by Ava Hayden
Canada’s traditional holiday scavenging—that is, discount shopping—day was Boxing Day—a paid day off for much of the population. Milo’s own family had a longtime tradition of showing up at their local mall in Lethbridge at the crack of dawn on December 26.
Boxing Day wouldn’t be the same for his mum if she wasn’t shoving through crowds at the Bay to snatch that last sale scarf and gloves set. “I haven’t paid full price for winter wear in over twenty years,” she liked to brag. Or for wrapping paper, ornaments, Christmas-themed sweaters, and marked-down Stollen and pepernoten at the European imports deli and market (although, for the latter, she sent Milo’s younger brother, Alexio, because if you weren’t there when it opened, you didn’t get the good stuff). Alexio wasn’t above channeling his inner hockey player and elbowing European immigrant seniors out of the way to stuff his basket before anyone else could reach the shelves. “Snooze, you lose,” his dad always said.
Milo no longer benefited from the Boxing Day largess—not since coming out to his family when he graduated university. He didn’t mind. He wasn’t one of those people trumpeting about “the reason for the season”—but something about spending an entire day of his holiday in pursuit of deals had always made him feel a little grubby.
Milo kept his thoughts to himself. “Why don’t you take a break? You look like you could use some coffee.”
“I actually came to see if you’d help me put out some of the Pulp ’N Gulps. I’m going to drop the price. We hardly sold any leading up to Christmas, so chances are it’s a waste of time, but I’m going to make one more try.” Connor led the way to the stockroom.
Milo tried again. “Look, you should take a break. It’s not busy, and Missy could probably use one too. I can set up a display. I’ll use the block.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Connor grabbed a square of poster board from the shelf that held cases of Pulp ’N Gulps and handed it to Milo. “Missy made a sign. I’m charging $19.99.”
“Got it.”
“Come get me if you need me.” Connor headed for the break space.
Milo retrieved the store’s oversized rolling cart, a rectangular slab of butcher block with two open shelves below. It made the perfect temporary display: modern, light, and airy but with a homey feel. He loaded the cart with one hundred Pulp ’N Gulps, wheeled it to the front of the store, and stepped back for a look. Pleasingly arranged products—check. Sign visible—check. Cart positioned where people entering would see it right away—check.
Odd that the Pulp ’N Gulps hadn’t moved. True, there was a lot of competition—Magic Bullets and Ninjas and NutriBullets. Maybe the problem was all the good names were taken. Pulp ’N Gulp didn’t sound all that appetizing. Or maybe most people don’t expect to buy personal drink blenders in an electronics store. Even if it is consumer electronics. Even if we are trying to “delight.” Mr. Eden’s definition of “delight” appeared to be “stun the unwary shopper with an assortment of wildly improbable goods.”
Milo returned to his floor patrolling and shelf straightening. At the cash register, a beaming man accepted a credit card back from Missy. Connor pointed in the direction of the loading dock they shared with Futuro and two other stores. The man headed for the exit with a wave.
“Milo.” Missy waddled toward him like a duck that just spotted a juicy slug. “You aren’t going to believe it!”
“What?” He smiled at the sight of her flushed, happy face.
“Some anonymous donor gave money to buy televisions for Oilton Housing Initiatives. So every homeless person or family who goes into a subsidized unit gets a free television. And the ones we have on special are exactly the size they wanted.”
“Wow, that’s….” Way the fuck too much of a coincidence.
Missy didn’t seem to notice his smile had become forced. She looked at the register, where Connor lifted a hand, and returned the wave. He disappeared into the stockroom.
“Connor’s going to meet that man at the loading dock.” Missy bit her lip. “Can I ask you a favor?”
“Sure.”
Missy’s earnest brown eyes pleaded with Milo. “Can you work longer? I know Connor said you only had to stay until the televisions sold, but we never expected….” She flushed. “I feel terrible for asking this. But if we could sell the Pulp ’N Gulps… I mean, obviously we can’t sell all of them, but if we could get rid of some of them…. With you here, I could do some demos.”
