by Lauren Runow
“Right,” I say as sure as someone who is really anxious about this awesome opportunity.
A calmness overcomes Branson as he rests an arm on the desk and stares back at me. His piercing blue eyes hold mine steady, and I have to swallow with how unnerving his smoldering stare makes me feel. “I always knew you were special.”
“Thank you. You’ve been a great boss.”
“You say that like you’re leaving me.” He sounds offended. I open my mouth to correct myself, but he laughs and places a hand on top of mine. It’s smooth, like silk. “I’m teasing. You’re ready for the next opportunity that opens up.” He pauses, and with the sincerest of tones, he says, “I only want the very best for you.”
“That means the world to me.”
In slow, languid movements, he sits back fully and looks at me. His hand lifts a pen from the desk, and he twirls it between his fingers. “Do you remember the first time I asked you for tea? You called every teahouse in the city until you found one that could run up a teakettle and china within the half hour, so you could present me with a proper English tea. It was the kindest thing anyone has done for me since I moved to America.”
“Well, you didn’t seem like a Starbucks kinda guy,” I joke.
“I could be, you know. I might come off as all prim and proper, but I like to relax sometimes. Work can be quite stressful, and you are always there to make me feel at ease.”
His words are like warm honey, and I want to bask in their sweetness. This is what I love about this man. His gentle demeanor and charismatic manner are what I’ve always wanted.
“I was just trying to be a good assistant.”
His reaches over and squeezes my hand, his fingers moving just slightly into my palm and sending a zing up to my chest. “You’re much more, Katherine.”
A sound escapes my lips. I’m pretty sure it’s a whimper. Yes, I just whimpered at the sweet words my boss had just said.
On that note, before I embarrass myself any further, I stand and lift the binder, handing it to Branson, who is getting up from his chair as well.
“I’ll leave you to continue reviewing these.”
His fingers run over the numbers on the page as I walk around the desk and toward the doorway.
“Did you have a good date last night?” He stops me mid-step.
“Date?” I ask, confused. Oh, right. “Yes, Hunter and I went to Tavern on the Green. It was so beautiful with the garland strung from the rafters, and the tree was glistening in gold. It really puts you in the holiday spirit.”
He looks up at me, eyes narrowing slightly as his head tilts to the side. “Let me guess. It was your idea.”
I laugh lightly. “How’d you know?”
Branson abandons the report and turns, resting his hip against the desk. “Hunter isn’t exactly the holiday-spirit kind of chap.”
“He likes it more than he lets on,” I say a tad dreamily as I think of what he said about his family.
A Johnstone family holiday sounds like it could be pretty special. From his mom’s cooking to his lewd uncle and his grandma who falls asleep everywhere, it sounds pretty fantastic actually.
“Just make sure you don’t get pissed on nog around him. Women tend to give in to his charms a little too easily.”
I let out an exasperated sigh. “People change. Sometimes, you find love in the most unexpected places.”
His forehead wrinkles with the baffled face he makes. “You love him?”
“Oh God, no! That was just … an expression. You know, people meet in the workplace all the time and fall in love. That’s what I meant. Not that he and I are. You and I could. Fall in love. Shoot. I am just walking all over myself right now.” I slap myself on the forehead and fight the embarrassment, burying my face deep into my palm.
Branson doesn’t make a sound. He does this often, as if he’s trying to decode my words into his proper British rhetoric. It makes me wonder why I even speak sometimes.
“What are your plans this Thursday night?” Branson’s question has me snapping out of my pondering and dropping my hand to look at him.
“That’s Christmas Eve,” I explain.
He steps back with a nod. “Yes, well, I spend the holiday with some friends. Nothing big. Just a dinner at Adour, followed by drinks and shenanigans. I thought perhaps you’d like to join me.”
“On Christmas Eve?” I state again, this time slowly.
It’s not that I don’t want to be asked out by Branson on Christmas Eve. I mean, this is exactly what I’ve been yearning for, for so long. And yet here he is, and … well, I’m just … confused.
“Yes. Right.” He adjusts his tie and turns to walk away but stops and turns around to face me again. “You have plans with family, I take it?”
I tilt my head at him, puzzled. “My family’s in Ohio.”
For a man who’s been my employer for two years, I’m surprised he’s staring at me like this is the first time he’s learning this.
“So, you’re stag?” He raises his brows in interest.
“Kind of.” I lift a hand as I explain, “I’m volunteering at a soup kitchen at the men’s home on Bowery.”
His mouth puckers like I said something awful. “Why would you do something like that?”
I’m taken aback by his comment. My mouth parts in surprise as I take in his reaction, waiting for him to clarify himself. He doesn’t.
“Spend the holiday with me.”
“With you?” I ask, bewildered. “You want me to spend Christmas Eve with you?” Yes, I’m asking this again because … well, I’m confused.
“It was a simple request, love.” The eager smile that graces his face baffles me.
I run a hand over my head and close my eyes. I’d be a foolish girl to get my hopes up. “I would love to assist you on Christmas Eve, but I made a commitment.”
“That’s just silly,” he says with a laugh.
