The stolen moment had seemed like the perfect pre-party until the very end, when she’d kissed him, called him “Paul,” and walked out. At first he’d just stood there thinking, What the fuck? The next instant, all the implications had hit him like a category five shit storm. He’d yanked the door open and scanned the hall, hoping to catch her and clear up her misimpression. Unfortunately, there’d been no trace of her and he’d known with a sinking certainty he was too late. She’d already joined the party.
Now he was about to step on stage in front of a room overflowing with new St. Sebastian employees, where he’d make eye contact with Chelsea, and convey…what? No harm no foul?
Shit. He was screwed. But he sure as hell wasn’t bored.
Chapter Two
Relax. Nobody will ever guess you just had sex in a supply closet.
“Your clothes are wrinkled, you’re fifteen minutes late, and you’re glowing like a Christmas tree.” Laurie Peterson’s voice carried over the coy innuendos of “Santa Baby.” “This forces me to ask, who the hell are you, and what have you done with my best friend?”
Chelsea rolled her eyes and made her way toward the long table where the catering team put finishing touches on the buffet. “Sorry. I had to put out a fire.”
“You had to put out a fire here, on your day off?”
“Uh-huh.” Technically, the fire in question had been in her panties, but no need to go into those details. Determined to redirect Laurie before she wrangled the rest of the truth out of her, Chelsea stepped closer to the poinsettia-accented table where her friend stood transferring cupcakes from her baker’s cart to the serving pedestals lined up along the center. She’d decorated each little cake like a gift, complete with piped fondant paper and intricate icing bows. “These look amazing. Thanks for squeezing our order in.”
“Business is good,” Laurie agreed, with the half-dazed, half-pleased expression of the newly self-employed. She arranged the last of the cupcakes on the pedestal closest to her, examined the presentation with narrowed hazel eyes, and nodded. “But I couldn’t forget my peeps at LV. If not for the three years I spent working here, I would never have had the money or skills to open my own place.”
Pride bubbled up in Chelsea’s chest like uncorked champagne. Laurie had always dreamed of opening her own bakery, much the same way Chelsea had always dreamed of running Las Ventanas. Now here they stood, two women pursuing their dreams—Laurie as the proprietor of Babycakes, Montenido’s hippest, cutest, yummiest bakery, and Chelsea as the assistant manager of Las Ventanas, Southern California’s premier coastal resort.
Laurie grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the bar, where the early arrivals had already started to gather. “Don’t try to change the subject. Why are you all flushed and flustered?”
Chelsea wondered why the heat from her cheeks didn’t melt the stylized “LV” ice sculpture beside the bar. And yet she couldn’t tame her smile. The opportunity to shock Laurie didn’t knock every day. She decided to go for it. “If you must know, I was late because I was having sex in a supply closet.”
“Oh. My. God. My responsible, respectable best friend had closet sex at the holiday party. I’m scandalized. With who?”
The question made her want to roll her eyes. “Who do you think?” She’d been dating Paul for almost six months. As usual, Laurie preferred to pretend the relationship didn’t exist. Defensive of him, Chelsea added, “Not just closet sex—wild, passionate closet sex.”
“With Paul? Impossible.”
“Oh, come on. I know he’s not your cup of tea, but he can be very uninhibited and spontaneous. Now and then.”
“He’s got the slick, buttoned-down thing going on, but he’s not the uninhibited, spontaneous type.” She pointed a finger at Chelsea. “Which means…hold the phones…the wild, passionate closet sex was your idea.”
Chelsea blinked at the revelation, and then quickly looked around to make sure they hadn’t picked up any unwanted listeners. More employees filled the room now. A low hum of conversation competed with the music. “Guilty.”
“I’m so proud of you, stepping out of your two goody shoes for once in your life.”
“Paul did this very sweet and unexpected thing, and I couldn’t help myself.” Laurie’s arched eyebrow compelled Chelsea to elaborate. “I caught him hovering in the hallway, wearing the Santa costume I ordered for him.”
Laurie blinked. “Paul Barrington dressed up like Santa? Are you sure?”
