The Office Party

by G. , Whitney

  I let out a sigh and pull out my phone. I scroll down to Savannah’s name to send her a quick text.

  Me: My father is attempting to play the sympathy card again. How much money did I send him last time? I forgot.

  Her response is instant as always.

  S. Grey (She’s Not Yours…): Fifty-thousand. I advised you to send seventy-five. Would you like me to send the remainder now? (How sure are you about the blue dress?)

  Me: Yes. Thank you. (500%)

  I tap my fingers against the screen, wanting to ask for a picture of her wearing this dress, but I know that’s crossing the line.

  The two of us dance around each other every day—somehow never spinning into one another. The tension between us is palpable and ever-present, but we pretend like it doesn’t exist.

  S. Grey (She’s Not Yours…): Not that I value your opinion, b/c I don’t, but since you’ve never seen it, do you think this will work for Joshua? [img.]

  The image downloads and my cock instantly stiffens. The dress is an extremely low cut one that exposes almost the mounds of her C-cup breasts.

  The fabric clings to her curves in all the right places, cinching her right at the waist.

  Right where I would start kissing her before going lower…

  It takes everything in me not to text back, “Joshua doesn’t deserve you,” but I hold back.

  Me: Dress is perfect. You can go back to work now. Your office isn’t designed for fashion shows, and I’m not paying you a multi-six-figure salary to help pick out your dresses.

  S. Grey (She’s Not Yours…): *middle finger emoji*

  “So, uh… I’m not coming to the party this year.” Seth’s words jerk me out of my thoughts.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I meant to tell you last night but I got busy with the Yardley proposal. Aren’t you going to ask me why I won’t be there?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you anyway. I’m proposing to Amelie Foster—the woman I introduced you to a few months ago.” He looks as if he’s waiting for me to tell him that this is okay. That he’s somehow above the rules because he’s the CFO and wants to run off for personal reasons.

  I cross my arms and keep him waiting.

  “She’s the love of my life.” He pulls a small velvet box from his pocket and opens it, showing me a massive diamond ring. “I know it’s fast, but I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and I hope she says yes.”

  “Amelie Foster used to work in Accounting,” I say. “Did you start dating her before or after she quit?”

  “What does that matter?” He scoffs. “She doesn’t work for you now, so hang up whatever fantasy you have of making your younger brother an example of your iron fist rule.”

  “I’m just asking a question.”

  “And I’m refusing to give you an answer.” He glares at me. “Would you prefer if I handled Amelie like you handle Savannah?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Don’t play stupid.” He shrugs. “I should walk around in denial and focus on my job, right?”

  “I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about,” I say. “But I will make an example out of you, and if you don’t show up with everyone else, I’ll be hiring a new CFO in January. You’re supposed to be my partner.”

  “Your business partner. Not a psycho who lives, breathes, and eats work twenty-four hours a day.” He rolls his eyes. “I have a life, Garrett.”

  “So, do I.”

  “Do you?” He looks me right in my eyes. “Because for the past decade and a half, the only thing you’ve talked about is West Media, and all the films and production studios you’re operating. Which is quite ironic, because I don’t think you’ve sat through a single movie in years.”

  I try to refute that, but it’s true. The longest video I can remember watching is on YouTube.

  “Exactly.” He opens his door as the driver puts the car in park in front of headquarters. “Get over yourself.”

  I wait a few seconds before stepping out into the snow. I take my time walking inside so I won’t have to talk with Seth again until lunch.

  I take the elevator up to my floor and see a delivery man looking around for the receptionist. He seems beyond lost, and he’s holding flowers that look like they have one more day of life in them at best.

  “What’s this for?”

  “A delivery, sir.” He extends them to me. “They’re for a Savannah Grey.”

  “They can’t be.” I’m certain they’re for someone else now. “She’s allergic to lilies.”

  “Well, you may want to take that up with the sender, sir.” He flips the tag over. “I’m not responsible for anything else past this point. Merry Christmas.”

  I look down and read the note.

  Happy Holidays, babe!

  I know you hate the long-distance, but it’s only temporary.

  Anyway. I thought of you today and wanted to send you something special before dinner.

  These flowers may look slightly old, but it’s only because I traveled all across town to find the right ones.

  I can’t wait to see you tonight.

  Joshua

  Note for the delivery driver:

  Can you make sure the price tag is ripped off before you hand them to her? Thanks!

  The driver hasn’t followed the directions, as I can still see the tag. 1-Week Old Flower(s) Special! 75% off $5.99!

  Jesus Christ.

  FOUR

  Savannah

  This Christmas

  Manhattan, New York

  Boss-Snark Forum 1.0

  Subject: Garrett West

  JerryMkting: Whoever draws my name in the Secret Santa game this year, can you please gift me an email to my wife? Make it say, Subject: My condolences (Jerry was such a sweet man) Maybe if she thinks I’ve died, she’ll finally give me a divorce?