“It’s not really. I promised—”
“Why would I ask you to spend a holiday with me as my assistant? I’m not asking as your boss. I’m asking you as a man. A man asking a woman to spend Christmas Eve with him.”
My entire being freezes.
My heart stops.
My brain has ceased thinking of anything coherent to say.
My nerves are at a standstill.
The beautiful question I’ve dreamed of being asked by Branson Ford is right here on his lips. He’s just a man, asking a girl to spend Christmas Eve with him. God, it’s so Notting Hill that I might just melt on the carpet.
Yes. The word is at the tip of my tongue, and yet something holds me back.
“Like a date?” I ask.
“Sure, but not in a romantic way. Just more that we won’t be boss and assistant. Just people. Humans, celebrating a holiday. Together.”
While it’s not the grand proposal I’ve been dreaming of, it’s the closest Branson has ever come to seeing me as anything but the girl who types up his reports. If it were any other day, I’d say yes, but I’ve never been one to back away from an obligation.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t back out on volunteering.”
He nods his head as he slides his hands into his pockets. “No, that’s not like you.” He raises his finger in the air, as if he’s come up with a master plan. “You won’t be there all night. I’ll send a car for you when you’re done. Actually, you’ll have to book said car, as I have no idea how to physically do that. Meet us for the drinks and shenanigans portion. You won’t regret it.”
Branson Ford wants to have shenanigans with me on Christmas Eve. My heart is beating again, the blood rushing through my body and up into my head, making me dizzy.
“Yes,” I blurt out.
It’s such a surprising turn of events. Two nights ago, he was leaving a holiday party with another woman, and now, he’s here, asking me out for one of the most important days of the year.
I bite my lip and think of Hunter. This was all part of his master plan, wasn’t it?
He knew Branson would look at me in a different light if he saw I was attractive to someone else.
Hunter Johnstone is a genius.
He’s also a sneak. Because while I should be deliriously happy about Branson’s invitation, Hunter has infiltrated my thoughts, and the only thing I can think of right now is the way his dimples appear when he smiles that very deviant smile.
His game worked, and I should be thankful. Except … why am I suddenly feeling like I’ve been chasing after the wrong man all this time?
Chapter Seven
Of my many traits, I’d say my work ethic is by far one of my most admirable. This opportunity Branson is presenting me with is once in a lifetime. An executive assistant hardly gets an audience with the shareholders to discuss her research, let alone have her boss campaign for her next position. Having Branson’s faith in me leaves me not only wanting to succeed for myself, but also not wanting to let him down.
I’ve been staying late in the office, working on my PowerPoint presentation, and I got up bright and early to be back in. I’m reading it for the hundredth time when there’s a knock on the office door.
“I heard a little worker was burning the midnight oil last night,” Hunter croons as he strolls into the room, with two to-go cups. He takes a seat at the chair near my desk and holds one of them up to me. “I thought you could use some caffeine.”
I swivel over to him and take the drink. “And who told you this bit of info?”
“A man never reveals his sources. But since you’re pressing me about the issue, I’ll tell you, it was Frank, down at Security.”
I grin over my drink as I take a sip. It’s mocha peppermint, my favorite. I’d make a comment about it, but as I’ve learned so well, Hunter pays attention to my likes, dislikes, and mannerisms. Heck, he seems to know me better than I know myself sometimes. I end up taking large guzzles of the drink, letting the espresso shots wake me up.
“Well, thanks a latte for the kind gesture. I am pretty beat today. Coffee is a poor substitute for sleep.” I take another sip and then add, “Good news is, I think I’m finished with my PowerPoint. For now. I’ll probably look at it tomorrow and need to rework the entire thing.”
“I’m sure it’s great.” His eyes roam around the office and stop at Branson’s darkened one. “Where’s the boss?”
“He’s out today for meetings.” Glancing at the time on the clock, I realize why Hunter is sitting here. I remember and say, “I forgot to tell you that your daily meeting with him was canceled. I’m sorry.”
He rubs a hand over his chest and nods. “Or you didn’t tell me on purpose because you were eager to see me again.”
“If I wanted to see you, I would have called.” My phone is sitting on the desk beside me, so I raise it and explain, “I have your number.”
“Then, you should use it. I am your fake boyfriend after all.”
His use of the word fake is said in jest, but it has me feeling off. My hands are itchy, and I suddenly want to stand. So, I do. I get up and walk over to the filing cabinet, rifling through the folders with no intention other than to do something with my hands. I take one out and open it, pretending to read it, and then I put it back. As I close the steel drawer, I glance over at Hunter, still sitting there, looking cool and casual and smirking at me.
“I have more good news,” I state from the center of the room. “Your game worked. Last night, Branson asked me to spend Christmas Eve with him.”
Hunter grimaces with a nod and lifts his cup up, as if to cheers. “Congratulations.”
I rub my hands together. “Yeah. And this time, it’s most definitely not in the boss-underling scenario. He wants to spend the day as friends.”
“That definitely means he wants to start seeing you as more.”
“Agreed,” I state rather breathlessly. “I’m nervous though. I shouldn’t be because it’s everything I’ve wanted. Why am I so anxious?”
