DIRTY CHRISTMAS
(THE DIRTY SUBURBS – BOOK 9)
A DIRTY SUBURBS HOLIDAY NOVELLA
Cassie-Ann L. Miller
Dirty Christmas (The Dirty Suburbs Series - Book 9)
A Dirty Suburbs Holiday Novella
Copyright © 2017 Cassie-Ann L. Miller
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents appearing therein are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be interpreted as real. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status of the various products referenced in this work.
Amazon’s Kindle Store is the only authorized distributor of this ebook. If you have downloaded or purchased it from any other distributor, please note that you have received an illegal copy. This not only violates the author’s copyright, deprives the author of royalties due and puts the book at risk of being removed from Kindle distribution, but it also exposes you to computer viruses, theft of your personal information by book pirates and potential legal prosecution.
Stories by
Cassie-Ann L. Miller
The Dirty Suburbs Series
Dirty Neighbor
Dirty Player
Dirty Stranger
Dirty Favor
Dirty Lover
Dirty Farmer
Dirty Silver
Dirty Forever
Dirty Christmas (Holiday Novella)
The Esquire Girls Series
Amber’s Story
Amber Nights (Amber – Books 1, 2, 3 & 4)
Madison’s Story
For Madison, Always (Madison – Books 1, 2, 3 & 4)
Ruthie’s Story
Ruthie’s Desire (Ruthie – Books 1, 2, 3 & 4)
Hailey’s story
Moments with Hailey (Hailey - Books 1, 2, 3 & 4)
Esquire HEAT Series
A Very Eager Intern
A Very Frustrated Attorney
Standalone novels
Matteo
Beast
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Dirty Christmas
The Dirty Suburbs Series (Book 9)
BLURB
Roast the chestnuts. Spike the eggnog. Break out the ugly Christmas sweaters...Shoot me now.
I'll be home for Christmas. Whether I like it or not. Reyfield, Illinois is the last place I want to be for the Holidays. Yet, here I am, headed that way in a car with my brother-in-law's drop-dead gorgeous, certifiably insane secretary.
One look at her in that sexy elf costume and I want to drag her behind the Christmas tree and have my way with her.
One taste of that feisty mouth under the mistletoe and now I'm a goner.
This was supposed to be a quick trip to my hometown to fulfill my family duty during the Holidays but I'll be damned because it's starting to feel like a detour toward forever.
Dirty Christmas is a holiday novella in the Dirty Suburbs, a series of steamy romantic comedies set in small-town Illinois. Each story is a standalone.
Table of contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Sanaya
"Well, spike my eggnog and tie me naked to the Christmas tree—they're playing my favorite holiday song!"
The opening notes of Winter Wonderland vibrate the tinsel-draped room. Through the shimmery curtain of glitter, I see Ned from accounting. He’s wearing a hideous Christmas sweater and a carefree grin as he throws his short, stubby arms in the air and does a series of frightful, little hip thrusts.
His gaze is aimed right at me, telling me that the next stop on his drunken party train is somewhere within the fiercely guarded limits of my personal space. I cringe, looking around for some sort of makeshift weapon—y'know, something that may cut off his air supply for a few seconds but ultimately won't inflict mortal wounds—because this inebriated fool has sexual harassment suit written all over him. And I don’t play that shit.
Thankfully, Glenda, the recently-divorced part-time receptionist, swerves into his path sporting a wolfish grin that makes her reddened face crinkle like an oven-dried tomato. "Oh dear—I love this song, too."
Ned doesn't miss a beat, instantly turning his courtship dance on the woman who immediately shifts into sultry vixen mode. Despite her coke-bottle glasses, floral button down and sensible Mary Janes, Glenda is definitely having a moment of self-discovery with her inner Sasha Fierce right now. Ned’s hands come down on her hips and their round bodies move together. Painfully off-beat but synchronized in a strange and disturbing way.
Looks like I dodged that bullet!
Moving through the crowd back to the buffet table, I breathe a sigh of relief. I don't know what it is about office holiday parties that turns perfectly sane, well-mannered members of society into drunk, debauched exhibitionists, ready to put their sexual frustration on public display. It’s a puzzling social dynamic. Not that I'm personally invested in the answer, per se—I'm an administrative assistant, not a sociologist—but it's just another one of life's curiosities.
My gaze fans across the room, taking in my coworkers, who mere hours ago were the picture of 9-to-5 workplace civility. Now, hormones are raging and the vibe of this holiday gathering has devolved into a house party scene from a bad 1990s high school sitcom. Anyway, at this point, I'm just looking for the perfect excuse to get the hell out of here. I have a bottle of Shiraz and an entire season of The Real Housewives of Poughkeepsie waiting for me back at my apartment. But as Prescott Brooks’ right-hand-man-in-stilettoes, I can't just slip out of the Christmas party unnoticed.