  Russ76: LMAOOO I’ll do it. Speaking of divorces, rumor has it that Mr. West threatened to fire his brother. What type of bastard would fire his flesh and blood?

  SavannGrey: The same type of bastard who is currently making me go shopping for a new silver tray for the Rose Ceremony as if I’m some type of intern. (Who the hell ever noticed that he used a “one hundred percent unique tray” every year? Why does this detail even matter?)

  LilyV8: While you’re at the store, check and see if they have souls on sale … Buy two.

  SavannGrey: Already checked. No luck. And ugh. I forgot about Secret Santa. I’ll draw my “lucky” person when I get back.

  Yardley34: @Russ78 He made me wash his Maserati yesterday because I cut him off in traffic. I don’t put anything past this man anymore.

  JerryMkting: Okay, here’s a better suggestion. Whoever pulls Mr. West’s name in the Secret Santa game this year, can you please gift him ten hours of psychological therapy? Then again, can we all pitch in for that anyway?

  FOUR (B)

  Savannah

  This Christmas

  Manhattan, New York

  Winter winds whip my face as I rush out of the custom silver store. I’m not sure why I decided to walk two city blocks instead of getting a town car, but I’m currently regretting that decision.

  Then again, maybe I need the fresh air.

  Now that West Media is one and half weeks to the “prep-ceremony,” the office is in full holiday panic mode, and even though it unfolds in the exact same way every year, the pressure is still intense.

  Executives from Disney, Netflix, and every cable company in the country fly in on their private jets to get on Mr. West’s good side because they know that we work on their platforms during the office party. They attempt to woo him with exclusive trips to private golf retreats, millions of dollars under the table, and a few of them even offer up their private planes. Pilot included.

  What they don’t know is that I’m the one they need to impress, and I’ve already decided on my advice to Mr. West. In addition to “Grow a fucking heart,” it’s,
“They’re all full of shit. Don’t make any special deals with them.”

  By the time I make it to headquarters, my toes are frozen, and my curls are dripping wet from a sudden onslaught of snow.

  As I wipe my boots on the entry mats, I see Garrett talking to some Disney representative at the other end of the hall. He’s wearing a custom trench coat over his three-piece suit, and every woman who walks past him steals a second glance.

  I’m tempted to yell out, “He’s a man-whore, don’t waste your time,” but I’ll save that for another day.

  I hand the silver tray to the main receptionist and decide to get my part in the Secret Santa game done.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Grey.” The security guard asks for my ID. “Here to pick out your lucky person?”

  “There’s nothing lucky about this.” I frown. “Can I pay you a few hundred dollars to not participate in this? You could easily make the adjustment in your private spreadsheet and he would never know.”

  “You think I’m willing to lose my job over a few hundred dollars?” He points over to the tree. ‘Pick up a damn box and bring it over to me.”

  I start walking, but then I stop and look over my shoulder. “What about losing it for a few thousand dollars? I can help you find a new one.”

  “Don’t make me file a complaint with Human Resources, Miss Grey.”

  Sighing, I walk over to the tree and look over the brightly wrapped gifts. I settle on a golden one with a black ribbon that looks like the exact one I picked last year and hand it to the guard.

  As is tradition, he scans the bottom of it, and then he instructs me to open it in front of him.

  I take my time delicately ripping the paper, in hopes that he’ll get annoyed and let me out of this, but he has the patience of a saint.

  When I finally get the wrapping off, I flip the lid and pull out the green ornament that bears the recipient’s name.

  Garrett West.

  I suck in a breath and drop it to the ground, shattering it to pieces.

  “Savannah Grey picks Garrett West,” he says, typing it into his top-secret spreadsheet. “Okay, you can go now.”

  “That’s not who I picked.” I stomp on the glass. “I picked George Shaw in Accounting.”

  “No, I picked George Shaw in Accounting.” He points toward the door. “Goodbye, Miss Grey. Happy holidays.”

  I step out of the room and notice Garrett leading a group of press members into the formal room. Even from a distance, I can’t deny that he’s sexy as hell. Bastard boss or not.

  His blue eyes suddenly meet mine, and he looks me up and down in a way that makes my breath hitch. He says something to one of the associates and signals for me to wait for him.

  As he walks over to me, I try not to focus on the fact that he’s incapable of ever looking anything less than perfect. That if he weren’t my boss, I would’ve mustered up the courage to ask him out years ago.

  “It took you all this time to pick up a silver tray, Miss Grey?” he asks. “Even if you walked—”

  “I did walk.” I cut him off. “But now that I think about it, I don’t appreciate being asked to do an intern’s job. I should be talking to the executives with you.”

  “Why?” He raises his eyebrow. “Your mind is already made up, and you hate dealing with these types of people.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “You also, according to what you’ve told me, tend to get nervous and stressed when its date-night so I thought you would appreciate doing something simple. Since I was wrong, you can go.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “That you’re free to leave and go frolic with your boyfriend. Make sure to ask him if he has enough money on his credit card to pay for the entire meal this time.”

