New Year’s Steve

by Carter, M. E.

  New Year’s Steve

  Sara Ney

  M.E. Carter

  New Year’s Steve

  Copyright © 2020 by Sara Ney & M.E. Carter

  Cover Design by RBA Designs

  Formatting by Casey Formatting

  All rights reserved.

  This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems without express written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places , and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or shared with other people. If you would like to share with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  I. Thursday

  1. Felicity

  2. Harrison

  II. Friday

  3. Felicity

  4. Harrison

  5. Felicity

  6. Harrison

  7. Felicity

  Acknowledgments

  1. Becky

  ABOUT SARA NEY

  ABOUT M.E. CARTER

  I

  Thursday

  The day before NEW YEARS EVE

  1

  Felicity

  “All I want for New Years, is youuuuu, bay-bee…”

  I am still feeling that post-Christmas buzz.

  The eggnog might be dried up from the holiday party, but my desk chair is swiveling, and I’m humming along to the same song I started playing November first. Sure, I might have to change up the words to suit the current holiday fever in the air, but as long as the radio keeps playing it, I’m going to listen.

  No one can hear it anyway; last year I was promoted and with that comes a swanky private office.

  I kick the volume up a notch on my wireless speaker perched in the corner of my work space and flick the gold, black, and silver streamer the office administrative staff decorated my computer monitor with, fingers and pen tapping along to the tune.

  “…I just want you for my own, more than you will ever know…” I sing, voice cracking because I may be a lot of things, but a musical diva is not one of them.

  I pause when the overhead light above me flashes, more suited to a Halloween fun house than an office space, and frown. I stop singing to stare, waiting and watching for it to flash again.

  Flicker.

  There!

  There it goes!

  This will not do. I cannot be distracted by the damn light flashing and flicking and doing whatever else it’s going to do while I’m busting my ass to get these Year End reconciliations done. I simply do not have the time to be distracted.

  Despite my repeated calls to maintenance over the last two weeks, the guys down in that department haven’t found time to fit me in. Which means I’ve been living with the occasional blinding light for fourteen days.

  This feels oddly like I’m back in college, living in a crappy house with a group of my friends, trying to get the landlord to come fix something that we wrecked. A broken smoke detector. The handle falling off the front door. Catch the bat that got in through the chimney…

  Still, I shouldn’t have to wait two entire weeks for someone to come take a look at this! Bring a new lightbulb, fix a wire. I don’t know — something to make it stop!

  My eyes stray to the cubicles outside my office and the hustle and bustle of everyone working for the McGinnis Agency.

  Hustle, hustle, hustle.

  No one is stopping to chat, everyone wanting to finish early and head home because tomorrow is New Year’s Eve.

  In spite of the jacked-up lighting, I’m feeling fantastic. I’ve been in my groove, fingers moving like rapid fire over the keyboard as I work in the accounting software, reviewing those reconciliations to check and double check that all entries can be made prior to close of business tomorrow.

  And as a reward for all my hard work?

  My date.

  It’ll be the first time I meet the man I’ve been chatting with online and on New Year’s Eve no less. I’m equally excited and nervous, but mostly stressed by how much needs to get done before then.

  The clock is ticking on this deadline, but I’m the department head and know we’re going to finish in time. I keep my head bent over my keyboard, glasses perched on the bridge of my nose, working away.

  Even if I have to stay all night tonight — alone — and work this late tomorrow, we are going to get these ledgers finished. No rest for the weary and all that jazz. I’m willing to do the work on my own, even though I have an entire team behind me busting their butts, too.

  I roll my chair backwards to swipe a sheet of paper from the printer, and the lights flash.

  Flicker.

  Flicker, flicker.

  I frown as there’s a soft knock at my door.

  “Knock, knock.” It’s Meg McClaren, one of my work friends who’s also one of the best female sports agents in the business.

  Meg walks in and perches herself on the end of my desk, poking the tip of her fingers at a glittery little disco ball that will double as my own personal ball dropping tomorrow if I’m not out of here by midnight.

  “Tabitha and I are going downtown for lunch, wanna come?”

  I sigh because I like them both so much, but groan because I can’t go with them. There is just no way. “Ugh, I’d love to but I can’t.” I lift a sheaf of papers off the desk then set them back down. “I have to enter all this into the system, and I don’t want to lose an hour.” I frown at her. “I’m sorry.”

  Adulting is hard.

  My friend stands, the black tights she has on sparkle with silver stars, catching the light. When it flickers again, she glances up. “What’s wrong with your light?”

  “No idea but it’s driving me bonkers.”

  “You should call maintenance,” she tells me helpfully.

  “I have. Like a dozen times. I don’t know what I have to do to get someone up here. I’m going to be cross-eyed pretty soon.”

  Flicker.

  She wrinkles her nose and huffs. “That’s bad. How are you getting any work done?”

