“Oh, come on.” I shake the hat at him. “You know you want to. ’Tis the season.”
For a second, he hesitates. He actually hesitates! Like he’s considering it.
I have many Dread Lord fantasies that’ve gotten me through the past five years. The most delusional is that, deep in the depths of his black heart, Piers Lord enjoys my relentless cheer. I’m the sunshine to his grumpy, the golden retriever to his black cat. He complains, but he knows he needs me to bring a little light into his life.
And I love that. I love being his little light bringer. I make it my personal mission to add a dash of joy to our sixteen-hour work days, and it’s working. The Dread Lord eats, breathes, and sweats money, but he’s been lightening up a little since Marty died.
So this moment, where he’s considering dressing up for a holiday he loathes just for me? I’ll treasure it.
All too soon, the moment ends.
“Absolutely not.”
“Can I at least wear mine?”
“Only if you want it to end up feeding the fire.”
I gasp. He wouldn’t really throw my hat on the fire, would he? I decide not to risk it and tuck both hats away. “Bah humbug,” I whisper.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. I was singing a Christmas carol.” I hum a few bars of “Kiss Me Like It’s Christmas.”
“Well, stop it.”
So, not only is he not going to enjoy the Christmas spirit, he’s going to suck the joy out of me, too? Just another day in the life of the Dread Lord’s lowly assistant.
If I had time to have friends, they’d ask me why I don’t quit. My massage therapist asked me once after she dug the boulders out of my shoulders. I told her that I barely graduated highschool, but I make bank being the administrative assistant to the devil.
At least it’s warm in hell.
“You know, some people get Christmas off,” I say.
“You do get Christmas off.” Piers helps me with my coat, his smirk making a mockery of his etiquette.
“The whole weekend.” I resist the urge to stop my boots on the maple parquet floor. “Christmas Eve and Christmas.”
He turns from hanging our coats in the closet and stalks toward me, his gaze running up and down my body. His mother’s eyes are famous, a light brown that was almost golden, and the Dread Lord inherited them, down to the long, black lashes.
I keep my chin high, resisting the urge to shrink back. He can’t find fault with my outfit. This job gives me an unlimited wardrobe budget, and I’ve always used it, mostly at brands in the Lord Ltd. portfolio. But for the past few months, I’ve worked hard to glow up even more. My flawless skin, hair, makeup, and clothes are my armor.
Everyone’s noticed… except the Dread Lord. I tell myself it doesn’t matter; I didn’t do it for him.
But I’m lying. My only consolation is that, if he’s that oblivious to me, he hasn’t noticed my pathetic crush.
The Dread Lord is still looking me up and down. I know he’s searching for weakness, but a part of me is preening. He has this way of focusing on someone so they feel like they’re the only person in the world. It’s a superpower, and I’m by no means immune. Tingles spread over my body. I keep my face composed, but inside, I’m ready to combust.
Dear Santa, please keep my nipples from showing through this sweater dress.
Finally, he finds something to criticize. “Red boots?”
“For Christmas.” I pose with exaggerated cheer. I love my bright red boots. They’re the height of fashion but also scream, “Don’t fuck with me, or I’ll drive this stiletto through your eyeball.” Which is the sort of sartorial statement I like to make when I’m at work.
He presses his lips together but doesn’t respond. He’s looking intently at me, and again, I fight the urge to squirm. I’ve spent four years, eleven months, and twenty-six days tuning into his moods so I can read all his expressions, but I’ve never seen this one before.
I can’t stand the intensity of his scrutiny, so I turn to the wall of windows. Outside, the snow is falling faster.Storm of the century,all the headlines said.
I bite my lip. “They’re calling for more inches.”