“Of course I’ll stay,” Milo said. Lance is going to kill me. But then, if he did what I suspect… I may just return the favor.
Missy smiled and blinked quickly. “Thank you, Milo. More than you know. Connor is so sorry to see you leaving.” She waved her hands. “Not that we’re not happy for you. We’re thrilled you got a job in your field. It’s just that Connor’s been so much happier here since you started.”
Connor is the last guy I ever thought I’d feel sorry for, but right now… Jesus, I really do.
WHAT THE hell is a Pulp ’N Gulp?
Milo’s phone buzzed. Lance. Shit. Guess we’re going to have that conversation. He stepped into the stockroom but positioned himself so he could keep an eye on the front. “Hey, babe.”
“Milo,” Lance purred, like the cat that got the fresh salmon left on the counter by an oblivious owner. “When will I see you?” His voice dropped. “I miss you. And we have gifts to exchange. How many televisions still need to be sold?”
As if you don’t know. Milo suppressed an exasperated snort. “We’ve sold the televisions, but Missy and Connor decided to run a special on Pulp ’N Gulps, and I agreed to stay and help.”
Frosty silence.
“What,” said Lance, “is a—” He huffed, as if he was forcing back pithy adjectives. “—Pump and Grunt?” He sounded a bit cheerier when he added, “It sounds filthy. Did you buy me one?”
“Pulp ’N Gulp. Not Pump and Grunt. It’s a sort of blender.” Pump and Grunt has a ring to it, though. Milo’s face warmed.
“Oh.” Lance’s tone had reverted to disgruntled billionaire. “But I thought you could leave once the televisions sold?”
You, dear billionaire boyfriend of mine, need to learn that, in fact, you can’t always get what you want when you want it. “Speaking of the televisions selling, the strangest thing happened.” Milo smirked through the long pause that followed his words. Yeah, you’d better be sweating, baby.
“Oh?” Lance attempted to sound disinterested.
“An anonymous donor gave enough to buy every last one.” Milo waited just long enough to make Lance think he was off the hook. “You don’t know anything about that, do you?”
“Me? Certainly not.” Lance’s tone managed to be incredulous, offended, and guilty all at the same time.
What I thought. “Right,” Milo said, biting off the word. In his sightline, a customer scanned the showroom in that way that meant he was looking for a salesperson. “Listen, I’ve got to get back on the floor. I’ll call you when I know more.” He smacked a kiss into the phone and disconnected before Lance had time to protest.
LANCE STARED at the phone in his hand.
“Is something wrong?” William asked. He stood in the doorway of Lance’s office. William lived in the staff wing of Lance’s 18,000-square-foot mansion on the outskirts of Oilton.
“Milo thinks I know something about those televisions.” Which I do not. I made it perfectly clear to William that I didn’t want to know who bought them or how he managed to engineer the sale of seven hundred and thirty televisions.
William raised a brow. He was trying not to smile. Lance could always tell.
“Why is he so difficult about money?”
William chuckled. “With all due respect, he probably says exactly the same about you.”
“What’s money for if not to do good in the world?”
“I don’t think he disagrees with you. It’s just your definitions of what constitutes ‘doing good’ differ.”
Lance huffed. Milo’s defi
nition of “doing good” did not include living in Lance’s pied-à-terre rent-free, taking a created-just-for-him job in one of Lance’s subsidiary companies, or accepting a new car as a birthday gift. Lance had never considered making similar offers to any previous lover, although more than one had solicited cars, cash, trips, and other indulgences. Milo’s adamant refusal to take just made Lance more determined to give.
He placed his phone on his desk and gestured to William to take a seat. “Milo agreed to stay a while longer. Apparently they’re running a special to get rid of one of their dogs. Pump and Grunt. Or Punt and Grope. Something ridiculous. I don’t know.”
“Pulp ’N Gulp?”
“You know about them?”
“Just what I saw on the Eden website.”