  I shake my head. “Just powering through, that’s all we can do.”

  She walks back to the door, leaning against the frame. “I’ll bring you something from your favorite taco truck so you remember to eat.”

  The look I give her is a grateful one. “Oh my god, I would love you for that.”

  Her hands give a little tap. “Okay — don’t work too hard and I’ll be back in a bit.”

  Right.

  Okay, Felicity. Focus.

  Minor interruption, big task trying to regroup.

  I shake my hands and stretch my fingers, blow out a puff of air and sip from the mug resting near the funky blow up letters that say HAPPY NEW YEAR!

  So cute.

  Grinning when I bend my head, I do my best not to let my thoughts stray, reciting numbers in my mind. Accounting things. Numbers. Adding. Debits. Credits.

  Steve, Steve, Steve.

  Stop it, you have work to do. Your date isn’t until tomorrow night.

  For the briefest of a second, the fluorescent panel above me goes off again.

  �
��You have got to be freaking kidding me.”

  Irritated, I swipe the phone off its cradle — the old-fashioned kind where you have to poke the buttons with your fingers and not tap a screen — and dial the maintenance office for the umpteenth time this week.

  I’m not even a bit surprised when Old Man Skeeter (the head of maintenance) doesn’t answer and frustrated, slam the phone back down.

  “Come on, seriously?!” There has to be someone down there. This building is huge, I’m guessing there’s at least a dozen people on the custodial staff.

  Leaning back in my chair, I stretch my bunny slipper clad feet out in front of me. Taking a deep breath, I dial the number again, looking up at the ceiling while I wait for the beep I know is coming.

  Beep! “Hi Skeeter. It’s Felicity in accounting. Again. The florescent light above my desk is still flickering and it’s starting to give me a migraine.” It’s not, but I’m not above using dramatics at this point. “If you can please send someone my way to fix it, I’d be so grateful. There’s no better way to start off the New Year than with a new light, right?”

  The fuck?

  A new light? How about sending me one that works!

  I frown at my own stupid use of words, seriously needing to focus my attention on these numbers so I’m not stuck here until tomorrow night. Cancelling my date would royally suck.

  It’s either that or doing something drastic like “accidentally” photocopying my butt as the ultimate procrastination.

  I realize that I’m still holding the phone.

  Shit. “Okay, so thank you.”

  I quickly hang up, reaching for my favorite mug with the Winter Camellia printed on it, and decide I need a refill. Heading to the break room to get more chocolate milk is just what I need to get my head back in the game. And yes — I am a grown ass woman drinking chocolate milk out of a flower mug. What can I say? It’s not a crime, it’s my guilty pleasure.

  Throw in some ice and it tastes like a milk shake, la di da!

  I’m so fancy.

  Cell in the palm of my hand (because it goes with me everywhere, let’s be honest), I head upstairs one floor where the good break room is. Just as I exit the elevator, my heart skips a beat when I see a LoveSwept message from Steve.

  Steve: Haven’t heard from you in awhile. Just wanted to pop on and tell you how excited I am for tomorrow night!

  For weeks, he and I have been flirting over an online dating app. He seems kind and smart and genuine. I love the mysterious vibe he has, along with the faceless pics he uses. His looks remain to be seen, because he’s that guy online with silhouette pictures or, worse, a blurry face, but I will say this: his profile boasts a strong nose and chiseled jawline.

  Gainfully employed. Athletic. Loves to travel and is looking for his partner in crime.

  Hellooo, he’s a keeper, I just know it. And did I mention, his witty banter is on. point.

  Better still, he’s asked me if I’d be his New Year’s Eve date! New Year’s Eve with Steve.

  New Year’s Steve.

  “Ha! That’s funny. Good one Felicity.”

  Oh man, I need to get out more. My jokes suck.

  But I can’t go anywhere until I have to get these last accounts reviewed, and the light keeps making my eyes bug out, so it would appear that I’m at something of an impasse.

  Which means, I have to take matters into my own hands, and handle the lighting situation in my office myself. And by myself, I mean I’m going to go hunt someone down, not fix the actual problem. Once I get my chocolate fix, of course.

  * * *

  My phone screen illuminates again, Steve’s name popping up and making my heart sore.

  Steve: Less than 24 hours!

  Ugh, he is so romantic!

  Mug in hand, I hang a right toward the break room, wandering through the lobby, heading toward the bank of elevators on this floor.

  New Year’s decorations are on full display out here, too, spreading that McGinnis holiday cheer.

  The McGinnis Agency may be known for representing some of the best and biggest sports names in the world and raking in millions upon millions of dollars in commission rates per year, but if the company goes belly up? They can always move into holiday party planning.

  No expense is spared on a McGinnis Office party. Even the elevators are decorated. Pretty sure someone even put up some mistletoe in there until HR made them take it down (and I’m pretty sure it was Meg).

