“I can’t for the life of me tell if you’re fucking with me or not.”
She giggles. “I mean. I still need to read the script. But it sounds like maybe it’s a parody.”
“It is not a parody. It’s a travesty.”
“Okay, boomer, calm down.”
I spot a red-and-white elf toy sitting next to my Grumpiest Dad trophy.
“How did that get there?”
Cleo smacks her lips together. “How did what get where?”
I go over to the credenza. “When did you put that elf there?”
She gets up to join me. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. What a charming little elf. What a delightful, joyful surprise!”
“You sneaky little minx.” God dammit. It is a delightful, joyful surprise. I am genuinely delighted right now.
She laughs.
I laugh.
“You are so weird,” I whisper, truly in awe, and then I take her face in my hands. I don’t mean to. I don’t mean to stare at her lips. She isn’t wearing lipstick today, but they’re glossy and they smell like strawberries. I also don’t mean to comb my fingers through her crazy, thick, curly hair. I definitely don’t want to lean down when I see her lips part, when I hear her gasp as she tilts her chin up toward me, but I do. I’m not drunk.There’s no mistletoe. There’s just a beautiful, strange girl who drives me crazy and more feelings than I know what to do with. I kiss her forehead. I kiss her right cheek. I kiss her left cheek. I feel her grip the lapels of my suit jacket again. I brush my lips against hers.
And then I hear a man’s voice call out from the outer office, “Hello?! Cleo!”
No.
I pull back and study Cleo’s face. Her expression is just as surprised and confused as I feel.
I step away from her, and we both wipe our lips with the backs of our hands.
“Mr. Abrams?” the man says.
And that’s when I realize it’s Simon, the security guard.
He pokes his head in through the open door to my office. That balding middle-aged head that sits atop a tall, lanky frame. He is perfectly nice, and I’ve had plenty of semi-decent conversations with him. But he’s holding two paper cups of coffee from Starbucks and smirking at my temp, and I might have to kill him.
“Hey there,” he says to Cleo. “Went on a coffee break and thought you might like a peppermint mocha . You said it’s your favorite.”
Seriously? She’s driven onto the lot one time, less than an hour ago, and the security guard is already in love with her.
“Oh, Simon, that is so sweet of you,” she coos as she walks over to the doorway to take the coffee from him. I can tell by the way she’s shuffling, with her thighs close together, that things are getting tight and wet between her legs, and I am not crazy. That is a fact, and it makes me really happy.
“No problem, Cleo.” Simon winks at her. “I’ll swing by again tomorrow if you’re here.”
Oh hell no.
Nice guy, buthellno.
If anyone on this lot is going to be creepy with Cleo Jones and buy her disgusting dessert-flavored seasonal coffee drinks, it’s me.
“That is so nice of you, Simon,” I say, bearing my teeth as if he’s a tourist who is blocking traffic to take pictures of a palm tree. “Really, so thoughtful.”
I’m about to give him a hundo dollars to go back to Starbucks and buy coffee for whoever is sitting in for him at the drive-on gate, but my phone buzzes in my pocket.
It’s the nanny calling. I completely forgot she’s dropping Paxton off because she has to go to her grandson’s birthday party and Alyssa is out shopping. “Valentina, are you here?” I ask when I pick up. She tells me she’s on the lot, pulled up in front of the building.
