by Shen, L. J.
Forever Pucked (Pucked Book #4)
Pucked Under (Pucked #5)
Pucked Off (Pucked #6)
Pucked Love (Pucked #7)
AREA 51: Deleted Scenes & Outtakes
Get Inked
ALL IN SERIES
A Lie for a Lie
A Favor for a Favor
THE CLIPPED WINGS SERIES
Cupcakes and Ink
Clipped Wings
Between the Cracks
Inked Armor
Cracks in the Armor
Fractures in Ink
SHACKING UP SERIES
Shacking Up
Getting Down (Novella)
Hooking Up
I Flipping Love You
Making Up
Handle with Care
STANDALONE NOVELS
The Librarian Principle
Felony Ever After
FOREVER ROMANCE STANDALONES
The Good Luck Charm
Meet Cute
Baby it’s Cold Outside
Melanie Harlow & Corinne Michaels
My Christmas list did not include a broken heart, freezing temperatures, or my tree stuck in the door to my apartment building, but that’s what I got. Just when I thought Santa had failed me, I got something I never thought to ask for …
Copyright © 2019 by Melanie Harlow and Corinne Michaels.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Editing: Nancy Smay, Evident Ink
1
Harlow
“Ugh!” I scream as I try to pull the damn tree through the glass doorway of my new apartment building—unsuccessfully. I’ve been at it for ten minutes and even in the freezing cold December-in-Chicago weather, I have sweat beading on my forehead. What the hell was I thinking trying to move a six-foot-tall live tree by myself?
Oh, I know, I was listening to Willow talk about how a tree with lights would be magically jolly for my psyche, and necessary to get out of the foul mood and bad luck I’m enduring. Pfft. I should’ve known better. Willow may be the best boss and top matchmaker in Chicago, but she was wrong on this.
I don’t feel jolly. I don’t feel festive. I feel sweaty and frustrated, and I would like to shove this tree right up Santa’s …
I give it another yank and my hand scrapes against the bark, ripping a hole in my glove.
That’s it. I’m over it all.
“Stupid Christmas and all its stupid holiday crap. Santa … blah! Who needs him and his jolly elves when life sucks? Stupid tree, stupid holiday, and stupid joy!” I kick the stump, then wince because it hurt.
“Well, that’s not very festive,” a deep voice says from behind me. “I don’t think the tree did anything to deserve your hatred.”
Of course someone is standing here, watching me like a freaking idiot. What a sight I must be too. I’m holding the cut end of a tree, trying to drag it through the heavy door that keeps closing, ripping off branches as I pull harder. I’m not sure whether I should laugh or cry.
I huff, my hair falling into my face, obstructing my view of my current life crisis. “Sorry, I’ll apologize to it later.” I don’t even turn to look at the stranger because whatever with it all anyway. “Once I get it in the stupid door.”
I’m a damn mess, but what else is new?
Two weeks ago, I got dumped. Merry-fucking-Christmas to me. Instead of the gorgeous ring I was hoping for, I got the gift of finding out my boyfriend of six years wanted to ride someone else’s sleigh. So I packed my shit and left. Thankfully, my boss had just moved in with her fiancé, so she gave me the keys to her fully furnished apartment and told me to add plants because plants cure everything.
I should’ve gotten a bunch of fake ones—that way I wouldn’t kill them—but Willow insisted I get a real Christmas tree to push myself into the holiday spirit.
And even in the absolute craptastic state I’m in, I wanted to fake it till I made it. I’m vying for partner of My Heart’s Desire and every little thing helps, right? I should’ve known better. Now I’m going to have a big half-alive, half-naked tree to look at, one more reminder of how I’m failing at life.
Well, if I can get it upstairs.
I pull on the tree again, tug-of-war style, needles flying everywhere. I debate just leaving it here. There’s no tree in the lobby, so I can just call it a contribution, right? If it was my name on the lease, and not Willow’s, I might do it. Or maybe if I didn’t care about my job or had another place to live, but alas, I don’t. So the tree must go to its final resting place where it will undoubtedly die before the big fat guy makes his way on the 25th.
“Are you planning to put that in your apartment?”
“Yup,” I say as I yank again. It doesn’t budge. “Well, maybe.”
He lets out a chuckle. “Need help?”
“Nope,” I say through gritted teeth. “I got it.” I wipe my brow where the sweat is now dripping and groan aloud. “I’m fine. It’s fine. I got this.”
“You know I can’t leave until you get this tree inside.”
I can hear the smile in his voice. At least I’m amusing him.
“I’m happy to help since you’re struggling.”
This is the worst week of my life.
The voice behind me sighs loudly. Giving in, I turn to ask for the help I so clearly need, ready to deal with the embarrassment of my life.
“I’m not strugg—” I start, but when I turn, I want to die. Because in front of me is the most attractive man on the planet, standing there with a smile on his face.