Lance drummed his fingertips on the desk. “I can’t understand what he’s thinking. We were supposed to exchange gifts. And that’s another thing. He insisted on a fifty-dollar limit.”
William smiled. “Feel free to tell me it’s not my business, but I’m curious what you bought for under fifty dollars.”
“I had a set of keys made for the condo beside mine. I’m not using it, and it’s near his new job.” In fact, cutting the keys was so inexpensive that there was enough money left over to buy a red-and-green holiday-themed butt plug Lance planned to present after dessert later that evening. Not going to mention that second gift to William.
William’s mouth twitched as if possessed. He cleared his throat and straightened, started to speak, put a hand to his lips for a moment, and then tried again. “Do you suppose Mr. Souza might consider that to violate the spirit, if not the letter, of the gift-price limit?”
Lance had been wondering that himself. Not that he would admit it. “Well, he shouldn’t. The keys weren’t expensive at all, and I already had the condo.”
“Regifting, as it were?”
“Not at all. I’m not signing over title.” Though I would if I thought he’d allow it. “I’m just giving him the use of it.”
“I can see you are disappointed that Mr. Souza can’t get off quite yet.” William gave him a diplomatic smile. “Would it help if I could make sure the store sold out of Pulp ’N Gulps quickly?”
“I can’t ask you to spend any more of your Boxing Day on me and my concerns. And besides, Milo already suspects I was responsible for the televisions. Imagine what he’d say about the Pulp ’N Gulps.”
“I don’t mind. And I think I can find a way to obscure the money source.”
“Really?” Please, oh please, oh please, oh please.
William pushed up from his chair. “Leave it to me.”
I’m going to quadruple his bonus.
AFTER BUYING Elise’s gift at Eden Consumer Electronics, Lance hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the delectable salesman who was a dead ringer for Alec Scudder. Rupert Graves, idiot, and the young Rupert Graves at that. Alec Scudder is a character. Maybe Milo should remain a fantasy. What if he turns out to be like all the others?
What if he doesn’t?
Lance entered Eden Consumer Electronics the same day of the week at the same time of day as his previous visit. He scanned the store for Milo.
“May I help you?” The man Lance had seen across the store on his previous visit approached. He wore a nametag that said Connor—Store Manager.
Is it a faux pas to ask for Milo? “Milo sold me a smart shower system, and I wanted to buy another. Is he working?”
Connor brightened. “I thought you looked familiar. You bought two, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” It’s probably hard to forget when someone drops three thousand dollars on shower systems.
“I’m sorry, he isn’t working this morning.” Connor smiled. “But I can make sure he gets the commission. That’s very thoughtful of you. Did you want the same package you bought before?”
Lance couldn’t back out now. “Yes.”
As Connor completed the paperwork, Lance tried to think of a way to ask about Milo’s schedule without giving away his real reason for the visit. Nothing came to mind. He thanked Connor and exited, having neither seen Milo nor elicited the details of his schedule.
A week went by. Again Lance entered Eden Consumer Electronics the same day and time as his first visit. Once more Connor met him with the news that Milo was off that morning. Lance bought another smart shower system.
In their weekly debrief meeting, William noticed Lance’s distraction. “Is something wrong, Mr. Smith?”
“Not at all.” Lance drummed his fingers on the desk. Three days had passed since he bought the fourth shower. Businesses don’t give out employee schedules over the phone without a legitimate reason. I can’t call and ask if Milo is working and hang up without talking to him. That would seem strange. If I show up immediately afterward, then they’ll suspect it’s not just a weird coincidence. I don’t want to look like a stalker.
I can’t stand it. Lance shoved his chair back. “I’m going out. Please reschedule any appointments this afternoon.”
William’s brow rose, but he merely agreed and turned to the appointment calendar open on his tablet as Lance exited.
Lance pushed into Eden Consumer Electronics and found himself facing Milo.
“Hello.” Milo gave him the smile he remembered, complete with crinkling lines near his eyes and flushed cheeks.