  Funny how Skeeter down in maintenance jumped right on that. I saw the crotchety old goat tearing it down with a grin on his face.

  New Year’s Eve falls on a Friday this year, which means we’ll all still be working. Maybe not a full work day, but the staff is supposed to be here just the same. Sports agents never get a day off; not when their clients are playing in championships, Pro-Bowls, tournaments, play-offs, games — you name it — on any given holiday.

  I may just be an accountant, but I put in the hours, too.

  Me: Hey, I was just thinking about you. I’m excited too! And technically it’s eighteen hours, thirty-two minutes — but who’s counting LOL.

  Just as I’m about to slide my cell into the tiny pocket of my pencil skirt, my phone pings again.

  “Eeek!” I squeal that his reply only takes a few moments — something I love about him — marveling at the fact that Steve isn’t the type of guy who waits to text back purposely to play it cool.

  My bunny slippers shuffle along the tile floor as I make my way to the break room fridge.

  Yes, I’m wearing bunny slippers with my business attire with no shame. At least I have a skirt on. You never know when someone important is going to request a Zoom meeting, and you find out the hard way your camera angle is set wrong.

  I’ve never been caught in a precarious position like that, mostly because my co-worker Frank learned that lesson for us all.

  Twice.

  I really shouldn’t know he’s a Fruit of the Loom whitey-tighty kind of man.

  I swipe right and open Steve’s newest message.

  Steve: Good thing one of us is good with numbers.

  I take a quick moment to do a happy dance, then blow out a calming breath and type.

  Me: It’s not the nerdiest thing about me, you know. I was on the chess team in fifth grade, so there.

  Steve: Oh yeah? I had braces in college.

  Braces in college?

  That makes me laugh.

  Me: Aww, I bet you were adorable.

  Steve: Yeah, NO. Literally not a single person thought it was adorable, and by person, I mean girls.

  Me: Lucky for me I guess.

  See? I can be flirty when I want to be.

  Steve: What are you up to right now?

  Me: Eh, just some boring work stuff. Need to get it all done so we can finally meet face to face tomorrow.

  Steve: Are you nervous at all?

  Actually…

  Yes.

  YES. I am nervous!

  I want to text him “MY GOD YES!” but know that’s probably not the best idea. Makes me sound eager and spastic. No need to scare the poor guy away — let him get used to me first before he finds out what an utter goofball I am. No, it’s best to play this aloof.

  Me: I feel like it’s been a long time coming. Fingers crossed we enjoy each other in person as much as we do online.

  There is nothing worse than two weeks’ worth of build up for one giant evening of a letdown. Believe me, I know. This will be my third match in the past two months, and no matter what my gut is telling me about this one, there’s always a chance it’s going to flop.

  Me: Fingers crossed for chemistry!

  “Honest, yet not too desperate, wouldn’t you agree,” I say down to my bunny slippers who wiggle in agreement.

  My phone dings again, but I force myself to pour my glass of milk first. I have a good feeling about this guy, but there’s always that one percent who wonders if it’s actually a catfish on the other end.

  Once
my mug is full and the milk is secured back in the fridge, I take a look.

  Steve: So how long are you going to be at work today? It’s a holiday.

  Me: You consider New Year’s Eve-Eve the holiday?

  Steve: I consider every holiday the holiday, Hallmark or not.

  Oh my god, Meg would love him. She absolutely cannot get enough of Christmas. Christmas trees, decorating, ugly sweaters, ridiculous earrings shaped like ornaments, lights, tinsel…

  The list goes on and on and she would adore Steve.

  Me: Which one is your favorite?

  Steve: Definitely Christmas and Valentine’s Day. Haven’t celebrated that one in years though, but my dad used to break out all the stops for Mom and that what’s I’m looking for too.

  Swoon!

  Clutching my phone to my heart, I feel my knees go weak. If Steve is half as sweet in person as he is online, I won’t care what he looks like.

  The upcoming year is looking bright. As long as Skeeter or one of the custodians gets to that light before it dims completely. Or bugs my eyes out and causes me to go blind.

  Which could happen. I’ve seen the documentary.

  My stomach growls and I take another chug from my mug, hoping the chocolate milk will coat my stomach until Tabitha and Meg come back to feed me, but maybe I should steal a snack from the cabinet and take it back to my desk — just in case.

  I nab an almond bar and a banana, and couple packages of peanut butter crackers because they go great with my milk.

  Bumping into Sheila, one of the long-time receptionists on my way out of the break room, I almost drop half my treats. It’s worth it when I catch sight of her snazzy outfit.

  “Well, don’t you look festive.”

  Sheila twirls, gold tasseled skirt flaring around her ankles, black tights thick and warm to combat the cold outside. Winter boots don’t add to the look, but make me smile so in my book that’s a win.