to your heart’s content.”
I press my lips together to suppress a grin. Maybe I have some wires crossed, but getting roasted by the Dread Lord only leaves me warm and toasty.
Besides, he’s right about the cold Chinese takeout. His zingers aren’t just eloquent, they’re accurate, which is why they truly sting. If I were home, I would be eating leftovers in front of the TV. I’ll never admit it, but I’d also probably still be on my laptop. I have to stay on top of my inbox in my off hours, or I’d be buried under an avalanche of emails every Monday morning.
“Thank you, milord.” I feign a Cockney accent. If he wasn’t propping me up, I’d drop into a curtsey just to annoy him.
“Cheeky peasant.”
My insides warm like I’ve drunk mulled wine. I love our inside jokes. Piers pretends he hates them, of course, but that’s part of the fun.
He mutters something under his breath about ‘a poor excuse for picking a man’s pocket every twenty-fifth of December.’ Ithink he’s actually quoting directly from Dickens, so props to him.
Once we’re inside the house, the warmth embraces me, and I can breathe again. Now that I’m not turning into an icicle, I can appreciate how beautiful the mansion is. The entryway opens to a sitting room with couches and lounge chairs in front of a wall of windows. The caretaker must have just left, because a fire is crackling in the huge stone fireplace.
“Wow,” I say. “This is amazing.”
The Dread Lord frowns, looking around like he’s missed something.
I gesture to the cozy-looking couches and the snowy landscape showcased by three stories of glass. “The house. The view. This place is beautiful.”
He stalks forward, facing the big picture windows. In his black pea coat and big leather gloves, his copper skin glowing in the firelight, he looks like a true Dread Lord surveying his kingdom. “I suppose it will do.”
Of course, he’s not impressed. He’s used to this sort of luxury. He was born into wealth, emancipated from his parents at age seventeen to access his trust and 10xed his net worth since then. Working for him means travelling via private jet to some of the best and most beautiful cities and buildings in the world, but I hope I never get used to it.
The caretaker also took care to remove any holiday decor, as per my hastily emailed instructions three hours ago. There’s not a sign of a Christmas tree, tinsel, or mistletoe. No signs of Hanukkah, like dreidels or a menorah, either.
I’m patting myself on the back for making sure nothing would incur the Dread Lord’s wrath, when I notice his back has stiffened. He’s staring at something outside the windows, and I hurry over to see what it is.
A huge fir tree stands alone on the slope beyond the oversized wooden deck. It has to be over forty feet tall, and it’s covered in colorful lights that shine against the gray sky.
Oh well. The caretaker removed most of the holiday decor.
My boss’s face has turned to stone. His lips press together as he glares at the tree like his eyes are about to shoot lasers and incinerate the last sign of festive cheer.
“Do you want me to run out there and rip down the lights?” I ask, and hold my breath. Because if he says yes, I’ll have to do it, and I have no idea how to levitate forty feet in the air.
He presses his lips together and shakes his head. Internally, I breathe a sigh of relief.
I love Christmas. My mom and I didn’t have much growing up, but she always made the holidays special.
From what I can gather, the Dread Lord has no fond memories of this time of year. His parents had a frosty divorce, and once it was done, they immediately started new families and ignored the son they had made together. I imagine the Dread Lord as a little boy, abandoned at boarding school all winter. Forgotten by his family.
But maybe it’s time to make new memories. That’s where I come in.
“I guess this is as good a time as any for this.” I unzip the front pocket of my suitcase, pull out a Santa hat, and put it on. “Tada! A bit of holiday cheer.”
The Dread Lord looks at me like I just killed a kitten in front of him.
“I got one for you, too.” I pull out a second hat and hold it out to him. I’m risking my life here, but it’s worth it to see him trying to hide his shock.
“No.”
