Charming Co-Worker: Holiday RomCom Standalone

by Lauren Runow

  I won’t be his employee much longer. The rules will be lifted, and then we can … date.

  And now, I know why my head is spinning.

  Damn you, Branson Ford.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Where are we going?” I ask Hunter as I sit in an Uber.

  He whisked me away after work, adamant that we leave before sunset.

  “You don’t like surprises, do you?”

  “Of course I do. I just hate waiting for them. I get too excited.”

  He takes my hand in his and kisses the knuckles. “Lower your expectations then. Nothing’s worse than going into something with high expectations. It will seem mediocre. Imagine it’s the worst surprise in the history of surprises.”

  I nod my head. “I can do that.”

  “What are you picturing?”

  “We’re going to a sex club where people whip you in public.”

  The way his eyes widen and his mouth parts shows how shocked he is by my statement. “Holiday harlot. You certainly have an active imagination. Though that doesn’t sound like a bad surprise to me.”

  I hit him in the chest, and he pulls me into him and kisses my head.

  The car turns onto the Seventy-Ninth Street Transverse that drives through Central Park. We stop halfway through the park, and Hunter gets out.

  “Do you have your phone?” he asks, and I nod. “Take your picture.”

  He motions behind me. When I turn around, I see we’re standing in front of Belvedere Castle.

  The gray stone structure is something I’ve seen many times from the Great Lawn of the park, yet I have never been this close. I turn back to Hunter, curious as to why we’re here.

  “I know it’s only a mini castle, but it wasn’t on your wall. I thought you’d like to add a new one to your collection. What do you think, kid?”

  A huge smile bursts from my face. This is the most non-cliché romantic gesture a man could have made. “It’s perfect.”

  I take out my phone and snap a picture, needing the flash, as the sun is quickly setting. The early sunset is the only thing I don’t like about this time of year.

  I pull my coat tight against my body. “It’s a shame it’s closed. You brought me all this way for a picture. It’s very sweet.”

  Hunter takes my hand and pulls me toward the entrance. “Don’t be so sure.”

  We get to the entrance, and the door opens. A gentleman greets Hunter, and when they shake hands, I’m pretty sure I see at least two hundred-dollar bills in Hunter’s palm, which disappear when their hands separate.

  “Thanks, Rodney,” Hunter says as he brings me inside.

  “You have a half hour.” Rodney disappears, leaving Hunter and me alone.

  I grab his lapel and pull him toward me. “You bribed to get us a private viewing?”

  He raises a brow. “You’re not the only one who knows how to pull strings, Miss Reservation for Branson Ford at Tavern on the Green.”

  With a soft kiss to my lips, he grips my hand and walks me around the space. It’s not very big, but it has that romantic, mysterious charm of all old structures. With its stone walls and slab floors, arched windows and wooden casings, it most definitely feels like the castles I visited in Europe.

  Since the sun has set, there’s not much to see out the windows. He leads me up a set of narrow, winding stairs. At the top is a viewing platform. We step outside, and I’m thankful it’s not too brisk tonight.

  It’s too hard to see the foreground, but I know the lake and Great Lawn are just beyond us. While we can’t see too much nearby, there is plenty to see around us.

  Manhattan from this view is positively gorgeous. With a mix of skyscrapers and landmark buildings, it’s the new and old combined.

  We walk up to a second platform, and the view gets even more beautiful as we take in everything from The Plaza Hotel to the Empire State Building. I’ve had my fair share of city views, but this is by far the most unique.

  I’m standing by the edge, hands on the stone wall serving as a railing. Hunter glides up behind me and places his hands around my waist, pulling me in.

  “When I was researching this place on the internet, I found out that Belvedere means beautiful view. The sole purpose of this place is to appreciate the city from this vantage point.”

  I lean my head against his chest. “It’s perfect. Thank you for bringing me.”

  He spins me around in his arms and kisses me firmly. His lips are cold, yet his mouth is hot. I bask in his warmth, grabbing his coat and pulling him in closer.

