The Office Party

by G. , Whitney

  Boss-Snark Forum 1.0

  Subject: Garrett West

  Russ76: Okay. Who the heck pissed in his Cheerios this morning? WTF is up with him today?

  LilyV8: Right? He’s being far more bullish about deadlines than usual. Anyone from the executive team know what’s going on? Where’s @SavannGrey?

  Heather20: I was drinking spiked eggnog on the beach earlier this morning and saw him pacing/shouting on the phone. Whatever it is, he’s PISSED. (He looks even sexier pissed, I must say.)

  Russ76: @LilyV8 I’m sure she’s around here somewhere. Does anyone know the scent of cologne he wears? I’m thinking about getting my husband some.

  Heather20: It’s called ‘I’m Fucking Soulless.’ LMAO. It probably cost 2k a bottle anyway… #gethimsomecalvinklein

  I scroll through the other threads—checking in on who’s working on what while attempting to piece together what’s upset Garrett.

  Is it me?

  The sound of heavy footsteps is suddenly behind me, and then I hear someone clearing a throat.

  “You don’t look like you’re suffering at all …” It’s a deep voice that I know all too well. “Are you enjoying your time away from me?”

  What the fuck?

  Sucking in a breath, I turn around and find myself face to face with the bane of my existence. The sexiest man who has ever set foot in Manhattan. Instead of his usual, custom three-piece suit and five-thousand-dollar tie, he’s wearing jeans and a dark grey T-shirt that hugs his muscles in all the right places.

  His deep blue eyes are locked on mine, and his smile is more lethal than usual.

  For a few seconds, I forget that he’s Satan in the flesh—that he’s flown thirteen hours to confront me in another country.

  So, that wire message actually happened …

  “Well?” His lips curve into a smirk. “Are you enjoying it, Miss Grey?”

  I swallow. “How the hell did you find me?”

  “You could’ve gone to the spa in Hawaii,” he says, eyeing my robe. “I would’ve paid for it.”

  “How the hell did you find me?” I repeat.

  “Well, like the very generous and concerned boss that I am, I stopped by your condo,” he says. “With enough soup and gourmet boxes to get you through the week.”

  “You could’ve used Uber Eats.”

  “I thought my favorite advisor was worthy of a personal handoff.” He steps closer, narrowing his eyes at me. “So, imagine my complete shock and surprise when you weren’t there, and that if you really had a flesh-eating disease, you would be in a hospital. I called every single one in the state.”

  “I drove to the one in New Jersey.”

  “You don’t have a driver’s license, let alone a car.” He pauses, turning me on against my will—preventing me from jumping over the railing and running back to my room.

  “I greeted the team in Hawaii for day one and decided it would be best to let you think that you got away with this,” he says. “For what it’s worth, I’m highly impressed with the level of detail that you put into this plan. That’s probably why I made you one of my top advisors.”

  “Is it too late to be demoted?”

  He smiles, closing the gap between us. You’re welcome for the upgrade, by the way. I thought you deserved to sleep in the best suite this place offered.”

  “I also deserve to spend the holidays how I choose.”

  “I agree.” He looks at his watch. “You have the rest of tonight through tomorrow afternoon. Since the storm is expected to worsen tomorrow night, I decided to arrange transportation to Hawaii for you. You and your sister can share my other jet.”

  “My sister doesn’t want to leave here.”

  “Oh my god, we’re leaving?” Georgia suddenly rounds the corner. “Before the storm hits? And we’re going to Hawaii?”

  “Yes.” Garrett answers, keeping his eyes on mine. “You are.”

  “Oh my god, thank you!” She lets out a sigh of relief. “Your boss isn’t that awful of a person at all, Savannah!” She tilts her head to the side. “And you totally lied about what he looks like. Wow.”

  Garrett smiles at her before turning his attention back towards me.

  I mouth, ‘I fucking hate you’ to him, and cross my arms. “I think it’s way past time for you to let this office party go. This tradition isn’t necessary.”

  “It’s something that my late father, who I respect and love, implemented.”

  “You hate your father, and he’s still alive. I saw him at a coffee shop two days ago.”

  “Did he say anything to you?”

  “Let me out of this office party, and I’ll let you know.”

  Silence.

  We stare at each other in a stubborn stalemate, the same one we face every day in the office. I refuse to make the next move.

  “Miss Grey,” he says, “the jet will be ready to take you to Hawaii at three o’clock.”

  “I’ll show up for it at four.”

  “I figured, so I told the pilot to prepare for takeoff at five.” He steps back, looking me up and down. “If there’s nothing else we need to discuss at this moment, I’ll see you at the office party.”

  I bite my tongue and let him win this round, let him walk away under his aura of cockiness. With every step he takes, I vow that I will have a new job before next year’s office party.

  I will never let this happen again.

  ONE YEAR LATER

  TWO

  Savannah

  This Christmas

  Manhattan, New York

  Please don’t talk to me right now. Please don’t talk to me …

  I twist the key in the lock of my brownstone, hoping it’ll give way and save me from an awkward conversation with the woman who lives next door.