Slowly, he sets his coffee cup on the desk and rises from the seat. With purposeful strides, he walks up to me and places his hands on my arms gently and yet with a strength that grounds me. My heart calms, and my body simmers.
“You’re overworked. Overtired. And over-caffeinated. You need a break.”
“I don’t have time for a break.”
“Of course you do. The boss is out. You’re done with your presentation—for now—and I know for a fact that there is absolutely nothing on your daily list of requirements that you haven’t tackled already. But you’re not a slacker, so why don’t you meet me in the lobby at three o’clock, and we’ll do something fun?”
“Three’s a bit early.”
“Just do it,” he groans.
“Does fun include food? Because I have a great place—”
“You picked the restaurant last time. Tonight, it’s my turn.”
“Fine,” I agree with a grumble.
Hunter pats my arm and steps back, walking toward the door. He’s halfway out when he turns and asks, “Did you happen to wear your snow boots to work?”
I glance under my desk, where my boots are sitting. “I did.”
“Good. Don’t be late.”
As he walks out, I take my seat back at my desk, wondering what kind of activity Hunter has up his sleeve for us today.
On the east side of Central Park is a scenic area overlooking a large pond. At the top of the hill is a statue of a Pilgrim. I’ve been here before, in the spring for picnics with Sofia and to walk to the Boathouse restaurant and Bethesda Fountain.
Today, as I stand on the hill with the setting sun in the backdrop, I can’t help but be surprised by the number of children on the snow-covered hill, all carrying sleds.
All around us, school-aged children to adults and grandparents are gathered on their sleds and careening down the steep incline. One child flies down on a disk-shaped sled while another plows through on a traditional-looking one.
“Sledding?” I state in disbelief. “This is how you unwind and have fun?”
Hunter grins as he lifts the shopping bag in his hand.
When I met him in the lobby, he was there, having changed into a pair of jeans and construction boots with his winter coat zippered up. In his hands was a rather large brown bag, which he refused to tell me what was inside. Begrudgingly, albeit excitedly, I got in the Uber with him, and here we are.
“These are for you,” he states as he hands me a pair of snow pants.
I glance down at what I’m wearing—a pair of black pants.
“Thought you’d be cold.”
I try to see what else is in the bag, but he pulls it away. “Is there a pair in there for you?”
“No. I’m a man. Jeans are good enough,” he scoffs as he makes a shooing motion. “Go on, put them on. I can’t have you catching a cold out here.”
“You want me to change. Right here?” I look around at the horde of people surrounding us.
“You’re not undressing, Katie. You’re actually putting on more clothes, so it’s hardly a thing to be modest about.”
He has a point, so I don’t argue. Using his brawn body to keep balance, I slip off my snow boot and slide my leg into the snow pants. I nearly fall over as I try to put my boot back on, so Hunter kneels to the ground, allowing me to put my hand on his shoulder while he places the snow boot back on my foot. After he helps me with the next leg, I’m fully dressed in my winter garb.
Before I get a chance to ask what he plans on sledding in, he takes out two red shovel-shaped things, which are too big to be actual shovels but too small to be anything else.
“Are we digging our way down the hill?” I muse.
“Clever.” He winks. “No. These are butt sleds. Actually, the official name is Flexible Flyer Snow Seats, but the unofficial name is butt sled.”
I eye up the sled and wonder how to use it. “I don’t think my butt will fit on that thing.”
“Of course it will. And it has to because this was literally all that was left in the store.” He smil
es brilliantly as he hands me mine and then throws the brown bag in a nearby trash bin. “Ready?”
I walk with him to the edge of the hill. The air is brisk in the early evening night. I toss my sled on the ground and take a seat on it. Turns out, it’s bigger than I thought, and there’s plenty of room on here. The shovel-like handle is in front of me, so I grab it and assume this is how I steer.
I’m kind of perplexed by the whole thing until I look over at Hunter. His large body covers the sled, and he looks rather uncomfortable and oaf-like as he tries to settle himself on it.
My laughter comes out loud, and I spit a little into the snow as I lose my cool at how funny he looks. I have to hold my mitten-covered hand over my mouth to further hide my reaction.
Hunter looks over at me and quirks a brow. “Is this amusing to you?”
I adamantly shake my head while I say the opposite, “Very.”
“Good. Now, get your ass down the hill.” With a push on my back, he sends me flying.
The air whips across my face as I careen quickly toward the bottom. I have to steer my way through kids, and I nearly collide with one. I haven’t been sledding in years and never thought I would in my adult life without having kids of my own. When I reach the bottom, I fall to the side and land haphazardly into a bushel of snow.
I’m giggling as I rise and wipe the snow off my pants. Hunter comes down the hill after me, making a perfect stop, like he’s done this a million times.
“So, what did you think, Katie McGee? You ready to go again?”
I look at his rosy cheeks and beaming smile and nod. “Absolutely.”
For the next hour, we walk up the hill and slide down more times than I can count. My legs burn from the uphill cardio, but my heart is happy from the fun. Hunter and I race among each other and then meet a group of kids who want in on the action. We let the littles in and do our best to beat them. Hunter, being the heaviest, has gravity as an advantage, but this one kid has a sleigh that drives like a car.
