Charming Co-Worker: Holiday RomCom Standalone

by Lauren Runow

  “Jeez, watch your language,” my sister, Melissa, says as she walks into our parents’ kitchen.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask her, surprised to see her here at ten o’clock at night.

  “I should say the same thing to you. Don’t you have a fancy bachelor pad in the city?”

  I raise my glass of whiskey to her in a cheers. “Why commiserate alone in my own home when I can do so in Mom’s Martha Stewart kitchen?”

  She puts her purse on the counter and slides her coat off her shoulders. “There are so many aspects to that comment that I’m dying to get into, but first, I need a drink.”

  “Macallan?” I lift the bottle to her, but she shakes her head as she grabs a wineglass.

  “Pinot. Women don’t drink whiskey.”

  “I beg to differ.” With a slap of my thigh, I turn to her and change the subject. “What brings you here on a school night?”

  She pours her wine and takes the seat next to me. “I have a meeting in the city in the morning, so instead of waking up before dawn to drive in, I put the kids to bed and then drove here, hoping to cut down the commute in the morning.”

  “I can give you a ride in. I have to be in the office at eight thirty.”

  Instead of saying thank you or even accepting my offer, she shakes her head and raises her hand in question. “Why the fuck are you here?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “I happen to enjoy Mom and Dad’s house.”

  “They’re not even here. Dad took Mom to Mohegan Sun.”

  “Yeah”—I take a drink—“learned that when I came home to an empty house.”

  Melissa drums her fingers on the counter and lowers her gaze to me. The woman does resting bitch face really well. But active bitch face? She could win a prize for the way her eyebrows hover and her nose narrows. It really is an art.

  “You don’t want to know,” I lament, a deep exhale pouring from somewhere deep in my gut.

  Her brows relax, and her attitude fades. With dropped shoulders and a tilt to her head, she looks at me with a bewildered stare.

  “It’s the girl,” she says.

  “Katie.”

  “Katie broke up with you,” she surmises.

  “No. Actually, you’ll be very happy to know that I fucked this one up all on my own. Well, that, and she has a thing for a certain Brit with a bad accent.”

  She waves her hand in the air, as if wanting me to back up. “Rewind. You were just here with a woman for the first time since Cassidy, being all starry-eyed and sleeping out in the pool house—don’t think I didn’t notice that—making a pretty bold statement to the family that this woman was special to you. I mean, Mom’s one step away from ordering your china. Now, you’re telling me that she wants someone else?”

  How do I give my sister the CliffsNotes version of our relationship?

  “Katie longed for another man for years until we started dating. When I surprised her with tickets to Miami for the weekend, she said she couldn’t. She has plans. With him.”

  I finish my drink and pour another.

  “What a whore.”

  “She’s not a whore.” I’m quick to defend her, my tone deep and loud. “Don’t you ever call Katie that.” I rub the back of my neck and explain, “In her defense, the man in question is her boss, and they’re going to a work event.”

  She leans back in her seat. “Oh. Well, you can’t be upset about that.”

  “A work event that he only asked her to go to because he wants to bed her.”

  “What an asshole,” she says. That assumption is acceptable, so I cheers her glass, and we both take a sip. “Did he tell you that?”

  “No. I just know.”

  “How?”

  This is where it gets complicated. “Because it’s something I would do.”

  With a shake of her head, she says, “Let me get this straight. Katie wants her boss for years, and then you swoop in. You have a relationship, and then the boss asks her to this event. She says yes, and you don’t know if it’s because she feels obligated because it’s work or because she wants to see if things prosper with the boss?”

  I point at her. “Bingo.”

  “Did you ask her which one it was?”

  “Of course she’s not going to say she’s still interested in him.”

  “So, you had a fight and walked away. Interesting …”

  I don’t like the way she just said that, as if it’s all coming together. “Why are you doing that?” I ask her.

  “Doing what?”