  She’s obsessed with the holidays, and she insists on making everyone on this block sign off on her “magical wish list.” She raves about how much it works, but last year, I specifically requested a new job with a better boss, a top floor office that overlooked Manhattan, and a pair of pajamas so soft that I would learn how to stay in bed. In return, I received a promotion as Chief Advisor to Satan, brand new furniture and flowers in my current office, and a rash from the set of flannel pajamas Georgia sent me.

  “Savannah?” She calls. “Savannah Grey, is that you?”

  Shit. I force a smile and turn around. “Yes, Miss Cole. It’s me.”

  “You’re getting more gorgeous by the day!” She adjusts her bright red Santa hat and walks over to me. “If your boyfriend lived in town, I’d invite you over for one of our private parties. My husband has a huge crush on you, you know.”

  I nod. I never know what to say when she tells me this, and I’m pretty sure that she and her husband are swingers.

  “Anyway, it’s one day before December, so you know what that means.” She pulls a glittery red envelope from her breast pocket, followed by a huge black pen. “Time to write down your top three things that you want Santa to bring you. Make sure to seal it, so he’ll know it’s real.”

  I take the pen from her hand and write:

  1) For my neighbor to stop believing in Santa Claus

  2) For an orgasm with my boyfriend (I mean, just one)

  3) A holiday season that I finally enjoy.

  I lick the strip and seal it, and then I hand it to her. “Here you are, Miss Cole.”

  “Thank you. Have a good night!”

  “You, too.” I push the door open and walk inside, stopping dead in my tracks when I catch sight of the winter wonderland in my living room.

  A line of white Christmas trees stand tall by my window, twinkling in red and white, a shiny toy train is chugging along the floorboards, and lush green garland is draped over almost every surface.

  Four stockings are hanging on my fireplace, and they each bear a single word in silver glitter.

  Please Come Home Savannah

  I step closer and notice my favorite children’s book splayed open on my coffee table. A
t the center of its pages is a note in my grandmother’s signature handwriting.

  Dear Savannah,

  I hope you won’t mind that I hired someone to decorate your condo this year.

  (With your amazing job, I think you can afford a better lock on your door **smiley face** )

  I figured that this is the closest I can get to celebrating the holidays with you.

  I know your job doesn’t allow off-days for Christmas, but how about coming to see me after that?

  Call me whenever you can.

  I love you.

  Grandma Hattie

  P.S.

  I had them place my best biscuits in the fridge.

  P.S.S.

  Your mother wouldn’t be pleased to know that you stopped coming home after graduating from college. Neither would your father. Family is everything, Savannah.

  I walk over to the toy train and lift it off its tracks, setting it into a drawer.

  My parents are long gone—casualties of a train crash, and no amount of biscuits or trips home will ever bring them back.

  I turn my attention to the gingerbread cookies that are standing on my mantle. Each of the cookies features the name of the family members I’ve left back at home. I run my fingers across all their names, stopping when I notice the one named “Taryn.”

  Ugh. I pick it up and bite off its head.

  I’ll never admit to a single soul, but as much I complain, I was somewhat grateful for Garrett’s annual office party. For the “excuse” it affords me, anyway. I always offer it as the reason I stopped going home.

  In reality, I stopped because there was a past chapter of my life that I was no longer interested in reading.

  Well, a certain character anyway.

  Letting out a breath, I walk over to the fridge and pull out the tin of biscuits. Then I sit down at my kitchen table and open my laptop.

  The prep-ceremony for this year’s office party isn’t going to plan itself.

  * * *

  A few hours later, I place a checkmark next to “Remind travel agent to keep everyone in the dark about the upcoming destination, no exceptions” and look at the next thing on my to-do list.

  The Rose Ceremony.

  It’s the final event of the party, and its ripped straight from the script of The Bachelor. The day is dedicated to a tray of red roses that Garrett hands out to each of the executive team members to determine who is getting “a raise” for the new year. Those left empty-handed are given a lecture on the things they need to improve, and some people are asked to submit resignations.

  Or, so I’ve heard that’s the case.

  Garrett offers me the first rose without comment, so I’ve always left the room without knowing what comes next.

  Flipping through the invoices, I realize that none of the necessary items have been ordered. The florist has submitted a quote with estimated instead of actual numbers, the Human Resources director hasn’t sent me the list of employees who are due for review, and the junior interns haven’t finished the work I assigned them two weeks ago.

  I sigh and log into my inbox, coming face to face with messages that must’ve been prescheduled for the same time.

  Subject: Need more time to complete. (Mr. West is being unreasonable, don’t you think?)

  Subject: Extension request (Pleaseeee. He has to know this isn’t possible.)

  Subject: Can we have another week to finish?

  I know better than to open any of them right now. I also know that I’m tired of them weaponizing our mutual hatred of the boss to request special treatment here or there.