  “That’s only happened once, and he honestly misunderstood the rules of Happy Hour.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he says, looking me up and down. “He’s dating you, so it should’ve never happened at all …”

  FIVE

  Garrett

  This Christmas

  Manhattan, New York

  I scroll down to Savannah’s name in my phone and change her name for the umpteenth time since she started working for me. I have to use a certain line for every time she dates a guy who isn’t me, or else I will find a way to call and talk to her about something random. (Why she always answers me when I do that, I have no clue)

  S. Grey (Don’t Be Petty and Interrupt Her Date Tonight)

  I have a date of my own, anyway.

  Unfortunately, she doesn’t compare to Savannah in any way. She’s a typical, pretty socialite who thinks gossiping is an art form.

  As I’m picking out my suit and tie, my phone buzzes with a call from Private Executive Travel.

  “Yes?” I answer.

  “Sir, we ran an extensive search as you asked on all your employees, and only one person has booked travel within the next few weeks. A Miss Savannah Grey.”

  “How shocking.” I smile. “Where is she going this year?”

  “It says Colorado Springs, sir,” he says. “But here’s the thing. We did some further digging and realized that she actually books this ticket multiple times a year.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Well, maybe it’s for a friend.”

  “The ticket is in her name, sir. She buys and never uses it, so I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “Thank you very much.”

  I’m not sure why Savannah would bother paying for tickets she never uses, but I’m sure she has some type of reason.

  Saving a note in my phone, I start to call the travel company right back, but my executive assistant’s call comes through first.

  “Yes, Janet?” I answer.

  “I apologize in advance if this sounds odd, but the guy who wrote me this note swears he knows you.” She lets out a breath and begins to read.

  Please ask your boss, Mr. Garrett West if he can PayPal or CashApp me twenty-one dollars by six o’clock so that I may treat the woman who advises him daily to dinner.

  Tell him that I will wire him the money back.

  My cash app code is $joshh5, and my PayPal is JoshHHM

  I appreciate his discretion in this matter.

  What the fuck? “Go ahead and give it to him.” I end the call and change Savannah’s name in my phone once more.

  S. Grey (Fuck This Boyfriend, She Can Do Better)

  SIX

  Savannah

  This Christmas

  Manhattan, New York

  “I can’t believe you pulled your boss’s name for the Secret Santa tradition.” My boyfriend, Joshua, laughs at my misery over dinner. “Do you have any idea what you’re going to get him yet?”

  “Airlines don’t sell one-way trips to Hell, so I’ll have to look for something else,” I say. “I feel like we’re up and down more than we usually are, you know?”

  He nods in agreement, but he doesn’t know the half of it.

  “It’s crazy,” he says. “Sometimes I feel like you two are the ones in a relationship. I’m sure I know a lot more about him than he knows about me.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, clasping his hand atop the table. “It’s just—”

  “Holiday prep season and it’s stressful as hell.” He smiles and gives my hand a soft squeeze. “I know, babe. I know. Did you taste your rice yet?”

  “No.” I pick up my chopsticks and try not to look disappointed.

  We’re currently sitting in some hole in the wall Chinese food place in New Jersey, a far cry from the “super upscale SoHo” place he previously promised.

  I can’t get too upset with him, though.

  He’s living the startup life as an app developer and funds are tight. I know and believe that it’ll pay off someday.

  Unlike Garrett West, he knows what its like to struggle, what it’s like to live paycheck to paycheck, and he doesn’t—

  I stop thinking once I see him stuff a few salt
and pepper packets into his coat pocket.

  “What are you doing, Joshua?”

  “I ran out of seasoning at my house.” He lowers his voice. “You wouldn’t believe the cost of things in Los Angeles. That’s why I asked the waitress for some extra parmesan on the side. I brought a few Ziploc bags for the occasion.”

  I blink. “I can buy some seasoning online and have it shipped to you.”

  “No, that’s okay,” he says. “I would never ask you to buy anything for me. Anyway, back to your boss. You could always write a letter of all the things you hate about him and wrap it in some pretty paper. That might suffice as a gift.”

  “I’ve given him that for his past two birthdays.”

  “Oh.” He shrugs. “Well, just don’t put any effort into it. Give him something that shows you really don’t care about anything, except the paycheck.”

  “Good thinking.” I place a napkin in my lap. “Let’s talk about something else. How was your flight?”

  “Good, no turbulence,” he says. “Did you get my flowers?”

  “Yes.” I smile at the thought of them. “Everyone on my floor was super impressed with the arrangement.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” I nod. “I mean, not that it matters, but they didn’t set you back too far, did they? They look even more expensive than the ones you sent me last week. Those were amazing as well, by the way.”

  He raises his eyebrow, confused. “I didn’t send you flowers last week.”

  “Yeah, you did.” I pull out my phone and start scrolling through my pictures. “I missed your Skype call, and you sent me red roses with the little ‘No need to apologize’ card. Hold on, I have to find it.”