  “Analyzing me. I don’t need you to make your assumptions about my life. I know you frown down on my dating life, which is why I never bring anyone around here.”

  She sits up straight, her palm facing me. “What do I have to do with any of this?”

  “Ever since I broke off the engagement with Cassidy, you stare at me with disdain. And don’t think I didn’t see the way you looked at Katie. She’s too good for your glares and snide comments. I’m the one who deserves it. I never should have taken my relationship with Cassidy that far. That’s why I have the two-week rule. No one gets hurt. Not them and certainly not me.”

  I down my drink and then push the glass away. I don’t feel like drinking any more tonight.

  Melissa falls back into the seat and sits there for a moment. I can see her shifting in her seat out of the corner of my eye while I stare at the empty glass. Her breath changes, like she’s about to talk and then stops. I place a hand on my head and push my hair back.

  “Hunter, I was angry when you broke up with Cassidy. She was my best friend, about to be my sister, and our friendship was annihilated when you ended things. I hadn’t wanted you two to date in the first place for that reason. I still haven’t spoken to her since then, and that kills me.”

  I clench my jaw, knowing what an ass I am for that stupid mistake.

  “But”—Melissa places a hand on my back—“it doesn’t kill me as much as it would have if you ever married someone you didn’t love. Breaking up with her when you did sucked because of the timing, but it was also brave of you to know in your heart what was right.”

  I look over at her and find a very soft, worried expression on her face. “I shouldn’t have proposed. I should have ended the relationship long before that.”

  “You weren’t the first person to get caught up in the pressures of a relationship, and you won’t be the last. I had no idea this was something that bothered you.”

  “It’s the reason I am who I am. It’s why I—”

  “Have your two-week rule,” she says. “Can I take a guess that you and Katie have been together for two weeks?”

  I nod my head. “Pretty much.”

  She smiles. “I thought you had been together longer. You had such a familiarity between you two.”

  “We’ve been friends for two years. She’s been the bright spot of my day ever since we met.”

  Melissa is quiet again, her glass slowly emptying. “Do you love Katie?”

  I don’t answer right away.

  “I don’t know.”

  “That’s not a no.”

  I throw my head back and let out a sigh of sheer exasperation. “Truth is, I’m scared to because I don’t trust myself. I don’t trust that what I feel is real and not built on expectation. Wanting someone for a long time and finally getting them can be a bit of a high.” I straighten myself and glance down, playing with my hands, the ones that were holding Katie not too long ago. “For the first time, I was willing to go past the two weeks to see if it was real. Even if it meant that one of us could get hurt. Guess I won’t get to know now.”

  “Damn. Self-sabotage much?”

  “Excuse me?”

  She leans an elbow on the island and looks me square in the eye. “You want a two-week rule, but how will you know it’s real if you don’t stay past the first fight? That’s when you know. Loving someone isn’t just about the fun times or taking care of them when they’re down. It’s about hating their guts and ye
t loving them enough to want to stick around tomorrow.”

  I burst out laughing. “Of all the advice I ever thought I’d hear from you, that’s not what I expected.”

  “Ask Tyler. He probably wants to toss me out of the house once a week, and I take ridiculously long baths just so I don’t have to hear him go on and on about his mother’s heartburn or whatever her latest ailment is. I mean, take a Tums and move on. But I digress. We have our lows, but the highs, the good times, are what keep us going. When I have a problem, I turn to him. When I have a funny meme on my phone, I show it to him. And when I’m raising my children, I’m doing it with him. He’s my guy.”

  I smile. Melissa and Tyler have the spark.

  She places her hand on mine. “It’s a great feeling, but you’ll never know it if you run away at the first sign of trouble. You just have to decide if she’s worth seeing what the next page in your story is about.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Katie

  Twenty-four hours have passed since Hunter walked out my office door. That’s twenty-four hours of me wondering if I should call him or if he’s going to call me. Worst of all, I’ve been sick to my stomach about how we left things.