  Even though give in most of the time, I can’t afford to do so today.

  Doing so would mean a five-week extension, on top of the original extension I gave them in October.

  My blood is beginning to boil, and I’m tempted to write back “Hell no” to everyone, but I hold back.

  That’s not being a good boss…

  I know that it’s best to get one of my professional mentors to talk me off the ledge, but there’s only one person I know who’s awake at this hour. One person who always answers when I call.

  Picking up my phone, I scroll down to “Satan in the Flesh” and hit call without a second thought.

  “Yes, Savannah?” His deep voice comes over the line within seconds, and I hesitate. I’m not used to him calling me by my first name, not used to how good it sounds coming from his mouth.

  I honestly hate how easy it is for him to turn me on, that he’s still capable of doing it, even when I have a boyfriend.

  “Do you plan on saying something?” There’s a smile in his voice. “Or, are you just up thinking about me at four in the morning?”

  “Ugh, no.” I roll my eyes. “I called because I need to talk to you about something important.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I’m having an issue with the things that need to be done for the prep-ceremony,” I say. Well, that and a lot of other things. Everyone keeps asking me for more time on their assignments.”

  “Okay … And?”

  “I don’t understand why it always comes down to that.” I admit. “’I give everyone the same deadlines that you once gave to me.”

  He lets out a low laugh that sends butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

  “Thank you for making me waste my time on a phone call with you,” I say. “I’ll see you at the office, and—”

  “I’m not laughing at you.” He interrupts. “I’m laughing at the idea that you honestly expect your coworkers to have the same work ethic as you do. If you gave them the same amount of time I gave you, then you can only expect half of the work. Give them an extension, or hire more people if you want it done to your standard.”

  I sit still for several seconds, stunned by his compliment.

  “Is there anything else, Miss Grey?”

  “Yes.” I clear my throat and pull out my planner. “Mr. Warner sent me an email requesting that we push back our Rockefeller Plaza meeting by an hour. I told him that was fine, but I’ll still need to leave at eight.”

  “For the date with your boyfriend, correct?”

  “Yes.” I pause. “He’s meeting me for dinner right after his flight gets in.”

  “Hmmm. Did you settle on a dress yet?”

  “I’m still debating between a few options.”

  “Which ones?”

  I’m tempted to say, “None of your business,” but he has good fashion sense. That, and Georgia previously suggested wearing a ‘Distance makes us closer’ T-shirt and jeans.

  “There’s three.” I stand to my feet and walk into my bedroom. Opening my closet, I hit the lights and head over to the options.

  “There’s the pink and white A-line one that I wore a few weeks ago at the Donovan meeting, the black one I wore last month at the charity ball, and a brand-new navy blue one that I haven’t worn yet.”

  “You look good in dark blue, so you should wear that one,” he says. “Where’d you buy it from?”

  “Versace … My boyfriend bought it for me.”

  “Your boyfriend brags about buying his suits off the clearance rack,” he says. “I doubt that he would ever set foot in that store.”

  I don’t bother denying that. I hold back a laugh and take it off the hanger. “Thank you for your help.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  Silence.

  In moments like this, I almost feel like we’re friends—that maybe, just maybe, we can have a conversation that doesn’t end with me hanging up in his face.

  “I was about to get in the shower when you called, Miss Grey,” he says. “So, unless you plan to come over and join me—sans the boyfriend, I’d like to get off the phone now.”

  Welp, so much for that.

  I end the call and begin granting extensions for my colleagues.

  THREE

  Garrett

  This Christmas

  Manhattan, New York

  “Mr. West! Mr. West! How serious are th
e rumors about your company purchasing Netflix? Does this mean you’re selling your shares of YouTube?”

  I ignore questions from the press as I walk out of the Empire State Building. I’ve just given them three hours of my time and allowed them to ask whatever questions they wanted, but of course, it’s never enough.

  I make a beeline through their huddle and slip into my younger brother Seth’s town car.

  The moment I shut the door, his driver speeds toward West Media headquarters.

  “You know, this might be the first time that you looked like a CEO who gives a damn at a press conference.” Seth smiles. “I almost believed that you had a heart while you were up there. Good job.”

  “Fuck you, Seth.”

  He laughs and pulls a bright green box from his briefcase. “Here. Dad wanted me to give this to you.”

  I grab it, placing it between us.

  “You’re not going to open it?”

  “Not without calling the bomb squad first.”

  “He bought you a pen.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s an engraved pen that says, ‘I miss our old holidays & I’m sorry,’ in case you want to know. He also wrote you a short letter. I’m sure it’s a bit different from the one he gave to me, but …”

  I tune out his voice and look out the window. Stop and go traffic is far more interesting than anything my father has to say after years of treating me like nothing.

  A switch went off for him the moment he lost my mother, and he transformed into a coldhearted bastard who raised his children like soldiers instead of sons. As far as I was concerned, our relationship wasn’t worth the years of circuitry and labor it cost to fix.

  He’s not sorry about anything. He needs money.