Don't tell my boss, but I love my job. I may whine and groan and complain, but I love being a part of the engine that keeps this small town law firm at the center of the national news.
Yes, yes—Prescott gets all the glory, but lawyers…they can hardly even fix their coffee right, let alone manage their schedules, organize their caseloads, keep track of new clients and remember to buy flowers on their spouse’s birthday.
Behind every revered legal shark is a badass administrative assistant. In this case, it happens to be me. I'm a vital lever in the well-oiled machine that makes Prescott the best lawyer that Richards, Ross and Associates has ever had. And no, I don't get the recognition I deserve but that's okay because every day I see the impact of my work when my boss’s name hits the front page of a national news publication or when he’s quoted on the big cable news networks.
With a self-satisfied smirk, I lift my glass and toast my damn self.
Prescott has had one hell of a year; He made junior partner, he got married to an absolute babe and he won the case that cemented his reputation as one of the toughest young lawyers in the Midwest. I played a role in every one of those successes. Yes, there was that brief period where I ditched him to go work for another lawyer. (Y’know what they say—the grass is always greener until you switch sides and get the heel of your Jimmy Choos covered in dog poop.) It was a wake-up call for him. When I came back to work for him a few
months ago, I got a decent pay bump and a top-of-the-line ergonomic office chair. A hard-earned gesture of appreciation for the good work I do every day.
Even still, my boss his big plans on the horizon. Plans that could change everything. And I’m not sure if or how I’ll fit in. My stomach growls riotously as a cord of anxiety tightens in my gut.
Just as I’m stacking my paper plate high with fancy crudités to feed the raging beast, Prescott’s new wife, Annaleigh, speed-waddles toward me, her attention laser focused on the door. She's got a tight grip on the hem of her long shimmery gown, her arched eyebrows lost beneath her raven bangs. She looks like she's about to make a run for it. By god, I want her to take me with her.
With zero regard for my personal safety, I step into her way. This move might land me in the ER but so be it. I would literally rather be anywhere but here right now. Hospital included. Still, for the sake of Annaleigh’s unborn child, I stick my hands out in front of me to avoid a full head-on collision. "Hey! Where ya going?"
She skitters to a stop mere inches in front of me, tottering and catching her balance just in time. I get a glimpse at the ill-suited combat boots peeking out beneath her fancy dress. This I know for sure—you can throw the girl into a pretty dress and marry her off to one of the most handsome men in town but a tomboy will always be a tomboy.
"I lost track of time," she tells me, her features flustered and her tone panicked. "I'm supposed to pick up my brother from the airport and I lost track of time."
Prescott swaggers up right over her shoulder. "Honey, I told you to just have him grab an Uber. It would make your life so much easier." I hear the faintest note of frustration in his cadence.
Annaleigh's bangs sway as she shakes her head, pleading her case. "You don't understand. Wesley is Scrooge himself. The Grinch who freakin’ stole Christmas. He hates the Holidays. Do you know how much begging and pleading and threatening I had to do to get him to agree to come here? If I don’t pick him up from the airport like I promised, he’ll just do a quick u-turn and jump on a plane right back to California. And I don't want that. I want him here, with us for the Holidays."
"If he’s that fickle, how do you know he'll be at the airport to begin with? Maybe he changed his mind and didn't even leave his house." Prescott is trying to reason with her.
"No, he's on that plane. I spoke to him when he was boarding,” she says assuredly then grunts. “I know it’s probably stupid but this Christmas is special. It’s our first Christmas since we got married. And the baby is coming. And I just want to make sure that my brother will be sitting at our dinner table with the rest of our family on Christmas day and not hunched over his computer in his lonely Silicon Valley apartment, typing away until his fingers bleed." She looks like she's on the verge of tears.
My boss sighs. “I don't feel comfortable with you alone on the road at this time of night." He folds his arms. "What if your water breaks? What if you go into labor on the side of the I-90? What then?" She knows that he’s right. That baby is seriously ready to pop out any minute now.
My ears twitch at the pair's conundrum. This might be my opportunity to get the hell out of here. I straighten my spine and smile sweetly. "I can go pick him up."
Annaleigh tilts her head to the side and watches me. "Oh, I wouldn't ask you to do that, Sanaya. It's the office party. I'm sure you're having fun!"
Prescott snorts. “You really don’t want to do this. Wesley's a real charmer at Christmas time.” That comment earns him a soft slap on the chest and an eyeroll from his wife.
