The Office Party

by G. , Whitney

There’s a snow machine pumping flakes across the air, and waiters are donning elves’ ears as they carry around trays of beverages.

  “I heard that this place is going to have a spa that rivals any of the other ones we’ve been to.” Lily is still babbling. “That means better than Aspen, Miami, Vegas. What do you think about that?”

  “I think that I need to hand off my gift,” I say, unable to deal with any more holiday cheer. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  I make my way through the crowd in search of Garrett.

  Thankfully, he’s standing by the window alone, tapping his phone’s screen.

  He looks up at me as I approach. “I was just about to text you, Miss Grey. I thought you were attempting to avoid the party again.”

  “I overslept.”

  “That’s a first.”

  “And a last. Here,” I say, handing him the gift box. “I pulled your name this year.”

  “Will I die if I open this?” He raises his eyebrow. “The tech team says someone on my staff has a recent obsession with True Crime: The Boss Gets Murdered stories.”

  “I’m sure that person would only kill you if she thought she would get away with it.” I smile. “I got you something that conveys exactly how I feel about you, so I don’t want you to doubt what’s inside.”

  Before he can respond to that, Nate from Accounting steps between us.

  He holds out a shiny blue box and smiles at me.

  “This is for you, Savannah,” he says. “I feel like right now is the best time for me to shoot my shot.”

  “In front of the boss?” Garrett asks.

  Nate ignores him, clearing his throat. “I feel like you’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever met in my life, the total package.”

  Garrett clenches his jaw and gives Nate an “Are you being serious?” look, but Nate remains oblivious.

  “I wouldn’t open that until the first night of the trip, if I were you,” he says. “Wherever we’re headed, I’ll be sure to stay up and wait for your answer.”

  He winks at me a few times, and then he licks his lips before walking away.

  Garrett stares at the blue box, looking as if he expects me to open it in front of him.

  “There’s a no-fraternization policy at this company, Miss Grey,” he says. “I hope you know that.”

  “I do know that. Then again, maybe there shouldn’t be, since you make us all spend so much time together. I’m bound to hook up with one of my advisor colleagues at some point.”

  He narrows his eyes at me, and I narrow mine right back.

  “Mr. West, may I have your assistance, please?” The travel agent calls from the front of the room. “It’s almost time to announce this year’s destination.”

  He stares at me for a few more seconds before walking away.

  Letting out a breath, I grab a cup of eggnog from a waiter’s tray. I shake Nate’s box and decide to open it later since he’s still winking at me from across the room.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?” The travel agent calls over the microphone, and the room falls silent. “It’s my honor to be of service to you for another year and it’s time for me to reveal where you’re going!”

  A fake drumroll sounds from somewhere, and she counts backward from ten—looking a little too excited about this.

  “Three, two, one!” She yells, and the words “Colorado Springs, Colorado: The Grace Estate & Resort” pop onto the screen.

  I choke on my eggnog.

  What the hell?

  “This is the one and only six-star resort in the United States!” She yells.

  The room erupts into a chorus of “Ooohhs” and “Ahhhs,” but I keep choking.

  I’m struggling to breathe while beating my chest, and no one seems to notice.

  “You alright, Miss Grey?” An intern finally rushes over to help. “Did you get a little too excited about going to a six-star resort?”

  I shake my head. There’s nothing exciting about going back home after being away for too long, and I know the resort all too well.

  It’s my grandmother’s.

  “The festive carriage rides are going to blow you away!” The agent is now clapping along to holiday music as images from the resort appear onscreen. “I can also guarantee that this is the best luxury resort you’ll ever stay in, and for the first time since you’ve used my services, you’ll have the estate grounds to yourselves!”

  More fake cheers.

  I step away from the crowd, letting my back hit the wall. I wasn’t planning to go home for another five years at best, and I definitely wasn’t planning to make the trip with all of my coworkers in tow.

  Hell, every year I buy plane tickets to go back, but I can never bring myself to go through with it.

  Now, I don’t have a choice.

  Grabbing a stiffer drink from one of the passing waiter trays, I look across the room and notice Garrett unwrapping my gift. I consider taking my phone out and snapping a picture of the look on his face, but I know I won’t need a picture to remember this moment.

  He flips the lid box and blinks a few times.

  Yes, that’s all you deserve, asshole. No effort whatsoever.

  His lips slowly part, and then he returns the lid to the box before looking up.

  His eyes meet mine, and I raise my drink to him. Then I mouth, “Merry Christmas.”

  He mouths the words in return, keeping his eyes on me as someone asks him to sign off on something. Then he walks over to me.

  I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol or the sudden shock I’m feeling about going home, but the intense way that Garrett is looking at me right now is making my nipples harden.

  He does look sexier when he’s pissed…

  “We need to talk,” he says, his voice low. “When are you available?”

  “You have my schedule connected to your phone.”

  “This is going to be a different type of conversation.” He steps closer. “Unless you didn’t really intend to give that gift to me.”

  “It’s five hundred percent intentional. If I could’ve given it to you sooner, I would’ve.”

