Claustrophobic
Bernadette Franklin
Working as a mall elf is Chloe Mitchell’s worst nightmare, but when her best friend calls in a favor, she’s forced to face her Claustrophobia—of the Santa variety—head on.
Unbeknownst to her, Santa Claus has her in his sights, and he’s determined to make sure she finally has the happy holidays he believes she deserves.
Claustrophobic Copyright © 2018 by Bernadette Franklin
Pen & Page Publishing
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Design by Daqri Bernardo (Covers by Combs)
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
About the Author
Strings of lights dangled from the mall’s skylight, twinkling overhead and heralding in the holidays. The Thanksgiving turkeys hadn’t even been given time to cool before the mall transformed into a winter wonderland for the herds of children joining their parents for frenzied Black Friday shopping.
What sort of idiot thought opening the yearly sessions with Santa on Black Friday, the busiest damned day of the bloody year, was a good idea? What I truly didn’t understand was how Kristine had roped me into taking her place as a red and white clad ‘elf’ decked out for a night on the town. She’d obviously taken advantage of the holidays; the legal firm where I worked had an extra day off, something I hadn’t seen happen since I’d been hired.
Had I been thinking straight, I would’ve told Kristine she’d lost her damned mind and stayed home.
I should’ve asked what I’d be wearing. I should’ve made certain I’d gotten a dress in my size rather than hers. I should’ve done a lot of things. But no, I hadn’t.
I deserved my fate, and I’d do my best to be a good sport about it rather than act like my usual yearly scrooge. I could handle being a good sport for one day, even on Black Friday.
I’d just have to make sure I didn’t sneeze until I could get changed. If I sneezed wrong, I’d be giving the entire mall a show they wouldn’t forget anytime soon. I’d lucked out on the dress’s length; it almost reached my knees, so I could bend over and crouch as needed without revealing all my secrets.
But if I sneezed, my life would be over. Someone would inevitably catch a picture of me wearing the only damned bra that worked with the strapless monstrosity trimmed in fluffy, white fake fur. It had more lace than anything else, including support, but no one would notice; the elf dress clung to my chest to a smothering degree. I suspected the designer had forgotten breathing was mandatory.
I needed to remind Kristine we weren’t the same size, and realistically, I couldn’t wiggle into her clothes without a lot of effort and running a high risk of flashing someone if my breasts bounced the wrong way.
Or I sneezed.
Whatever. Maybe I disliked the holidays and wanted to escape from the noise, the bustle, and the hustle, but I liked kids, and I had eight whole hours of handling them ahead of me. Fortunately for me and my Claustrophobic tendencies, of the Santa sort, I worked the entrance to the Christmas Village, thus sparing myself from having to interact with my adulthood nightmare.
Next time, I’d definitely tell Kristine I couldn’t deal with Santa-anything. Ever.
With Jolly Old Saint Nick’s cheerful bellowing drowning out the carols and the kids chattering, screaming, and otherwise driving their parents to the brink of insanity, I’d have a migraine within an hour, need an intervention by lunch, and would lose my will to live by the end of Kristine’s shift.
I liked giving to charity. I liked doing charitable things. I liked kids.
Maybe if I told myself that enough times, I’d believe I’d made the right choice. Maybe I’d even enjoy it.
As long as I pretended I wasn’t dressed up like a slutty elf waiting for a bra malfunction, everything would be okay. I could go eight hours without sneezing. Who needed to breathe, anyway?
Armed with a basket of candy canes and my best smile, I did my job, such as it was. I smiled for lawyers and their clients nine hours a day. I could handle an endless stream of kids, no problem.
How bad could it be?
The toddler’s vanilla ice cream cone took flight, arced in my general direction, and plopped into my cleavage. I, along with every single adult and child waiting in line, stared at my breasts and the waffle cone jutting up, a proud testament of the little girl’s aim.
Damn. If I’d had a throw that good, I could’ve gone to college for sports instead of pursuing an underutilized English degree.
Her mom’s face turned as pale as her daughter’s despoiled frozen treat. A few men in the crowd tittered, only to be jabbed or shushed by their wives. I did the only thing I could; I plucked the ice cream cone out, grateful the miniature demoness had already eaten most of it. At a loss of what to do with it, I took a napkin from the pile near the candy canes, wrapped it, and gave it to her mother.
Her mother redirected it to the nearest trash can, much to my relief.
“Sorry,” she mouthed at me.
I smiled, got another napkin, and did a boob check. The borrowed elf dress had somehow emerged unscathed, and only a few smears of ice cream marred my chest and bra. I turned, made a show of preparing the next basket of candy canes, and did two quick swipes to remove the evidence of toddler mayhem before returning to my work of giving children sugar, to keep them from having temper tantrums until they reached their goal, Santa.
The first Santa of the day had left, and the second Santa, a younger, more handsome model, worked the line with the ruthless efficiency I expected from a lawyer.