  “I like making you smile,” he says.

  I grin at his comment. “I thought you didn’t like my fairy tales. Bringing a girl to a castle could give her the wrong idea about there not being a Prince Charming.”

  “There are no princes here. Only kings.”

  “So, if you’re a king, where is your castle?”

  He leans forward and kisses the skin below my ear. “Upper East Side. What do you say we go back to my place and role-play? You’ll be the damsel in distress, and I’ll be the unsavory knight who tempts you with whiskey and dirty sex.”

  I pretend to mull over his proposition. “Sounds fun, but where’s the role-play?” I tease and am rewarded with another kiss.

  We take another Uber to his building.

  I’m not surprised when I see he has a doorman who greets him with a smile and a quick chat about the NFL football games that recently took place.

  Hunter’s apartment is on the sixth floor, and when we get inside, I’m impressed with how tidy it is. A black leather sofa and a large television screen are in the living room. He has a mahogany table for four next to the galley kitchen. What stands out most are the pictures on the bookshelf. From surfing to skiing and hiking, it appears Hunter does it all. And in many exciting locations.

  “Where is this?” I ask, referring to a picture of him and his sister by a mountain.

  “Aspen. Melissa and I went before she had Ella. I don’t think she’s gone skiing since.”

  “Do you go often?” I ask.

  He nods. “I try to take a quick drive upstate a few times a season. It’s hard with work, but if I can get away, I will.”

  “A real travel enthusiast.”

  “Says the girl who likes to visit castles.” He winks as he walks into the kitchen.

  I take my coat off, hang it from a counter-height chair in the kitchen, and take a seat. “What’s your favorite place to jet off to?”

  He takes a pot out of his refrigerator and sets it on the stove. “Miami and Vegas. They’re easy flights, and there’s always something fun to do.”

  I laugh. “You’re such a bachelor.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He turns on the flame on the stove.

  “Just an observation.” I lean forward and try to look through the glass lid of the pot. “What are you making?”

  “This is a tomato sauce I started last night.” He turns around and opens the refrigerator again. This time, he has a large bowl covered in plastic wrap. “And this is the gnocchi we’re going to make together.”

  “A dinner and a cooking lesson. Why, Hunter Johnstone, you are quite the ladies’ man. Has anyone ever told you that you have a way of wooing women?” I tease.

  “I might have been told that once or twice.” He laughs as he takes the plastic off the top.

  I slide off the stool and join him in the kitchen.

  While I wash my hands, Hunter gets the ingredients out of the refrigerator. He moves easily in here, humming to himself as he checks drawers and cabinets. He even opens a bottle of whiskey and sets two lowballs on the counter.

  “What should I do first?” I ask him.

  “First, we make out because it’s customary to kiss the chef.”

  He grips my hips and pulls me close. My hands curl around his neck. When I tug his hair, he grabs my ass and hoists me onto the kitchen counter. My legs wrap around him, and he grinds against me. His erection is thick and pressin
g up against me, like it wants to tear a hole through our clothes to get to me.

  Our kiss breaks, and I have to catch my breath. “Can we skip dinner and just go straight to your bedroom?”

  He groans, “Don’t say things like that. I’m ruining my sweet Katie.”

  “I beg to differ. You’re an excellent teacher. I knew you’d be the one to properly teach me how to be a seductress.”

  “I take my job very seriously.” He steps back and helps me off the counter. “While I have plans to fuck you on this counter—and pretty much any other surface in this apartment—my plan is to feed you first.”

  “What a gentleman.”

  He shrugs. “My mother raised me right.”

  From the refrigerator, he takes out a large bowl and sets it on the counter. While he gets a pot of water and sets it to boil, I curiously look inside the bowl.

  “Shredded potatoes. I prepped them this morning before work.” He steps behind me and threads his hands around my waist. He’s sweet as he explains all of the ingredients and lets me take the lead in cooking the meal. “First, we need an egg.”