She led the way to the buffet table, nodding and waving to people as she went. “I know it sounds out of character. He surprised me, too, because I didn’t think he was in the mood to do it. He’s been under a lot of pressure lately. He got hit with an operational audit of the entire resort. Loads of late hours and off-site meetings. Tons of extra work.”
Paul had been tense, distracted, and occasionally downright cold. The attention he’d lavished on her when they’d first started dating seemed to have evaporated the moment their boss, Mr. Merriman, had retired, and the owners had promoted Paul to general manager. She’d asked him about it weeks ago, fearing the real problem was her, and not work stress, but he’d insisted everything would be fine once the audit wrapped up. It was another reason why what happened today had been so special.
“I’m sure you got your fair share of the pressure and extra work, Chels.”
True, she had. “Paul expects everyone to carry their weight, and yes, he delegated a lot, but he handled all the interactions with the auditors. He wanted to shield me from that. There’s something brewing. He hasn’t said what yet, but something big…” She shook off the thought. Work questions could wait. “Anyway, seeing him today decked out like St. Nick? Instant turn-on. Let’s just say, I’m keeping the Santa suit.”
“I guess so,” Laurie said, clearly trying to wrap her mind around the new image of Paul. “I may have to order one, too. And find someone to wear the darn thing.”
Laurie wouldn’t lack for Santa candidates. She viewed men much like cupcakes, infinite in variety, and far too tempting to settle for just one. “I highly recommend it.”
“Now you’re gloating.”
“Maybe, but doesn’t a girl get to gloat after experiencing the best sex of her life?”
“Best sex of your life in a dark, cramped closet? Seriously?”
“I’ve never been more serious.” She selected a strawberry from the fruit tower marking the start of the buffet, and glanced around the room. Great turnout. Groups of employees stood and sat together, talking and laughing. There couldn’t be a more perfect moment for Santa to make his entrance.
Maybe her thought cued him, because the man of the hour swung through the door, waving and carrying a large red sack. Employees clapped and cheered at the unexpected guest.
Chelsea smiled at her friend. “I’ll be right back. I want to go up front where he’ll see—”
“Holy shit,” Laurie whispered and grabbed her arm.
“What?”
Her friend’s wide eyes were glued to the banquet room entrance, and something in their depths sent Chelsea’s heart on a free-fall to her stomach. She turned and watched mutely as Santa moved into the room, followed by…Paul.
Chelsea’s heart hammered against her ribs while waves of hot and cold swept over her. Champagne soured in her stomach and threatened to make an encore appearance. She ducked behind Laurie, swallowed hard, and watched Paul follow the mystery Santa onto the stage and step to the microphone. The chandelier lights danced over the red-suited stranger while Paul waited for the applause to die down.
Laurie leaned close. “Any clue?”
Chelsea stared, trying to see past the costume, but it was no use. “No,” she whispered. Now that the two men stood side-by-side, she could see Santa had a few inches on Paul, and his shoulders appeared slightly broader, but it was difficult to tell under the bulk of the red jacket.
“Okay, don’t freak. He’s probably just some guy Paul hired to do his dirty work. Uh…not with
you in the closet, but…you know what I mean.”
“He knew me,” she said through stiff lips.
“How can you be sure?”
“He called me by name at a very pivotal moment. Oh, God, what if he’s one of the owners?” The thought sent a shudder straight to her soul. Aside from killing her career at Las Ventanas, the notion appalled because those men had wives. Some had kids her age. Please, she prayed silently, let it be someone single, with no power over my career. Eyes closed, she rested her forehead against Laurie’s shoulder. “I think I’m going to pass out.”
Laurie reached back and grabbed her hand. “Take some deep breaths.”
“Hello,” Paul started, bringing the chatter in the room to a low hum. “I hope you’re enjoying a well-earned holiday celebration. It’s been a terrific year for Las Ventanas and we couldn’t have done it without you. In addition to the party, we’re saying thank you with holiday bonuses for everyone.”
Santa patted his red bag.
