“Now I smell like chemicals,” I complained. “I need a shower.”
“I could help you wash that off,” he said, his voice low in my ear.
44
Owen
Holly blushed slightly at the comment.
“I should probably not,” she demurred.
My phone rang. It was Mace Svensson. “Come see me tonight,” I told her before I answered.
She went even redder, and her eyes were dilated and little glassy.
I went upstairs to my office to take the conference call with Mace and Garrett about the gene therapy facility. I was only half paying attention, though. The rest of my attention was on planning a perfect evening for Holly. It had to be flawless and romantic.
After the call was done, I ordered food from a nearby Italian restaurant. Then I went back to my condo to set up. The most important part of a plan was executing the details properly. I had a list of small touches that would elevate the evening into a memorable one.
Fire in the fireplace. Check. Intimate table for two. Check. Food delivered right on schedule. Check.
Then I turned on—shudder—Christmas carols. Holly would appreciate the touch, though.
As I changed clothes, I texted her a picture of me in a Santa hat and nothing else.
Owen:Dinner and yuletide entertainment?
Holly:You are literally my dream man. I'm going to eat Christmas cookies off of you, so be prepared!
And a perfect woman. Check.
I set the table and lit the Christmas candles and patted myself on the back for having had the foresight to order them. I checked my suit in the mirror. Perfect. Holly was going to be here any minute. The doorbell rang. Right on schedule.
I opened the door. There was Holly in what looked like a Rockette's outfit that consisted of a super-short red-velvet-and-fur–trimmed coat. She had a party horn in her mouth and blew it at me when I opened the door.
“I brought peppermint schnapps and eggnog-flavored vodka. It's disgusting!” she said cheerfully. Her enthusiasm flagged a little bit as she looked me up and down.
“I guess I seriously misread the Christmas-themed nude photo you sent me, because this is not the evening I pictured.”
“I have a nice evening planned,” I said, leading her inside the condo.
She whistled. “Yeah, a seriously nice evening.”
I pulled the chair out for her.
“I am not dressed right,” she said, opening the bottle of peppermint schnapps and taking a swig. The candles flickered. “Seriously misread it,” she muttered.
“There's antipasti,” I informed her.
She took another swig of the peppermint schnapps. “Where’s the Santa hat you were wearing earlier?”
“I thought you might want to be wined and dined first,” I said. I took the schnapps away and poured her a glass of wine.
“I mean, I came here to get fucked. I have all the tree sap out of my hair, and I even took a shower. I’m raring to go.”
“And here I planned this nice dinner date,” I said, leaning back in my chair.
Her eyes narrowed. “I feel like you're teasing me. All the dirty, flirty comments. Now you're Mr. Three-Course Dinner and Two Hundred-Dollar Bottle of Wine.”