  I’m about to crack the egg into the bowl when he nibbles on my neck. I almost drop it when he sucks the skin, sending shivers down my spine. I manage to get the task done and mix it in with a wooden spoon.

  “Place the mixture on the counter and add a cup and a half of flour,” he directs me as his fingers run down my hips and make rounding motions toward my backside.

  He makes his way around my body until his hands caress down my arms, landing over mine. Together, we knead the dough.

  “The key is to be quick yet careful. Rushing it will only spoil the outcome,” he says into my ear.

  His hands are large on top of mine and strong as they guide me into a rhythm, working the dough into a mounded form.

  “We want these to be soft and delicate, silky smooth. If it’s worked too much, they’re tough and unenjoyable,” he says.

  We start to roll it, and with each motion, I can feel his groin pressing into my backside. His intoxicating scent of all man, woodsy and clean, enraptures me.

  He grabs a knife, and we cut the dough into half-inch squares, and then we roll them over a fork to make lined imprints.

  “You put a lot of care into this meal,” I say.

  “My grandmother, before she became narcoleptic, used to make this on Easter. I was her potato dumpling boy. No jokes.”

  “I’d never make fun of a man and his sweet grandma. Besides, you’re hard as steel. There isn’t a thing to grab even if I did want to call you a dumpling.”

  “Keep calling me hard or steel, and I’ll reward you with more of my delicious recipes.”

  The water is now boiling, so we place the gnocchi in.

  “Go wash up. I’ll finish the rest.” He pats me on the ass, and I do as he said, noting that I now have flour left behind from his hands.

  Hunter sautés the boiled gnocchi and plates them, coating each dish with sauce. Instead of sitting at the dining table, he puts on holiday jazz and sets the plates on the coffee table. I grab the whiskey and join him.

  With pillows on the floor, we sit down, him with a knee propped up and the other bent while I kneel on my knees.

  I take a bite and am floored with how delicious it tastes.

  “I added sage and some gorgonzola cheese. I hope that’s okay.”

  I moan a little. “Hunter, this is heaven in my mouth.”

  “That is the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard outside of the bedroom.”

  With another bite, I speak with my mouth full, “I’m so gnocchi to have you.” My pun even makes me roll my eyes.

  He shakes his head with a laugh, and we continue to eat.

  We sit in silence, the smooth sounds of Michael Bublé filling the air as a thought crosses my mind. On Christmas Eve, his mother mentioned that when he made gnocchi for me, I’d know. I’m not entirely sure what she meant by that.

  I must be showing my inner thoughts on my face because he looks at me with a tilted gaze.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” he says.

  With a raised shoulder, I feel almost shy, bringing it up. “Do you make this often?”

  “Gnocchi? Only with my family. It’s a Johnstone recipe, so if you give it away, I might have to kill you.” His pointed fork is waved in a mock serious manner.

  “Your secret is safe with me.” I let my teeth glide along my lower lip, wondering what it means that he made this meal with me.

  He takes another bite. “Grandma and I were very close, but she wasn’t an affectionate woman. Teaching me how to cook was her way of showing her love. It’s something I was very possessive over. I wouldn’t even let Melissa have that time with her, which is probably why she’s a terrible cook. Remind me never to let you eat at her house if she offers to make a meal. Takeout only,” he jokes yet is very serious.

  “Duly noted,” I say, and I’m happy because he’s thinking about future plans. I’m also touched because I get it now. Cooking, especially this recipe, is special for Hunter. The fact that he shared it with me means more than he’s willing to say.

  I polish my plate because the gnocchi is sinfully delicious. Now that it’s done, I get on my hands and knees and crawl over to Hunter.

  With his glass raised to his lips, he looks at me over the rim as I inch toward him on all fours.

  “What is my little vixen up to now?” he asks through hooded eyes.

  I prowl up to him and lay a hand over the bulge in his pants.

  “I’m about to have dessert,” I say and slowly glide his zipper down, the teeth pulling apart making an audible sound that rivals Bublé.

