by Helen Allan
I snort and shake my head. “If those details involve Tracy Upshot, or any of the women like her who have haunted the aisles this week, then absolutely not.”
“Well then,” he chuckles, “how about handing me that hammer, and we won’t discuss at all who I’ve nailed.”
“You are impossible,” I shake my head, handing him the hammer, and stalking off to pick up my bag once more.
His laughter follows me.
“Ridiculous,” Louis says for the third time, “and risky, Holly, to hire someone without any background checks. I can’t believe he’s been there a fortnight, and you didn’t tell me.”
“Louis,” I try to keep the annoyance from my voice. I’d called him to hear his voice, tell him I loved him, but all I’d had for the past five minutes was haranguing about my decision to keep Kris on staff. “It slipped my mind. And it isn’t ridiculous, the displays we’ve been doing together are drawing people in like never before. Background checks or no, he’s come up with some really great ideas.”
“Slipped your mind? It seems a fair bit has slipped your mind,” he snipes. “You still don’t know anything about this man who claims to be an elf; his past, where he comes from, his criminal record, anything.”
“Louis please, can we talk about something else?” I sigh.
“And he’s convinced you that your painting is good enough for background sets,” he scoffs, “well I guess he has something right, perhaps there is a use for that sort of thing after all.”
“Yes, actually, there is,” I snap, “now, are you going to keep being an asshole, or do you want to speak to me like a human being?”
“Babe,” he growls, “what’s gotten into you? Are you screwing this guy?”
“Louis! How could you? You know I would never cheat on you. I love you.”
The line is silent for a full, long minute.
“Look,” he finally sighs, “I’ve gotta go, it’s the middle of the night here and an inconvenient time to talk. I’ll phone you tomorrow.”
“Sure,” I whisper, as he hangs up.
“By tomorrow, you mean 1am my time,” I mutter, “an inconvenient time to talk.”
Despite my anger, I feel like crying. His accusation stings, especially since I do find Kris very attractive. But more than that, Louis’ dismissal of my art hurts. He’d always humoured me when I spoke about my degree, my plans after I graduated. He told me once he didn’t mind if his future wife had her ‘little hobbies’ - and as far as he was concerned, an arts degree was just killing time. But he’d never outright criticised my work.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I bundle my hair on top of my head again, where it had been slipping out of its bun in messy strands, and head downstairs to the kitchen to make dinner for Sapphire and I. She probably wouldn’t eat what I offer, like most nights, but I feel remiss if I don’t try. I can’t really blame her, I’m not a gourmet, like her mother, I guess I’m what you might call an ‘interpretive cook.’ I rarely follow recipes and tend to just throw ingredients together that I think will work. They do, mostly.
When I reach the room though, I see she has already eaten.
“Pizza again?” I breathe in deeply through my nose, “you ordered pizza again?”
She shrugs.
I place my hands on my hips, but she is spared my lecture as the front doorbell rings.
“You haven’t heard the last of this, little lady,” I shake my finger at her.
Answering the door, I find Kris, a large Christmas tree over his shoulder.
“A little later than I promised,” he smiles ruefully at me, “but delivered never-the-less.”
“I thought you were going to use magic?” I snipe, “I was waiting for a tree to fly in the window or something.”
“I’m afraid my magic is diminishing. The longer I spend in the human world, the less I can do,” he looks into my eyes, smiling, as though what he has said is perfectly sane.
“Right,” I let out a deep breath and step back to allow him to enter the room, as Sapphire saunters into the lounge eating her pizza.
“Thought of a trick yet?” he asks as he lugs the tree into position.
She takes another mouthful of pizza and studies him through narrowed eyes.
“I was just about to make some dinner,” I interrupt before Sapphire can think of anything cutting to say, “would you like something?”
“That would be great,” he straightens up and surveys the tree, “are you joining us, little girl?”
“You know I’m not a little girl,” she spits, “you know my name.”
“Perhaps not so little, perhaps a little too much pizza?” he cocks his head to one side and smirks at her.
“Are you saying I’m fat?” she hisses, “Holly, the elf says I’m fat.”
“That’s Aunty Holly,” I remind her.
“Aunty Holly, whatever. The elf says I’m fat.”