  I look out at the room of shareholders, who are here for my presentation on something way above my pay grade. My palms are sweaty, my neck is coated with goose bumps, and I’m nervous as hell, especially when I see some of the bigwigs staring at me, waiting for me to speak.

  I glance over at Branson. He gives me a thumbs-up and an encouraging smile. It calms me slightly, and I take a deep breath.

  Lifting my computer clicker, I begin my presentation. The information on the screen helps remind me of the script I wrote for myself and studied so hard. I start off a little shaky, but I navigate the room through the bullet points and charts, giving them my findings on the research I conducted, not just from recent months, but also back seven years where I gathered the data. My analysis on Empire Media programming is thorough, and from the nodding heads, I see I’m resonating with a few.

  I must be speaking fast because before I know it, I’m on the last slide and asking the room if there are any questions.

  To my surprise, there are many. I field them all with Branson’s help. Together, we’re a good team, strategizing on the spot and working through some of the ideas and concerns. The hour is over quickly. Everyone else stands. Hands are shaken, and kind words are said.

  In the end, it’s just me and Branson.

  To my surprise, he leans forward and hugs me, lifting me off the ground.

  “I’m beyond proud of you, Katherine. You knocked their socks off. Bravo!” The look of pure admiration in his eyes makes my heart flutter.

  “You really think it went that well?” I say when he puts me back on the ground. “My ramblings were half-gibberish. There’s no way I made sense when I was talking about cross-market comparisons.”

  “You were exceptional. You’re a star, love. Enjoy the moment, and don’t let it end because they’re all going to be at the New Year’s Eve gala and want to talk to you about some exciting opportunities. This is all the beginning for you.”

  I push a loose tendril of my hair behind my ear. “Thank you, Branson. That’s … I’ve always wanted to hear your praise.”

  His shoulders relax, and he takes a small step forward, placing his hand on my arm and leaning forward to kiss my cheek. “You always have my praise. I can’t wait for tomorrow night. It’s going to be unforgettable.”

  The way his voice softens makes me feel like those words are more powerful than any other ever spoken.

  “I’m sure it will be.” My smile is wide as I take a step back. “Do you mind if I head out early?”

  “Of course not. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  “Yes. I’ll see you then.”

  I should feel amazing right now, but if I’m being honest with myself, I’m a little sad.

  I want to tell Hunter about the presentation. I want to toast with him and celebrate, but I know I can’t go there right now.

  I walk out of Empire Media and take the subway home. Every moment I shared with Hunter plays in my mind. The subway stops, and the sign outside my window shows I’m where I’d get off to go to the park. I smile at the memories it causes.

  Our affair plays through my mind like an ode to Central Park. From dinner at Tavern on the Green to sleigh-riding in the park and roaming Belvedere Castle. I wanted a fairy tale, and I got one. Only Hunter wasn’t my prince I thought he was. He was the huntsman, looking for his next prize that I should have known he’d be. If he thought of me as more than that, then he wouldn’t have just expected me to give up everything I’d worked for and drop it on a dime. Life isn’t all fun and games.

  When I get home, I’m excited to see Mittens, but I am floored when I see someone else standing in my apartment.

  “Surprise! I flew home early! It rained the entire time, and my mom’s cooking sucks something awful.”

  “You’re home early!” I run into Sofia’s arms and hug her with the mightiest of holds. Her body is tense, as she’s probably unsure of why I’m hugging her so tightly. She wraps her arms around me and pulls me in.

  “What happened to you? Did the presentation not go well?” she asks.

  I lean back and wipe the tears from my eyes. “I rocked it. Like, really freaking rocked it.”

  “Then, why the dramatics?” she asks.

  I sigh as I pull my hair back and hold it against my neck. “I fucked it up, Sof. Everything is just a mess.”

  She eyes me curiously and points at me. “This is about men. This calls for margaritas and some serious girl talk. I need all the details. You get changed, and I’ll get the blender.”