  “Oh yeah? I once had this cheesecake that was better than sex.”

  I pull out his thick cock, press my open mouth over the engorged head, and take a taste. He throws his head back with a wicked moan.

  “Nothing tastes better than this,” I say and let my mouth fall onto him until he hits the back of my throat.

  When I come up for air, Hunter gets onto his feet, his pants dangling round his hips.

  “What’s the matter? You didn’t like it?”

  “Worse. I love it.” He lifts me off the ground and hoists me over his shoulder, caveman-style.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Taking you to the bedroom.”

  “You could have had me on the floor.” I giggle.

  “No, baby,” he says as he walks us down the hallway. “We’re going to rock the fucking sleigh bed.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Branson Ford’s office,” I answer the phone.

  “This is Empire Media Security. There’s a delivery here for Katherine McGee.”

  “Where’s it from?” I didn’t order anything.

  “Saks Fifth Avenue.”

  The guard doesn’t need to say another word. I tell her I’ll be right there and prance down to the lobby to accept my dress. I thought I was going to pick it up at the store tonight. Looks like Jasmine knew I’d be strapped for time. I hang the dress on the hook of the coat rack that sits by the door and get back to work.

  Tomorrow is my presentation for the shareholders, and I’m getting nervous. I haven’t presented in front of a large group since college, and even then, I was a wreck. It takes me a few minutes to warm up. If I can get through the first five minutes without stumbling over my words—or vomiting—I’ll be okay.

  My phone rings again. This time, it’s Branson.

  “I’m in a meeting with the Marketing department. I need you to go to my desk and run the portfolio down here.”

  “Be right there.”

  I’m out of my desk and rushing the five floors down to Marketing. It’s been that kind of day. Every time I get to my computer to go over my notes for the presentation, the phone rings, and I’m taken away. While the castle and dinner with Hunter were perfect yesterday, it has thrown me off schedule. I shouldn’t have left early. Not when I have such an important opportunity ahead of me.


  When I’m back in my office, the phone rings again, and I take a message for Branson. I have about thirty minutes until he’s due back here, which means I finally have some peace.

  The PowerPoint I prepared is in front of me, and I’m checking every single slide to make sure there are no spelling errors and the numbers are correct when I hear whistling from down the hall.

  Hunter strolls in and sits on my desk. “I have a surprise for you.”

  “Not now. I am crazy busy.”

  He pouts. “But it’s a really good surprise.”

  With a sigh, I look up into his dazzling caramel eyes. It’s hard to avoid a man this charming.

  I roll my eyes while smiling. “I do love a surprise.”

  “I know. That’s why I just booked us two tickets to Miami.” He holds up his phone as proof to show me that he did purchase said tickets. “I’m whisking my girl away for two nights of drinking, swimming, and maybe some dancing. There’s this amazing Cuban bar I’d love to take you to …”

  I look at the screen.

  Katherine McGee.

  JFK > MIA.

  December 31.

  Departure: 4:06 p.m.

  “Hunter,” I interrupt him, “that says we’re leaving on New Year’s Eve.”

  “There is only one woman I plan to kiss when the clock strikes midnight. What better way than with a bottle of champagne and a dance for two on the sands of South Beach?”

  I smile because this trip sounds amazing. It’s romantic and sweet and exactly what I’d love to be doing any other weekend, except this one because I already have plans.

  “I can’t go to Miami with you,” I say.

  His smile, the surefire grin he wears when he’s putting on the charm, fades. “Why not?”

  “I have plans.” My eyes go to the garment bag on the coat rack. The very expensive dress I picked out to attend a gala with my boss.

  His movements stop as he looks at it and then back to me. “What kind of plans?”

  My shoulders fall as I scratch my head. This is definitely something we should have talked about. Then again, New Year’s plans haven’t been a discussion. I mean, it hasn’t been a week since Hunter and I started hooking up. We’ve never even officially said if we’re exclusive or not. Still, this is something I probably should have mentioned days ago. I’m such an idiot.