Applause rose in the room. Chelsea hunched behind Laurie. As much as she wanted to blame the unknown Santa for taking advantage of her, she couldn’t. Not entirely. She hadn’t called him Paul—thus giving him definitive proof she’d mistaken him for someone else—until just before she’d walked out of the closet. For all he knew, she was some sex-starved woman with a Santa kink who’d dragged him into a closet, and done her best to earn top spot on his naughty list. Well done.
Paul continued talking over the din. “While I’m pleased to announce the bonuses, I’m even more pleased to make this next announcement. As of this morning, Las Ventanas officially joined the world-renowned family of St. Sebastian Luxury Resorts.”
A hush settled over the room. Understanding backhanded Chelsea. The detailed audit she’d assisted with over the last several weeks? Not an audit at all. St. Sebastian had been evaluating their suitability as an acquisition. It all made sense now.
“Join me in welcoming Santa to our party, and for those who insist there’s no such thing as Santa Claus let me introduce his alter-ego…”
In a single, fluid motion that forced Chelsea to recall the efficiency with which he’d dealt with her skirt, Santa swept the beard and wig away to reveal…
“…Rafe St. Sebastian,” Paul continued, “CEO of St. Sebastian Luxury Resorts.”
Chapter Three
“Holy shit,” Laurie uttered again.
Holy career suicide. I accidentally had sex with one of the most powerful players in the industry. She shut her eyes and concentrated on drawing air into her lungs.
St. Sebastian was the name in the luxury resort market. The wealthy, the famous, the privileged—or those who merely wanted to feel that way for a few precious days—swarmed to St. Sebastian properties to enjoy exclusive getaways.
“I’m so completely screwed.”
“Not necessarily,” Laurie whispered. “You made an honest mistake. Just take him aside and explain. Frankly, things could be worse. When you shove the wrong Santa into a closet and let him stuff your stocking, you should thank your lucky stars he turns out to be single, successful, and unbelievably sexy.”
“No wonder he didn’t think anything of a strange woman throwing herself at him—just another day in the life of Rafe St. Sebastian.”
According to the press, the CEO of St. Sebastian Luxury Resorts spent more time jetting between his high-end properties in the company of models, actresses, or heiresses than he spent in his corner office. All he had to do was cock one dark brow and women practically lined up to run their fingers through his thick hair, kiss his expressive lips, and drown in the depths of his aquamarine eyes. Eyes that now scoured the banquet room, no doubt searching for his most enthusiastic new employee.
Chelsea tugged Laurie toward the door. “What if he tells Paul? What am I going to do?”
“He won’t say anything,” Laurie assured as they snuck out of the banquet room.
“You don’t know that, but even if you’re right, it doesn’t matter. Keeping something like this from Paul is dishonest.” She pressed a hand to her stomach. “I have to tell him, and hope he can forgive me for making such a horrible mistake. I’ll call you later.”
On unsteady legs, she hurried to the elevators. Thankfully when she reached the business floor, she found the area deserted and slipped into Paul’s office unnoticed. She sat in one of the oxblood leather guest chairs and let her eyes roam the familiar space, taking in the formal furnishings. Massive oak desk, two walls lined with tall, imposing bookshelves. Not a particularly comfortable environment for her extremely delicate confession. Still, her mind ran through options. Hey, Paul, a funny thing happened on the way to the party. Well, not funny, exactly, but someday I’m sure we’ll laugh about it…
No, not good. Maybe, Paul, remember how I told you if you wore that Santa costume, your own mother wouldn’t recognize you? Uh-uh. Best leave his mother out of the discussion.
Before she settled on an approach, the door swung open and Paul walked into the office. He stopped short when he spotted her. “Chelsea. Hello. I guess Cindy told you I wanted to speak with you?”
God, he sounded tired. His normally smooth, combed-back dark hair showed wear and tear, and his glacier blue eyes bounced around the room as if afraid to rest in one place too long. Once again she thought of all the pressures he shouldered, and her gut twisted, knowing she was about to add to his stress. There was no way to sugarcoat this. Best to dive right in. “No. I’m here because, um, there’s something I have to tell you.”
