“You don’t have too. All you have to do is follow my instructions and paint some smiling dolls,” he shot back.
“And if I don’t want to?” she asked quietly.
“Then you will be moved to another department, one where your negative attitude won’t reflect on what we do here. We have a mission and I’m here to make sure we stick to it.”
“I see.”
“I’m glad that you do,” he replied, eyeing her sharply. “That will be all, Ms. Mistletoe. You may go, but I’ll be watching you. I suggest you take my words to heart.”
Merry clamped her lips together. She’d been dismissed. Quickly she slipped to the floor, her heels tapping out her anger as she made her way to the door.
“And lose those shoes, Ms. Mistletoe. You know they are not allowed and neither are three pair of earrings. They present a hazard.”
Merry didn’t answer; she simply slipped through the door to his office and slammed it behind her a little harder than was necessary. She’d made up her mind about her new supervisor. Bartlett Bright was an opinionated jerk and she was going to take him down.
Bartlett leanedback in his chair and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. She was pretty, that much of what he’d heard about her was true. At nearly five feet she was tall for an elf but her curves were in all the right places. And that hair was amazing. It had a life of its own, long strands that caught the light every time she moved and he could not decide if it was silver or gold. She was also a gifted artist, but her attitude left a lot to be desired.
So some man, wait, elf, had done her wrong. It happened. He’d been dumped more than once in his life and survived. So would she. Letting it affect her work was a huge mistake, especially when what she did was so incredibly important. He would not sit back and let her ruin Christmas or her future.
A female elf could go places. Santa was not only open to females moving up in the organization, he encouraged it. Ms. Mistletoe had better come to her senses, or she’d find herself stuck wrapping packages. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. No one with her talent should be shuffled off to stuffing red sacks. He intended to see that didn’t happen to this angry little elf one way or another.
Surprisingly,he found himself thinking about her as he went about his duties for the day. She was not without appeal on several levels, and he couldn’t help wondering what she would look like with a smile on her pretty bow-shaped lips. Her lipstick was frosty pink and for some odd reason he was positive those lips would taste like peppermint. Several times during the day he found himself daydreaming about just that, pulling her petite body close and taking an inordinate amount of time tasting her. In the end, his fantasies regarding her annoyed the hell out of him. As a rule, elves were charming little imps, full of fun, impetuous and quite endearing.
Most were submissive, he liked that. Having lived their lives in service and following orders, defiant female elves were rare, yet it did not take away from their appeal, at least not for him. In fact, he enjoyed a challenge and that might be part of the problem. He realized Ms. Mistletoe was going to be difficult. He felt fairly confident he could handle anything she threw at him, fairly being the key word. Never had he allowed a woman, elf or otherwise, to affect his work ethic, yet she seemed to be able to occupy his mind. Finally he hopped on a tram and took a ride over to the doll factory. It might be better to check up on her instead of letting her consume his thoughts.
Merry surveyedthe faceless dolls stacked up on her worktable. To her they were like nameless children, waiting for a home. It saddened her. She preferred to work alone and in relative quiet but for some soft music playing on her headset.
Most of her life she’d listened to Christmas songs, and there were literally thousands of playlists to choose from, but lately she preferred instrumentals. Her sorrow and sense of betrayal would have been evident to anyone who bothered to tap into her headset and listen.
Bartlett did justthat as he watched her from the catwalk around her studio, unobserved. She was working on a ginger haired, full-figured doll suitable for an older girl, the kind that came with dozens of outfits for any occasion.
Diligently Merry worked, clearly entranced in what she was doing. At first Bartlett thought their little talk had made a difference. Merry gave her full red lips, gently sloped eyebrows and he smiled from his perch. Then with a few strokes of her brushes the doll became something other than lovely. Her expression suddenly took on a sly and satisfied demeanor. She added slight touches to her pretty wide eyes, narrowing them and giving the doll a calculating and somewhat devious appearance.
Damn, she was talented, he thought shaking his head. A true artist, she would have made millions painting portraits anywhere in the world but where she resided.
Merry dressed the doll in a revealing outfit that would never have passed muster with the big boss, one that would have given Mrs. Claus fits, and set her aside. Then she began working on the male counterpart. Typically, they came in a set. A male and female, imaginary playmates guaranteed to inspire true love for some lucky young lady. At some point, there would be a wedding and a happily ever after, if the family dog didn’t get one of them, or they didn’t lose their heads to a younger brother. Eventually, they would end up in a box in the basement or attic, taken out now and again by their owner to reminisce about her childhood.
Bartlett watched and knew with one hundred percent certainty these particular dolls would never make it out of the North Pole. The male doll, while perfectly formed was being given an exceedingly stupid expression. Clueless, his chin was weakened by her brush until Bartlett thought she should finish it by putting a ring through the doll’s nose and handing ginger hair a leash.
“Hell,” he murmured, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. Is that how she saw it all? Was that truly the way it went down, the destruction of her marriage? Was Bernard Breadhouse so stupid he couldn’t see what was right before his eyes? Well, maybe Merry was right. Maybe Bernard was a moron and Ginger a sultry seductress he was too weak to resist. If so, he wasn’t nearly good enough for Merry!
The thought shocked him. When had he become her defender? While he’d admired her work, he only met her this morning. Maybe he was as stupid as poor Bernard? Bartlett felt her pain and shame at being pushed aside. He wanted to go down there and pick her up in his arms, offering comfort and support. At the same time he wanted to give her a shake and tell her to get over it. The elf ex-husband wasn’t worth one of the silvery droplets that slipped down her cheeks as she finally set the doll aside and brushed her face free of glistening tears.
Bartlett watched silently as she placed the dolls in a cupboard and locked the door. Clearly they were not for others to see but something she had to get off her chest. Merry picked up another doll and studied her for a few minutes. She was Native American and squaring her shoulders she began to work. Mesmerized, Bartlett watched as she painted the lovely face of the Indian maiden, giving her a smooth warm complexion, beauty, strength and some wisdom. Her beautiful dark eyes reflected a bit of sadness, but also pride. When Merry set her aside she was perfect.
He watched Merry take off her apron and leave her studio, heading to the station set up for hot chocolate and cookies. She filled a dainty cup and took a seat off by herself. On impulse, he descended the stairs and joined her, taking a seat at her table with a mug of cocoa and a small plate of cookies.
She eyed him warily and he smiled.
“The Indian Maiden is lovely,” he stated smoothly.
“You’ve been spying on me,” she accused heatedly.
“Observing, it’s my job,” he qualified, ignoring her snort and eye roll.
“How long were you watching?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.
“Long enough. Is that how you see them?”