He has dark brown hair that’s pushed to the side, but not in that slick way—it’s as though it just moved there because he commanded it to. His jaw is strong and covered with a dusting of stubble that I want to brush my fingers against. And then there are his eyes. Jesus Christ. His eyes are the most stunning shade of blue. They’re not quite royal blue, although I could see specks of it. They’re a deep, rich sapphire color with traces of green, or is it just a lighter blue? Either way, I can’t stop looking at him.
My mouth hangs open just a bit as I try to get my brain to form words. What do you say to a god?
“I can see you’re not, but … I’m a gentleman, it’s Christmas, and you know … I have somewhere to go before New Years.”
“What?” I ask, not remembering if there was a question or whether I am supposed to do something besides stare at him like the present I’d like under my tree.
“Are you ready for me to help?”
Yes, the answer is yes. Yes to anything he wants. Yes!
“Huh?” is what comes out past my lips.
“The tree. Are you going to let me help you?” He grins at me, knowing my only other choice is to leave it here, stuck in the doors.
“Help?”
“Yeeeeah,” the word comes out slowly, which is apparently the cylinder I’m firing on. He puts his coffee cup down and then extends his hand. “I’m Michael.”
What a name. It’s simple, classic, and so totally him. I think there was an angel named Michael, right? Maybe a god? If not, there is now. The god of Sexy Men. That is Michael.
I sigh, my eyes blinking slowly as I stare at him.
His head tilts just a little, lips pursed as he waits expectantly.
Shit. I should talk. “Harlow.”
“Harlow?”
“Yes?”
He smirks. “Your name is Harlow?”
If the ground could just open me up and swallow me, that would be cool. “Sorry,” I say as I take his hand like I should’ve to start with. “Yes, I’m Harlow, and this is my tree that is resisting its new home.” I’m hoping I can recover from this horrific introduction with a modicum of self-respect intact.
“I hear that some trees are just difficult.”
“This is apparent
ly the story of my life.”
Men. Trees. People. Parents. They’re all difficult. What’s that saying about the common denominator? I’m starting to wonder …
“Well, let’s see if we can’t get the tree upstairs and willing to behave.”
“Doubtful, but I appreciate it.”
Michael moves to the double doors and pushes one to the side and then slides in a locking mechanism I didn’t know existed, and then repeats it on the other side.
Seriously, I hate my life. “That would’ve made it easier ….”
He gives me a panty-melting smile and his brows rise. “And probably saved a lot of branches.”
“That too.”
“Why don’t you grab the top?” he suggests.
I move to the front of the tree, resisting the urge to punch myself in the face.
“Ready?”
I nod.
With almost no effort, we move the tree through the doors and to the elevator. “Thank you, I can get it upstairs.”
Michael gives me a look that says he’s not so sure of it, which I’ve earned. “I’ll help you get it to the apartment. You know, there are two more doors to get it through.”
I laugh, because what the hell else can I do? “I’m never going to recover from this. This is the most embarrassing thing ever.”
“I’m sure I have you beat.”
“Really?”
He shrugs. “Have you ever been to Cancun for spring break?”
I’ve never gone anywhere outside of Chicago. “Can’t say that I have.”
“Then I promise, you’re not even in my wheelhouse of embarrassing moments.”
I appreciate his attempt to make me feel better, but this definitely blows. If he wasn’t so attractive, maybe I wouldn’t care, or if he wasn’t a guy, it would be fine. However, he is both and I am mortified.
I push the button to go to the twentieth floor and will myself not to say anything stupid on the elevator ride up.
“So, are you new to the building?” Michael asks.
“Yeah, just moved in about a week ago. It was my boss’s old apartment, but since she and her fiancé just bought a townhouse, she’s subletting it to me. You?”
“I’ve been here about a year. I live with a buddy from college.”
“I used to live with my boyfriend, but I don’t now. Nope. Now I’m alone. Totally alone. And single.” I’m also wondering if I can sew my mouth shut to stop myself from blurting out stupid stuff.
Michael gives me a smile and runs his fingers through his hair. “Well, that’s …”
“A lot of info?”
He laughs.
“I swear, I have my shit together most days, but it’s been a rough week.”
“Well, the holidays are either great or total shit, right?”
“I’m definitely on the shit end.”
His eyes roam over my body and his lips turn up as my blood heats under his stare. “Here’s to hoping today shows you it’s not all shit, then. Maybe we can turn your luck around.”
He stands there, holding the trunk of the tree and then the elevator door opens, not allowing me to think any more on that statement.
2
Michael
Do not stare at her ass. Do not stare at her ass.
I try to tear my gaze away, but … it’s really fucking hard to do with those leggings she’s got on.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had a reaction to a woman like this. I could’ve stood in that hallway all damn night watching her. She’s beautiful in an imperfect kind of way. Her long brown hair is falling out of her ponytail, and there are a good amount of pine needles stuck in there too, but it just makes her more adorable. Not to mention how the tip of her nose is just a little bit red from the cold. I can’t remember the last time I found someone’s flaws so cute.
We get the tree into the apartment without any issues. “Do you have the tree stand?” I ask.
“The what?”
“The stand … that the tree goes in.”
“You mean, it doesn’t just … stand on its own?”
