I appreciate the compliment, but at the same time, I don’t appreciate that he looks so hot while complimenting me and insulting my elf costume at the same time. It’s complicated. “Thank you. I’m not wearing my costume at the moment, but I did bring it with me in this garment bag because I have a kid’s party that starts at four. I’ll have to leave here at three fifteen.”
He gestures for me to enter the front office and then follows me in, saying, “That is unacceptable.”
“Why?” This front room is tastefully decorated in a clean, bright mid-century-modern style that doesn’t quite go with the art deco of the building and absolutely clashes with the dark, odious swamp that is Elijah’s personality. There are four large framed posters of the very high-grossing feature films he has produced. In eight years. One of which he won an Academy Award for. It’s unbelievable. Infuriating. But impressive nonetheless. And just as I suspected—there isn’t one holiday decoration in here. Not one of any kind.
“Because I don’t want to accept that.” He places the duffel bag on the floor next to the desk that I assume I will be seated at today. “I need you here. You said you’d be here today.” He takes the garment bag from me and hangs it on a coat rack.
“I didn’t say I’d be here all day.”
He exhales spitefully. “Right. I almost forgot. Even if you said you’d be somewhere that doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll show up.”
Oh, for crying out loud.
So he’s still mad about that?
After eight years.
After having a child and a marriage.
I’mthe bad guy.
Well, I won’t engage. I will diffuse his anger with logic. And good-smellingness. And this sweater dress. I place both hands on my hips, drawing his attention to them. “You need me hereafter three fifteen on a Sunday, even if we work for nearly five hours before then?”
Staring at my waist and my hips, he says, “I need you to be available in case I need you here at any time of the day or night.”
As I bend down to adjust the zipper on my boot, I ask, “May I inquire what it is you need me to be available to do for you here?”
He clears his throat. “I require you to listen to me vent while I pace around, and I want you to spitball ideas with me.”
“Got it. Well, you can record voice memos and then text them to me. I can respond to your messages when I have time after the party.”
He scrunches up his face as thoughthat’sthe most ridiculous thing either one of us has said today. “I’m not going to pay you a hundred dollars an hour to listen to my voice memos.”
“Then I won’t charge you to send them to me, but I also won’t listen to them.”
“Why are you being difficult?”
“I’m pretty sure you’re the one who’s being difficult, Mr. Abrams. I have a previous engagement that I am honoring, because I’m reliable, and I will be leaving here at three fifteen. I’m here now, so would you like to continue to spend this time complaining to me about me, or would you like to do some other kind of work? Because you keep telling everyone you have a deadline and you make it sound like this deadline is extremely important. Probably more important than arguing with me about what time I’m going to leave today.”
His nostrils flare, and I mean, he has a really sensual nose even when he isn’t enraged, but his nose is alarmingly attractive when he’s frustrated with me. Or however it is I’m making him feel right now. “All right. Fine. Let’s get to work.”
“Let’s do this!” I lift the duffel bag up onto the desk and unzip it.
Even before I removeonethirty-six-inch pre-lit artificial Christmas tree with plaid bows and an angel on top, he says, “No.”
“Please?! I have all these decorations, and my housemate won’t let me put them up at our house because it doesn’t match his! I thought you said the project you’re working on is a Christmas movie.”
He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “It’s supposed to be a Christmas movie, yes.”
“Well, how do you expect to get into the Christmas spirit with all of thenoChristmas decorations around your office?”
“I don’t need props to get me into the holiday spirit, Curly.” He taps at his temple. “Christmas is a state of mind—you know that.”
I blink at him twice, the way I saw his adorable son do it last night. “Can I please just put this one tree on this desk?” I pout.
His eye twitches. His nostrils flare again. He snarls. “Fine.”
“And then I will decorate your office.”
