So much for spreading holiday cheer. I set aside my sinking spirits, grab the laptop bag, and scurry after him.
Only five and a half more hours, then I can go home.
CHAPTER 2
Light blazes in my face, too white and too bright. I surface from sleep in stages. I’m in a California king bed, lying with my head turned toward the window. The blinds are up, and the sun is blazing over the mountains, the rays bouncing off the snow, blinding.
I sit up, wiping drool from my mouth. I’m still wearing my sweater dress and Christmas kitten socks, but my boots are off. I remember sneaking my bra off around ten last night and hoping the Dread Lord wouldn’t notice how loose my boobs were under my dress. But I don’t remember leaving the workroom or climbing into a bed. Someone must have carried me upstairs and tucked me in.
Piers must have. He’s the only one here. That was… kind. Not very “Dread Lord” of him at all.
Then I realize what I’m looking at. The lone Christmas tree outside is covered in mounds of fluffy white, but I don’t remember that much snow on it the night before.
“Oh no. No, no no no nono,” I chant under my breath as I run downstairs. My socks make me skid on the polished wood floors, so I crash into the front door.
I pull it open and stare in dismay at the snow piled outside the door. The driveway is covered with at least two feet of snow.
How did it snow this much? I thoughtStorm of the Centurywas a hyperbole.
My last memory from last night was tiptoing to the windows to peek behind the blinds. The sliver of glass showed thick snowflakes falling at a furious rate. I remember feeling despair, then hope because Piers told me he’d make sure I was home for Christmas.
Now I have the sinking feeling that he was wrong.
“Wellesley?”
Speak of the Dread Lord, and he shall appear. He’s still in his suit, although he’s taken off his suit jacket. His white button-down is no more rumpled than it was last night, and not one strand of his glossy black hair is out of place.
Whereas I’m sure I look like something a cat puked up. I don’t need to glance at a mirror to know I look a mess. I get horrible bedhead, like I’ve been electrocuted, and day-old mascara always gives me raccoon eyes.
To his credit, the Dread Lord doesn’t react with disgust at my appearance. He frowns at the open door. “What are you doing?”
I’m hyperventilating, too upset to speak. This isn’t like me. I don’t usually lose it like this. The high stakes of my job have taught me how to hide my feelings. Inside, I’m a bunch of ADHD-and-anxiety-ridden squirrel in a trench coat, but outside, I am zen.
But not today. Right now, I’m on the verge of a full-blown freakout.I’m supposed to be home for Christmas.Instead of answering my boss, I look out at the snowy drive and then back at him.
“There are easier ways to check the weather.” He pulls out his phone and glances at it. “Seems we got six inches per hour. Broke a few records. I checked with the plows. They’re stuck.”
“Stuck,” I repeat. “The snow plows.”
“It’s quite a bit of snow.”
The heat vent by the door is blasting hot air on my head, but it doesn’t stop the icy wind from blowing through me. I’m too cold to even shiver. My hand is about to freeze to the doorknob, but I can’t move. My brain is glitching. “We’re snowed in. You said I’d be able to go home today.”
“Come now, Wellesley. I know you think I am all-powerful, but even I don’t control the weather.”
“You were wrong, and you’re never wrong. I trusted you.” My lower lip trembles. “You said I would be able to go home for Christmas. You promised.” I sound like I’m five, but I can’t help it. I feel like I’m five and finding out Santa isn’t real.
It’s ridiculous. I should never have believed him. But I did. I put my faith in him.
And he betrayed me.
“Close the door, Wellesley, it’s freezing.”
I slam the door so hard it bounces open again. A little snow falls on the beautiful wood floors. Normally, I’d feel bad about that, but I’m too upset.
The Dread Lord mutters something to himself as he prowls forward. I move out of his way, and he closes and locks the door.
“You’re shivering,” he chides.