There was a reason for that.
I’d never taken Julian Carter to be the holiday type, but every time I peeked at him playing Santa, he seemed to like it, laughing with the kids and smiling the whole time. The criminal attorney was easy on the eyes, and every mom on the block wanted on his lap so they could tell him they wanted a piece of him for Christmas.
I wanted to tell them he snorted in his sleep, something I’d caught him doing while on breaks in his office, once upon a time when he’d worked at the legal firm where I slaved as the evening receptionist.
He’d been smart and wise to find better waters. The firm churned through attorneys. The good, the bad, the ugly—anyone who stayed too long burned, and the ones who survived the grind were half the reason lawyers had a reputation.
Maybe I’d change my tune about the holidays and give myself the gift of a better job for Christmas, assuming I could get the bastards to pay me my owed overtime. At last count, I’d done enough overtime to spend six months looking for a new job without worry. Swallowing my sigh so I wouldn’t draw attention to myself, I went back to work, doing my best to ignore the fact that I wouldn’t mind a turn on Julian Carter’s lap, too.
He’d make for one hell of a silver lining to my day.
The happy squeal of a toddler returned my attention to work. A second ice cream cone flew in my direction, and like the first, the actual ice cream was gone, leaving me to dodge, catch, or wear the waffle cone.
I went for the catch, snagged it by the paper wrapper, and
turned it right side up before crouching and offering it to the laughing child still contained in his stroller. “Here you go,” I chirped, waiting until he took it with both hands.
While I wouldn’t have put the flung treat anywhere near my mouth, he tried to stuff the whole thing in at one time.
Despite disliking Christmas, I adored the glorious toddler mayhem and the special brand of crazy children brought to the mall on the one day of the year everyone took a collective leave of their senses to mass shop.
The Christmas Village closed before the rest of the mall, and I got saddled with the job of turning people away, although I suspected the harried parents appreciated my inflexibility despite the chain of unhappy kids wanting a turn with Santa.
I didn’t blame them; I wanted a turn with Santa, too. Julian handled the incidents, ranging from peed pants, hiccupping babies, spit up, one vomit incident, and poopy diapers with admirable grace. He’d even helped a harried mother of triplets change said diapers following a poop-splosion I wouldn’t forget anytime soon.
How he’d managed to help without wearing any of the natural infant disaster would forever boggle my mind. He hadn’t even asked any of his elves for help.
If I ever grew bold enough to pull off one of Kristen’s stunts, I’d ask him for his rap sheet of combusted ovaries, as I was fairly certain the entire mom population of the mall had locked onto him following the incident. Women liked capable men who didn’t shy away from dirty diaper duty. If he’d been applying for a job as a dad, he would’ve had offers on the spot.
When I’d finally gotten the last of the stragglers turned away, I considered crawling under the tree, hiding behind the presents, and sleeping for a week. Unfortunately for me, I worked tomorrow night, and HR liked pretending I didn’t have two weeks of paid sick time I could call in at any time.
One day, I really would quit—or get fired and go after them for every last cent of paid overtime they still owed me from the past six months.
Refusing to break my promise not to be my usual scrooge self until tomorrow, I forced a smile and went to work cleaning the entry to the Christmas Village and preparing for the elves scheduled to help Santa in the morning.
If the first Santa had the rest of the week, I wished the women luck. They’d need it.
“Long time no see, Chloe,” Julian said, leaning against the archway leading into the village. “I never thought I’d see you here. Did you want a picture with Santa, too?”
Hmm. I stood back from my work straightening the displays and regarded him with an arched brow. “Is that an invitation to sit on your lap while you call me a ho?”
He chuckled and removed the fake white beard, letting it fall and rest against his chest. “I wouldn’t call you a ho, but I’d wish myself a very merry Christmas.”
While a lot of the attorneys at the firm would toe the line and flirt with anyone in heels and female, Julian had played it straight, maintaining his stance as a professional; he’d started in a more senior position, doing his days as an associate at somewhere kinder, if his muttered complaints were to be believed. “While I do my yearly stint as a scrooge, Kristine needed someone to bail her out today, and I do like kids.”
“I found your staunch refusals to have anything to do with the holiday parties rather endearing, truth be told. Everyone else just sucked it up. It still amazes me you got away with it.”
“Hiring a new receptionist around the holidays is a bitch, and I told them I’d quit if they forced it on me. I gave them a list of tasks I was willing to do, including making appointments, placing the reservations, and so forth, but the actual party? Forget it. I did help with the planning; I just helped with the planning in the background.”
“Still, that’s pretty impressive considering the sheer number of assholes who work there. Are they still trying to get you to do ten hour days?”
“They opened doors on Saturday and refused to hire a weekend receptionist.” I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “You’re lucky you got out when you did. They keep forgetting they’re required to pay the non-billing employees overtime.”