  “In that case, you could’ve just told me what you really think of me, instead of resorting to a re-gift.”

  “I figured it was far less subtle this way.”

  “Hmmm.” His gaze lingers on my lips. “Would you mind meeting me in my condo this evening?”

  You own more than one. “Which one?”

  “Fifth Avenue,” he says. “Can you meet me there?”

  “Sure.” I remember that I need his help with a press release, and that I’ll probably need his couch for power naps. “I may need to stay the night.”

  “I would hope so,” he says. “I was planning to have you over for hours.”

  Of course, you were. “You’re not planning to fire me over this gift, are you?”

  “Quite the contrary. Does six o’clock work for you?”

  “Nine thirty is better.” I admit. “I need to pack for the trip first.”

  “Fair enough.” He smiles at me in a way that makes my panties wet. “I’ll see you in my condo at nine thirty.”

  TEN

  Savannah

  This Christmas

  Manhattan, New York

  Later that night, I toss the twentieth pair of socks into my suitcase and wonder if that will be enough to stay warm in Colorado’s snow.

  Not even close. I pick up five more and stuff them into the side pockets.

  “So, what did you think about my gift this year?” Georgia smiles at me via FaceTime.

  “It was warm and soft as always,” I say. “Thank you for another one. What’s the origin story behind it?”

  “Warm and soft?” She raises her eyebrow. “Why the hell would you think that?”

  “Yeah.” I nod. “You know I always appreciate your scarves. I don’t typically wear them until after the holiday but—”

  “I didn’t get you a freakin’ scarf, Savannah.” She c
uts me off. “I got you something so much better this year. Go grab it and open it.”

  I swallow, not wanting to admit that her sweater is re-gifted material now. “I’ll have to open it when I get home,” I say. “It’s in a bag I took to the office.”

  “Well, make sure to pour a glass of wine and run a hot bath to prepare for it.”

  “You made me bath salts?” I shudder at the thought; the last time she sent me some, I had a rash for weeks.

  The mischievous look on her face makes me tilt my head to the side. “What exactly did you get me?”

  “Something that you can use to get out all the frustration you feel about your boss. I mean, technically, I wanted to get it for you months ago for the lonely nights courtesy of all the exes who shall not be named, but the newest one is on my shit list now.”

  “My boss should still be on there, too.”

  “Oh, he is. He’ll always be there.” She laughs. “I got you a vibrator!”

  “A what?”

  “The Womanizer Pro,” she says. “It’s a top of the line one that everyone talks about. Press that against your clit, turn it on, and it will make you orgasm in seconds. Trust me.”

  OH. MY. GOD. My stomach drops to the floor, and I grip the edge of my bed—certain that this isn’t happening.

  “I packed it with the best lube—” She’s still talking. “And I got you a card that I penned all by myself. It’s nothing like the impersonal cards I always pick up at the last minute. I was thoughtful this time.”

  “Please tell me you’re joking right now…”

  “Of course, I’m not.” She smiles. “You’re as thrilled as I am! I can see it in your eyes. I’ve heard good things about the updated settings.” She continues babbling, waxing poetic about the numerous orgasmic features.

  “What did your note say?” I can barely hear my own voice.

  “You can’t possibly think that I remember every word verbatim.” She shrugs. “Why are you looking so devastated about this? I did exactly what you wanted me to do this year. I was creative!”

  “I know, I just—I thought I could rely on the predictability of your gift this time.”

  “I’m not following.” She scratches her head. “Why did you want a sweater again?”

  “Because I just re-gifted your present to my boss.” I mentally rewind the way he looked at me at the party. The way he strolled over to me with raw want and need in his eyes.

  Our conversation about meeting in his condo has a whole new meaning now.

  “I was planning to have you for hours.”

  Georgia’s mouth is hanging wide open, and neither of us speaks for a while.

  “Maybe he didn’t open it yet,” she says. “I’m sure you still have time to switch it out with something else tomorrow, right?”

  I shake my head. “I saw him open it.”

  “Are you sure he unwrapped it all the way? And I mean, hey, who’s to say that he knows what a Womanizer is?”

  “He knows exactly what it is,” I say, then I narrow my eyes at her. “What the hell did you write on that note?”

  Her eyes widen, and she picks up a sheet of paper, crumpling it between her fingers. “You’re breaking up now, Savannah,” she says. “I can’t hear you as well.”

  “I can fucking see you, Georgia!”

  “Oh, right.” She smiles sheepishly, and then she ends the call—disappearing from my screen.

  I call her again, refusing to let her get away without telling me what she wrote.

  There’s no way in hell that I’m meeting Garrett at his condo tonight. There’s no way I’m answering his phone calls or his texts, and I’m not flying with him to the office party either.

  I have to find a way out of this. For real, this time.

  ELEVEN

  Garrett

  This Christmas

  Manhattan, New York

  I let out a breath as I step out of my seventh cold shower of the afternoon. From the moment that I left the prep-ceremony, thoughts of fucking Savannah all over my condo have run through my mind.

