“Thanks,” I smile as I sip my drink. “I read up on martini recipes then came up with one just for the party. I call it the Christmas Morning Martini.”
“It’s perfect. Is that cinnamon I taste?” she says sipping again.
“Maybe,” I wink. “I’ll never tell.” I’m about to confess the secret ingredient to her when our conversation is interrupted by the tinkling sound of silver against crystal.
“Time for his speech,” whispers Cammy. “He does this every year. Luckily, he’s a man of very few words.”
By he, Cammy means Gabriel Parker, architect to the rich and famous and owner of Parker and Associates. Yeah,thatParker and Associates. I take in a lung full of air and watch as Mr. Parker steps gingerly on top of one of the tables that I’ve decorated in the same Vintage Winter Wonderland theme, careful not to trample my hand-made paper decorations.
“Who’d he bring with him this year?” Cammy whispers in my ear.
I shrug. “I think I saw him with a tall blonde earlier, but I can’t be sure.”
“Hopefully it’s not his ex, Devin,” Cammy shivers, “She’s the worst. Her name should have been Devil, not Devin.”
I shrug again. I’ve heard, in the past, he’s brought dates to this party. He’s brought dates to the office too, after hours when he’s on his way to an event. He’s never with the same woman twice, but they always sort of look the same. Tall, gorgeous, thin, and when Gabriel’s not within earshot, they’re all bitchy too.
Nope. Not a one of them has ever been nice to me even though I smile and tell them how much I love their blouse or their hair or whatever. Nothing has worked to melt that icy exterior of Gabriel’s women. They just look down at me––literally and figuratively. No matter. He can date whomever he wants. If he marries one of them, then I’ll feel sorry for him.
Not that he deserves to marry someone awful. Gabriel Parker is one of those men who can walk into a room, and everyone stops talking. Why? Because he’s g-o-r-g-e-o-u-s. What can a girl say about Gabriel Parker except,dayum? The man is sex on a stick. Easily six foot three inches tall, he’s slim but muscular with broad shoulders and arms? “Oh, I’d love to lick his arms.”
“Huh?” asks a stunned Cammy.
Oops, I can’t believe I said that aloud. “Oh, nothing. Just hungry.” What am I talking about? I don’t want to lick my boss. Seriously. I don't. Let’s get back on track here. Let’s see… he’s got dark hair and deep green eyes that twinkle when he talks.
I’d love to tell you that he’s super nice and amiable, but the truth is, he’s sort of arrogant. He barely says a word to me when he walks past my desk. Since I sit at the front of his office greeting people and answering phones, you’d think he’d say something now and then. Instead, he strides past me in his fancy suits and expensive shoes swiping all of the Root Beer Barrel candies out of my candy dish as he passes. Nope. Mr. Parker barely gives me a nod.
The funny thing is, I always make sure I’ve got those candies in the bowl on my desk for him. And let me tell you, they aren’t easy to find––those root beer candies. They’re sort of from the olden days, and only certain stores carry them and those stores only carry them occasionally. There have been times I’ve spent an entire Saturday in search of them. I don’t know why I bother. It’s not that I fear his wrath or anything, it’s just that I sort of like that he takes the time to stop at my desk to grab them. It gives me a chance to see what he’s wearing and how he’s styled his hair, which needs a cut, by the way.
The other reason I keep candy on my desk is because of my office crush, Archie Bowman. The man has a sweet tooth that’s simply adorable. His favorites are Chocolate Smooches. I always have plenty on hand so he’ll stop by and eat a couple. He’s so shy; he barely talks to me. He nods as he pops the chocolates in his mouth and nods again when he leaves.
It’s okay. I’ll take what I can get. It’s not like I’m the kind of girl in which men like Archie Bowman are attracted. I’m what you’d call full-figured. Sure, some call it fat or chubby, but I hate those names. I’ll accept voluptuous, curvy, or Rubenesque. That last one is my favorite. It sounds so romantic and well, positive. Why does curvy have to be a bad thing? It doesn’t, but I have to remind myself every day that I’m ‘attractive, smart, loyal, and hardworking'. It’s my morning mantra. I have it with my coffee before I head to work.
As I look around the room, I smile. Here is a perfect example of my hard work and dedication to Parker and Associates. Hard work that’s about to be rewarded. Mr. Parker is many things––things I just mentioned including young, hot, sexy, opinionated, bossy, tall, and single. He’s also very appreciative––always making it a point to show how much he values everyone’s efforts. It’s why he has this party every year. He spends thousands on alcohol, food, and gifts for all of us. Besides what he’s got for us tonight, gift bags lined up like silver and gold soldiers on the conference room table, he also gave each of us a gift card to Watertower Place mall. See? Generous.
When he clears his throat, I scoot forward a little to get a better look. I’m only about five feet two inches but I’m wearing my sparkly holiday heels tonight, so I can see over a few heads. Speaking into the microphone I rented he says, “I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight. We’ve had another great year at Parker and Associates having created some truly spectacular projects both residential and commercial. Our success has everything to do with all of you here tonight.”
A few people clap, and Mr. Parker joins right in. “That’s right, give yourself a round of applause.”
We all clap. People turn to each other nodding and smiling accepting the credit that should rest solely on Mr. Parker’s shoulders. The only reason we get the big, important architectural projects in the first place is because Gabriel Parker is a superstar. ‘An Architectural Phenom,’ as Architecture Today magazine called him recently.
Once the clapping stops, he continues his speech; “I’d also like to thank Katya for her amazing work making this year's Christmas party the best yet and for picking out your gifts tonight.”
I blink a few times and then a few more. “Katya gets the credit?” hisses my friend. “Are you just going to let her get away with that, Lex?”
I shrug. “I’m not going to make a big deal about it. I’m just glad everyone likes it.” Okay, that’s a bald-faced lie. I’m hurt beyond words. I feel like I could cry over just that little slight.
“Bullshit,” snaps Cammy. “That bitch doesn’t deserve any of the credit.”
“Oh well. It is what it is,” I attempt to sound light-hearted. “Please don’t say anything to him. Let’s just have fun tonight. I need to let off some steam.” I look up again and see Katya on top of my table next to Gabriel. Her five-inch stilettos pierce one of the three-dimensional snowflakes that took me several hours to make.
Katya takes the microphone that will be used for Karaoke later and says, “Okay, everyone, your gifts are on the conference room table. Your names are written on each bag. Guys, you get gold bags, ladies, you’re silver. Grab your bag and come back to your spot. Do. Not. Open. Them, ” she commands. Ugh, she’s so bossy.
We all get in line to make our way into the conference room. When I find my bag, I clutch the handle and walk back to my spot.
“Okay, you can all open your bags now,” Katya says smugly.
She stands above everyone from her perch on top of the table as we pull out our gifts. “A sweater?” squeaks Cammy.