“They’re still pulling that shit?” Julian scowled. “You still keep immaculate records?”
Who did he think I was? When working with a bunch of headstrong, egotistical attorneys, I needed to do everything perfectly, or I’d bring down their wrath on my head. “Of course.”
“We both need dinner, so why don’t I take you out for a bite and drop you off at your place? You can fill me in on the details, and if you’re having problems, I know an employment lawyer who owes me a favor and hates your firm with a passion. I bet he’d take your case pro bono just to watch the bastards burn.”
According to his tone, Julian wanted to see the bastards burn, too. “I can bring the marshmallows and my inch-thick file.”
“Inch thick? What sort of records are you keeping?”
“Every hour I’ve worked, what I did during that hour, when I took breaks, how long they were, when I was running errands for attorneys on the clock, and how much I was paid. It’s been a little over five months since they got bad about paying out the overtime,” I replied.
I couldn’t help but think Julian had been keeping them on the right side of the line, and without his ethical presence in the firm, things had gone downhill.
In a reputable firm, the attorneys would’ve gone out of their way to preserve their ethical appearances. Realistically, I should’ve taken the overtime pay issue to the Department of Labor months ago.
Reality said I needed to keep my job or I’d have to leave New York City, as I doubted I’d get as much per hour elsewhere.
“And you’ve been denied your overtime pay for how long? Did you say five months?”
“A little over five months.”
“That’s going to be one hell of a case. You have records proving you requested payment?”
“I think I keep better records than you lawyers,” I muttered.
“I suspect you’re right. Go get changed, and I’ll meet you here in ten minutes?”
On a normal day, I would’ve turned tail and run, but a ride would cut off an hour and a half from my commute home, which meant I’d get a few extra hours of precious sleep before I started the grind again. One day, I might make enough money to live closer to work, but I’d need a better degree, better skills, or something to dig my way out of my current hole. “Ten minutes sounds good.”
Kristine would laugh once she found out; she considered me one of the most prideful, stubborn women in New York City, and I’d accepted help from a lawyer.
No, I hadn’t just accepted help from a lawyer, I’d taken a ride from the hottest lawyer on the block. I was so doomed. She’d never let me live it down. She’d delight in teasing both of us, and I’d deal with it because friends like Kristine only came around once in a lifetime.
Even when she made me dress up like an elf ready to take on the whole town, I wouldn’t find someone else so willing to put up with my shit. In good news, I only had to avoid sneezing for a few more minutes.
I skittered for the lockers hidden away in the Christmas Village, retrieved my clothes, and beelined for the nearest bathroom, determined to escape the tight confines of my friend’s dress without busting a seam or flashing anybody.
Ten minutes later, finally able to breathe again, I waited for Julian near the locked gate, armed with Kristine’s dress; she’d snatch it out of my apartment tomorrow evening while I slaved for a bunch of ungrateful attorneys with attitude problems even worse than mine. Julian strolled over, adjusting his tie while confirming what I’d figured out from day one: some men rolled all the right dice, and he’d scored better than most in the looks department. Add his general intellect, an ego he’d earned, and his general inclination to be a decent human being, and it amazed me he wasn’t already married with more children than he could readily count.
If I were married to him, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off him, which would lead me directly to trouble.<
br />
Alas, as far as I knew, he didn’t date and had no interest in a wife. Men like him took over the legal world, married to their work with no room for anything else.
“Ready to go?” he asked, flashing a smile.
He needed to wear a sign warning women he packed a lethal grin. At high risk of making an idiot of myself, I went for the safest response. I smiled and nodded.
“In bad news, I’m parked as far away from the damned doors as possible.”
My brows went up. “You found a spot here?”
“Yeah, driving here wasn’t the brightest move,” he admitted. “It took me forty minutes to get that spot.”
“That’s impressive.” At least, I assumed it was impressive. A car was outside of my budget, and if I couldn’t get there by public transit, I stayed home—or begged Kristine for a ride.
Under no circumstances could I think about asking Julian for a ride. Or think about him offering a ride. Of any type. I needed to stop thinking, period.
Thinking got me into trouble.
In good news, my apartment’s shower defaulted to cold, something I’d appreciate the instant I got home and worked to purge Julian from my memory.
Julian’s smile widened to a grin. “Go ahead, call it like it is. Idiotic’s a good one. I even knew it was Black Friday today.”
I worried I’d be in the shower long enough to induce hypothermia, but determined to act like a reasonable person rather than swoon at his feet, I did what I did best in a bad situation: I acted like an unflappable New Yorker. “It seems you learned a valuable lesson today.”
“Stay home on Black Friday?”
“Exactly. Also, beware of Kristine. She will talk you into selling your soul.” I swept out my hand to take in the mall, which was winding down for the night. “On Black Friday.”
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