  I had to take the rest of the day off—a first in my career, to make sure we had everything we needed.

  I’m more than ready to kill the tension that’s lingered between us for years, and I want us to stop playing games and just agree to date each other.

  It’s the only thing that makes sense at this point, and I can kill the fraternization clause with the swipe of a pen.

  Pulling on a pair of sweatpants, I walk down the hall and into my great room. I hit a button on the remote, and the shades on the panoramic windows slowly inch up and give me a perfect view of the city.

  It’s the perfect surface to press Savannah against in a matter of minutes.

  Where the hell is she?

  I look over at the clock and notice it’s a little after ten.

  This woman is never late, even when she oversleeps.

  Confused, I pick up my phone and call my secretary.

  “Oh my god, I thought you’d never call me back!” she answers. “I swear to God if I didn’t need the money, I would’ve quit this asshole’s office months ago.”

  “Hello, Veronica,” I say.

  She sucks in a breath, and the line goes silent.

  “Have you seen Miss Grey in the building tonight?” I ask, completely unfazed by the way she answered the phone. “Is she in her office?”

  “No, sir,” she says. “She went home after the prep thing and didn’t return. She did call half an hour ago complaining about a headache, though.”

  “Did she leave a formal message?”

  “Please don’t fire me.” The words rush out of her mouth. “I do hate working for you, but I really need this job.”

  “Give me Miss Grey’s message. Now.”

  “Right.” Papers rustle in the background. “She said that she’s finished all of her work, delegated tasks to the executives, and she’ll see you at the airport when it’s time to head to the office party in two days since she’s nursing a sudden migraine.”

  “I see.”

  “Okay, so back to me,” she says. “It’s a total pleasure working for West Media, and I must say that I’m so honored by the generous opportunities that you—”

  I hang up the phone when she’s mid-sentence. I have more important things to do.

  Sighing, I walk over to the coffee table and pick up the card from Savannah’s re-gift to reread it.

  Happy Holidays!

  Since you’ve always wondered what it’s like to ride your boss’s face, I decided to be a bit more proactive and help you out!

  THIS will take care of all that tension that radiates off the two of you. I even had his name engraved on the side of it since you talk about him so much.

  This is also more than perfect for all those times when you wished he would just “shut the hell up and just fuck [me] against the wall.”

  (You said that in Punta Cana when we were drunk last year, BTW. I remember!)

  Love, Georgia

  (& your Boss! Bahahahaha!)

  (I still got you a sweater, FYI. I’m sending it after New Year’s, though.)

  I know there’s no way she initially realized what she gave me, but something tells me that she knows at this point. And she has to see that I’m more than onboard for this.

  I always have been.

  Beyond aroused and impatient, I send her a text message.

  Me: It’s 10:20, Savannah. Are you on your way? I’d still like to discuss some things with you.

  S. Grey (Mine): No. Something came up.

  I know. Come here so you can see it. Those are the words I’m about to send, but a series of text messages from an unknown number cross my screen first.

  555-8709: These text messages never happened. I do not know you, Mr. West, and you do not know me.

  555-8709: **But** someone we have in common accidentally re-gifted something that you were never meant to see.

  Me: I’m aware of that, Georgia. Hello. Hope yo
u’re well.

  555-8709: No comment on the name you assume belongs to me.

  555-8709: I just want you to know that I totally made up whatever I wrote for Savannah in that card. (If it’s not too much to ask, can you kindly send me a picture of it? I really don’t remember, and she’s panicking, and I promised her that it’s not that bad. Actually, can you try to rewrite a different message in my handwriting if it is bad so I can use that instead?)

  I laugh and snap a picture of the card, honoring her request.

  She responds within seconds.

  555-8709: Um, yeah. So, I’m never going to show her/own up to writing this.

  Even better.

  TWELVE

  Savannah

  This Christmas

  Manhattan, New York

  “Have a great trip, Miss!”

  “You too, sir.” I step out of a cab at LaGuardia International, brushing snowflakes off my coat. The fact that I was in this exact spot a year ago en route to Punta Cana isn’t lost on me, but I can’t focus on that right now.

  My mind is still spinning in a million directions, and I can’t focus on a single thought to save my life.

  Hometown for the office party. Grandma Hattie. Parents won’t be there. Georgia’s vibrator. Garrett.

  GARRETT.

  I walk through security and find a seat at the gate. I decide to get a pretzel before takeoff, and stop walking when I see Garrett coming toward me.

  “Do you have some type of tracking device on me?” I ask.

  “No, I just know you.” He smiles. “The only thing I don’t know is why you’re not at the private airport with the rest of the team. Can you explain that to me?”

  “Yes, I uh—” I try to look away from him, but it’s no use. He looks more devilish and tempting than usual, and the sinful scent of his cologne is making me want to lean in closer.

  “You uh, what? Where’s the rest of your sentence?”

  “I decided that it would be best if I flew commercial for this trip. I figured I could save you three hundred dollars.”