This Wesley guy sounds like he’s seriously lacking in the Christmas cheer department but when my gaze moves to the dance floor just as Kevin, the middle-aged tax specialist, tears off his holiday-themed argyle sweater and starts breakdancing in time with Silent Night, I pull on my bravest smile. "I am willing to sacrifice my fun for the greater good." Leaning forward and cupping a hand over my mouth, I whisper, "I saw you two finally making headway with the governor and his wife. This is the first step in getting the mandate for that bridge restoration project. I can just feel it."
Annaleigh’s still stalling so I decide to go for raw honesty.
“Look—Do I want to spend two hours in a car making uncomfortable small talk with a complete stranger? No, not really. But I can be a hasty person sometimes and if any of these drunken fools in here tries to dance up on me tonight, I might just end up strangling them with a string of Christmas lights. And then, nobody wins. So, the way I see it, it's a public safety issue and I'm just being a responsible citizen by getting out of here.”
The married couple exchange a long, concerned look.
"Babe, I think Sanaya's right," Prescott says slowly. "She can go pick up Wesley. You stay here with me and help me charm the governor." He flashes her a crooked grin.
I watch her with earnest eyes. "I am very persuasive, Annaleigh. Your brother doesn't stand a chance against me. I will pick him up at the airport and deliver him right to your doorstep. Like a UPS delivery guy doing overtime on Christmas Eve. I’ll even stick a pretty bow on him. Trust me."
Annaleigh laughs through her nose and hugs an arm around Prescott’s back. "We all know firsthand how persuasive you are, Sanaya."
I laugh, too. I’m the one who convinced her that she and Prescott belong together back when she was too stubborn and blind to see it herself. I remind her of it every chance I get.
Her shoulders drop when she sighs heavily. "Okay, I trust you. Go pick up my brother from the airport."
I bite the corner of my lip to keep from grinning too wide.
Prescott looks as relieved as I feel when he presses a kiss to her temple. "This is the right decision, babe."
Her head bobs in resignation. "All right," she says, her eyes focused on me. "He's about yay tall—" She slices her hand through the air several inches above her head. "—And pretty damn scruffy, with dark hair and he'll be scowling since he doesn't want to be here." A giggle falls from her mouth. "Oh, and he'll probably have a laptop or some other gadget in his hand because he's got to be plugged in to the internet twenty-four-seven. I bet he’s wearing a T-shirt and jeans with sneakers. It’s the unofficial Silicon Valley uniform."
I store those notes in my mental filing cabinet. "Got it! Don't worry. I'm the woman for the job. Wesley will be at your Christmas dinner. I guarantee it."
I throw a wink over at my boss and he nods in response, tightening his arm around his wife's shoulder. "Make sure to keep the parking receipt," he calls after me. “I can probably pass it off as an approved expense!” The prospect seems to excite him immensely.
"You’re a dork," I grumble under my breath.
He snarls. "Hey! I heard that!"
Oops! My shoulders hunch all the way up to my ears as I duck through the curtain of Christmas decorations and hustle toward the exit.
Chapter 2
Wesley
My impatient gaze moves across the bustling terminal, hopping from corner to corner. I told Annaleigh to meet me right outside the sandwich place—the one with the little Amish servers in hairnets—the minute I landed. Well, I’ve been here forty minutes and she still isn’t here.
Instead, I’m surrounded by a mess of love drunk fools, dramatically reuniting with their friends, relatives and over-eager concubines with no regard for the comfort and safety of the more sedate members of the population just trying to make it to their destination without being stampeded to death. I glance at my cellphone for the time.
This is bullshit.
And the Christmas music pouring in through the echoey speakers is making my ears bleed. Dodging around a rowdy gathering of teen girls wearing puffy winter jackets and reindeer antlers, I barely come away with my life. I venture out of the building and—bloody hell—it's cold. My breath billows out in front of me, forming wisps of smoke as it mixes with the frigid air. I run a hand over the scattering of goosebumps blanketing my bare arm. Eager for a few paltry inches of reprieve, I pull on the edge of my short sleeve.
<
br /> Useless.
Not even an hour since I landed and I’m so ready to get back to my life in San Francisco. I didn't miss this place one bit.
Much to my family's chagrin, I abandoned the state of Illinois five years ago in favor of sunny California. Not that I was there for the weather, really. I packed up my hoodies, my laptop and my whole life and moved to the west coast for that ever-elusive ‘big break’—that once-in-a-lifetime, touched by a goddamned angel opportunity to design software that shapes the world.
Except, the angel I’ve been waiting on doesn’t have feathery wings and wear a halo. What I’m in need of is an angel investor, some fat rich guy with lots of money who believes that my software is the ticket to even more money.
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