I can’t tell if she’s kidding, and I fight back laughter because the look in her eyes says she’s not and she’s halfway to tears.
“Not a big deal,” I say quickly. “It can sit in the corner while we go get a stand.” I don’t know what possessed me to say it. I don’t know this girl and she doesn’t know me, but I’ll do anything to not have her cry.
“Right now?”
I look down at my watch and then back at her. Fuck the family party I’m supposed to be at. I didn’t want to go anyway, and I’d much rather help someone who is clearly having a bad day. My sister will understand, and if not, she can kiss my ass.
I smile at Harlow. “Yeah, we’ll go to the store, and then I’ll help you set it all up.”
Her eyes brim with unshed tears and now I wonder if I fucked up by offering to help. “You’d do that? You don’t … I mean, you’re all dressed up. Don’t you have somewhere to go?”
I lift my shoulder, not really thinking much of it. “I think helping a neighbor is the Christmas spirit thing to do, don’t you? Besides, if you don’t get it in the stand with water, who the hell is going to help you get it out of here when it’s dead?”
The sound of her laughter goes straight to my cock. It’s soft but lacks all restraint, and I find that I want to hear it again.
“I probably would just toss it out the window,” she tells me.
“And that is why we’re getting a stand now.”
“Can you give me a few?”
I nod. “I’ll wait here.”
Harlow rushes out of the room and I look around at the apartment. Knowing she just moved in a week ago, I’m shocked at how organized it is. There aren’t any boxes, unlike in my place, where my buddy and I have lived in for two years and still haven’t finished unpacking. Everything in here is neat and clean. There are a few photos on the table where she tossed her keys, and I wander over to them.
I pick up a framed picture of an older couple, assuming it’s her parents. Harlow looks exactly like the woman in the photo, only younger. A guy I’m guessing is her brother is in a cap and gown next to her.
Ugh. Northwestern.
“Hey, where did you go to college?” I yell out.
It’s best to get the important things out of the way.
“Me? Oh, I went to U of I!”
Okay, so it’s just her brother that is the enemy.
Setting that frame down, I move to the next photo, where Harlow stands next to another woman in an office. The other woman’s arms are wrapped around Harlow’s middle and the smile is so wide, it could break the glass. Who the hell has photos in their house with their boss? They must really get along.
“Hey. Sorry,” she says quickly as she comes up behind me. “Find anything interesting?”
I laugh because it’s clear I was doing what any normal person would when left alone in a stranger’s house. “Nope. Seems you’re normal.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“Is that your boss?”
Harlow nods quickly. “That’s Willow. She’s my boss-slash-friend. She owns the company I work for, but I’m going to come on as a partner soon. Well, if I’m able to match this client who is totally a pain in my ass.”
“Match?”
She bites her lower lip. “Yeah. So. I’m a matchmaker.”
“Like …”
“Like exactly what you’re probably thinking, yes. I hate the term and really wish we could come up with something a little less cheesy. Like, Destinymaker or Couple Counselor. I don’t know, I’m still mulling it over, but the point is that I cut through the crap and find what people want in a partner.”
“I think you found your new job title—crap cutter.”
Harlow rolls her eyes with a grin. “I’ll be sure to float it to management. It’s super romantic.”
“I’m a romantic guy.”
She tilts her head. “Are you? Interes
ting.”
I groan, seeing the wheels start to turn in her matchmaker brain. The last thing I need is another woman in my life trying to set me up. My mother and sister are bad enough. “Actually, no. I’m not romantic at all. I hate romance.”
“You and me both, buddy.”
“Wait a minute. You make your living as a matchmaker, and you hate romance? Isn’t that sort of a detriment to your career?”
She sighs and blows the stray pieces of hair out of her face. I notice she’s put on lipstick. Her cheeks look a little brighter too, and she’s put cover-up or something on her nose, but it’s still pink. “I suppose it is. I haven’t always hated romance. It’s more of a recent occurrence.”
“I see. That boyfriend you mentioned …”
“Ex-boyfriend,” she says sharply.
“Right. Ex-boyfriend. Is he responsible for your hatred of romance?”
“Probably.” She crosses her arms over her chest, not easy to do since she’s still wearing her puffy winter jacket, and her lower lip juts out. It’s angry and adorable all at once. “I thought he was going to propose on Christmas Eve, but he dumped me right after Thanksgiving. After everything I did for him, he dumped me!”
“What did you do for him?” I ask, curious.
“Oh, God.” She shakes her head. “I was so dumb. I loaned him money to get out of debt, because I thought he was going to buy a ring. Instead, he bought two tickets to Maui and took his little side dish on Christmas vacation! Mele fucking Kalikimaka!”
“Ouch. How long were you together?”
“Six years.”
“Six years!” The thought of a six-year relationship—seventy-two months, over two thousand days and nights of unrealistic expectations—nearly makes my knees buckle. “Damn.”
“I was an idiot. But I kept thinking he loved me and eventually he’d want to marry me.”
“Why’d you want to marry him?”
She thinks for a second. “He was cute enough. And he had a steady job. However, he also had a gambling habit I didn’t know about.”