  I laugh and wipe my nose. “That sounds like exactly what I need.”

  The next day, I stare at myself in the full-length mirror. My hair is down and in waves—a style I only achieved because Sofia and I used the spa gift card Branson had given me. My makeup makes me look like an old-school movie star with the deep burgundy of the shadow on my eyes matching my dress that hugs my body like a glove, giving me a voluptuous figure I never knew I had.

  My mind keeps wandering to Hunter. I want him to see me dolled up like this. I can imagine his eyes lighting up the way they do in the movies when the guy sees the girl all dressed up for the first time.

  That’s silly. It’s a romantic fantasy. Just like what I thought I had with Hunter.

  “Holy wow. You look hot!” Sofia says from the doorway. She walks toward me and smooths the back of my hair. “You’re going to knock his socks off.”

  I look at my reflection again and smile. “Yeah, Branson is going to love it.”

  “Ooh,” she says, and I give her a scowl, which makes her laugh. “It’s just nice to see you’ve made up your mind.”

  She scurries out my door before I can even reply to her comment. There’s a knock at the front door. As I walk toward it, I see Sofia has already closed her bedroom door. She knows I’m too private than to let her see me leave for a date. I like my moments to be, well, my own.

  I open my door to see Branson Ford in a tuxedo that fits him like he’s Clooney in a GQ ad, paired with a bow tie and a French-cuffed shirt.

  “Let me get my purse and coat,” I say to Branson.

  He stops me by grabbing my hand and holding it out to the side, so he can get a good look at me. His sapphire eyes glisten in the way I envisioned Hunter’s would.

  “Breathtaking,” he breathes out.

  I offer him a smile because it’s the polite thing to do, and yet something tugs at me. I’ve wanted Branson to look at me this way for years. Seeing it now just makes Hunter’s words swirl in my head. He said Branson wants me now only because he did first. This event is no more than a means to get under my skirt.

  I shake those thoughts from my head and reach for my items. “All ready,” I say with a forced air of cheeriness.

  He holds out his elbow for me, an
d I stare at it for a moment. He’s being a gentleman, and all I can think of are Hunter and his words.

  “Our chariot awaits,” he says.

  I lock the door behind me, and we walk downstairs.

  He holds the front door to my building open as I step outside. His usual town car is not waiting for us. Instead, there’s a limo.

  “Who else is joining us?” I ask, glancing around the car.

  “No one. I thought you deserved a special treat tonight. I guess you’ve never ridden in one?” He slides in the car as the driver holds the door open, and I take the seat beside him.

  “Only for my high school prom, and there were sixteen of us packed in like sardines.”

  “Rubbish. You should be escorted around town in the best. Don’t you get treated to finer things?”

  He’s being sincere, which is one of his greatest qualities, and yet it feels off.

  “I’m more of an Uber around town kinda gal.”

  “That just shows you haven’t been around town with the right kind of man.” His comment comes off as pompous instead of genuine. Maybe it’s the accent. “Is everything okay, love? You don’t seem yourself.”

  I play with the clasp on my purse. “Sorry, just a lot on my mind. I suppose I’m nervous about who you’re going to introduce me to.”

  “Yes, that. I have a few people in mind.”

  The car pulls up to the Fifty-First Street entrance of Rockefeller Center. The one with the lit-up marquee for the Rainbow Room and NBC News.

  He opens his palm to me. “Shall we?”

  I take his hand, and he escorts me out his side of the car, where I instantly drop his hand to adjust my dress.

  We walk into Rockefeller Center and through the lobby to the elevator banks that will take us to the Rainbow Room. Men and women in their finest attire are loading into the available spots. Branson says hi to many as I wait patiently for my chance to board.

  Someone makes room for him in a packed elevator, and he steps on. The doors are about to close when he notices he’s left me behind. He stops the doors from closing and calls out for me to climb on board with him.