“Hello.” Lance’s heart pounded. Milo is here in the flesh—the beautiful-like-Alec-Scudder flesh. “You’re working.”
“I am.”
Lance licked dry lips. “I’m, er, here to buy a smart shower system.”
“You haven’t run out of bathrooms yet?”
Lance dragged his gaze away from Milo’s quirked lips up to his eyes, full of mischief. Their gazes held. From nearby a cough sounded, and they both glanced toward the source. Connor smiled and returned to checking inventory with a handheld scanner.
Lance recollected where he was and what he was there to do. By whatever means necessary. “It’s… for… my great-aunt, Fanny.” It was the first name that sprang into his head, probably because he’d watched Patricia Rozema’s Mansfield Park the evening before.
Milo raised a brow.
“A smart shower is the perfect gift,” Lance added.
“Great-aunt Fanny is tech-savvy, then.” Milo’s eyes sparkled.
“Oh yes. She’s on Facebook. And… Tweeter.”
“Twitter.”
Lance suppressed a wince. He had people who handled all his social media. “Right. She… programs her home thermostat. And her DVD player. By herself.” That sounded tech-saavy, didn’t it?
“Sounds like the ideal smart shower owner, all right.”
“I’ve told her how much I like mine. She’s very eager to have one.”
Milo nipped his lower lip. “Okay. Besides the shower, is there anything else I can help you with today?”
Lance felt a growing—literally—discomfort behind his trousers zipper. He yanked his gaze from Milo’s lip. “Have dinner with me?”
Milo blinked. A flicker of uncertainty crossed his face.
Lance tried to project reassurance and sincerity. Normal guy here, smart shower system buying habits notwithstanding. Not a serial killer. Someone worth giving a chance. He smiled, hoping Elise was right when she said all he had to do was let his dimples out to play and the whole world was ready to do whatever he wanted.
“Please.”
“Okay,” Milo said at last. “Yes. I’d like that.” He returned Lance’s smile.
Finally. “Good.” Heat and anticipation unfurled inside Lance, something he hadn’t felt in far too long. He ran his gaze up and down Milo’s torso, enjoying how Milo’s eyes seemed to grow even darker. “Very good. Tonight?”
ARE YOU delighted yet?
Milo kept an eye out for customers who might need assistance while Missy set a small table beside the Pulp ’N Gulp display for her demo. As she prepared to make smoothies and hand out samples, most of the shoppers in the store wandered over
to observe. Connor appeared at his side.
“Missy is great at demoing,” Milo said.
“I know.”
Milo eyed Connor. “You okay?”
Connor shrugged. “Yeah.” He glanced at Milo. “Thanks for sticking around. I appreciate it.”
“No worries.”
“Missy really likes running the store. Management, talking to customers. All of it.”
“Maybe Missy should manage the store and you should do something you like better.” Like take up that deferred, fully-funded graduate program admission to the University of Oilton Social Work Faculty. Milo kept his eyes forward. He might have just mortally offended an old friend—one who kindly gave him a job when he needed it.
He and Connor had roomed together throughout university. When they graduated, Milo went to work for a cutting-edge marketing and design firm in Oilton. Connor landed an entry-level position with the City of Oilton Social Services, a stepping stone on his way to an MSW—at least that’s what he’d planned. Then he married Missy. Missy’s father, Samuel Eden, founder of the Eden Consumer Electronics chain, opened a store in Oilton and installed Connor as manager. Sometimes Connor seems more like Missy’s father’s serf than son-in-law.
Milo risked a glance at Connor, but he appeared lost in thought.
Several customers plucked Pulp ’N Gulps from the display and headed for the register.
“Better go ring those up.” Connor left.
Milo helped Missy carry supplies to the back.
“Thanks, Milo. Do you mind restocking the display?”
Milo carried four cases of Pulp ’N Gulps to the front, only to be accosted by a short woman in lime-green snow boots.
“How many are in one of those boxes?”
Milo examined the cardboard exterior. “Says eight.”
“I’ll take it,” said the woman.