“Me first,” he interrupted, cutting her off mid-dive. “I need to get something off my chest. It’s overdue.”
After months of tense silences and secretive behavior, which she’d attributed to the—ha, ha—joke of an audit, he now had something to say that couldn’t wait? If he was so anxious to talk, why couldn’t he have taken three lousy minutes out of his day to tell her he’d given the Santa suit to someone else?
“Cindy is pregnant.”
Chelsea’s jaw dropped. “Cindy Ruffy, our director of human resources?”
Paul nodded.
On the heels of shock came unease. Why not make an announcement to the entire team? Why pull her aside for a one-on-one meeting? But even as those questions took shape, she admonished herself for finding fault. The woman was single, and, as far as Chelsea knew, not dating anyone. Her pregnancy would raise speculation—mostly of the unflattering variety—because Cindy’s throw-people-under-the-bus approach to her career hadn’t earned her many fans at Las Ventanas. Maybe she hoped a controlled distribution of the news would help minimize the gossip?
Paul seemed to be waiting for a response, so she said, “Goodness, I had no idea. I didn’t realize she was interested in starting a family, but, if she’s happy, I’m happy for her. Do we know the father?”
“Yes. Chelsea, I— There’s no good way to tell you this. I’m the father.”
She’d heard the expression “shocked speechless” before, but never truly lived it. Never experienced this strange paralysis where her lips and tongue disconnected from her brain. After a couple false starts, her synapses finally unfroze. “You and Ruff-Ruff?”
He frowned. “I know this comes as a shock, but I expected better from you.”
“Likewise,” she said, unreasonably proud her voice gave no clue of her crumbling heart. Then, before she could stop herself, she ruined it by asking the clichéd question. “Are you in love with her?”
“I think so.”
“You think so?”
“Don’t go there, Chelsea. You’re a sweet girl. Dedicated. Generous. Trusting. I don’t want to hurt you.”
He made her sound like a golden retriever. “Then be honest with me. I deserve an explanation.”
He smoothed a hand over his hair, and sighed. “Cindy and I have a lot in common. Like me, she hasn’t spent her entire life within the protective bubble of Montenido. She’s bold and worldly.”
Bold? Worldly? “She’s from Fresno.”
&nb
sp; “She goes after what she wants and she doesn’t let anything stand in her way. I’m like that, too. I’ve asked her to marry me, and she’s agreed.”
Truth lodged like a cold, hard lump in her throat. Neither the pregnancy, nor Paul’s feelings had snuck up on him over the past few weeks. This had been going on for a while, but he’d held off on breaking the news to her until the timing worked for him. “So while I slaved my butt off like a good little worker to help with a transaction I didn’t even know about, and you claimed to be tied up in meetings, you were actually sleeping with…her.”
He dropped into the chair beside hers and took her hand. “I didn’t plan this. Nobody’s at fault. There’s no one to blame. I deeply appreciate your support and loyalty as my career has taken off, but we’re in such different places now. You must sense it too. I hoped you would understand.”
She pulled her hand away and stood. “I understand completely.” He’d used her, strung her along for his benefit, and she’d been so eager to please him and win back the affection she’d sensed him withholding, she’d been pathetically easy to use. Granted, their relationship hadn’t been long, but she’d given it her all. She always did.
Clinging to her shredded pride, she shook her head and hurried to the door. She would not cry. Not here. She refused to let him see her fall apart. “I understand you’re not the man I thought you were. Good-bye, Paul.”
“Wait. You said you had something to tell me?”
She laughed, a bit hysterically, and opened the door. No need for true confessions on her part. What she had to say now would be quick, unrehearsed, and straight to the point. Without turning to look at him, she replied, “I resign, effective immediately. For obvious reasons, I decline the exit interview with HR.”
Chapter Four
Rafe fanned a handful of bonus envelopes onto Barrington’s desk. “These still need to be delivered to the employees.” From his seat in the guest chair, he absently studied the overblown desk and weighty bookshelves. Not his taste. It reminded him of a cut-rate version of his father’s office at St. Sebastian Enterprises’ New York headquarters.
Compromising Her Position Page 2