I sigh. “I’m sure he didn’t mean that.”
“I did,” Kris shrugs, “she is.”
“I’m a growing kid,” Sapphire frowns, “and my parents say I just have puppy fat.”
“They lied,” he shrugs again.
“Sapphire,” I start before she can implode, “you know what Kris is like…”
“I hate him, he’s the worst elf ever,” she says, shooting him a spiteful look.
“Jesus, fuck,” I breathe as she races up the stairs. “Kris, must you?”
“She needs it,” he shrugs, “everyone tip-toeing around her isn’t doing her any favours.”
“I know,” I frown, “but telling her she’s fat isn’t doing her any favours either.”
“Mark my words,” he taps the side of his nose, “tomorrow she will help me with the new display.”
“You are ever the crazy optimist,” I shake my head, “I bet you she doesn’t.”
“What would you like to wager?” he raises his eyebrows in a suggestive way.
“Nothing like that,” I laugh.
“Like what?” he pastes on an innocent face.
“Need I remind you that I’m your boss?” I shake my head, snorting.
“No, I’m aware of that, Holly,” he says quietly, suddenly serious.
“Then, I’ll bet you…” I look up at the ceiling trying to think of what I might like to win from him, given that he pretty much owns nothing.
“How about, the loser has to dress as a Christmas character of the winner’s choosing for a day?” he offers, shrugging, “it would be no great hardship for me to lose, but you…”
“You’re on,” I laugh.
As I turn for the kitchen, it’s not lost on me that I do that a lot around him, laugh.
Sitting opposite him in my parents’ kitchen, I shake my head as I watch him consume yet another helping of spaghetti, covered in maple syrup.
“You know, that’s pretty gross,” I shake my head as he pours more syrup onto the dish.
“Not for an elf,” he says, looking up and smiling, his lips glossy.
I gulp as visions of licking those lips swim before my eyes, and hastily take another sip of wine.
“So, you have a sweet tooth,” I shake my head. “Sapphire mentioned something about the work fridge being full of candy – I thought she was exaggerating.”
“I like candy,” he nods, “I appreciate sweet things,” he adds, looking me in the eye.
I frown and rise to get another bottle of white from the fridge. The way he looks at me sometimes sends shivers down my spine, which makes me think guiltily of Louis’ accusation.
“So why isn’t your boyfriend here? Helping with the business?” Kris asks as though he has read my mind.
I sit back down and pour us both another glass of Pinot Noir, a cheap white I’d bought because I’d liked the pretty yellow and white floral label.
I grimace as I taste it.
“Oh, uh,” I shrug, “we had non-refundable tickets. We’d been planning a
trip with some friends forever, so I gave my ticket to another of his friends. It seemed silly to waste all that money, time and effort.”
“That was kind of you, and selfless,” he nods, “which seems to be your way.”
“Not always,” I frown.
“And so,” he goes on, ignoring my interruption, “your boyfriend is in Europe with your friends, and you are,” he pauses, “alone.”
“I’m not alone. I have my sweet, loving little niece,” I snort, my voice laden with sarcasm, “and an employee who claims he’s an elf.”
“Yes,” he smiles, “you have us. By the way, this wine is terrible.”
I laugh, spitting a little out and wiping my mouth hastily in embarrassment.
“Yes,” I giggle, “I’m attracted to labels, I can’t help it. This one’s so stylish and pretty. I think it must be big business somewhere for people to design these labels – I can’t be the only one who buys a bottle based on its look.”
“I fear you are right,” he shudders as he places his glass down, “perhaps an artist like you designs these someplace?”
“An artist like me,” I murmur, feeling suddenly very sad.
“What do you plan to do with your talents when you finish your degree?” he asks, rising and putting the plates in the dishwasher.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I stand and pick up the bottle of wine, beckoning him into the lounge area where it’s more comfortable to slouch and talk.
When we are seated, he in my father’s favourite chair, and me on the chaise, I raise my legs and sigh in relief – standing and walking all day is killing my feet.
“You don’t know, or you don’t want to tell me?” he asks, his eyes on mine over the lip of his glass, “by the way, your hair looks very pretty tonight.”
I blush and try to tuck back the stray curls that had, yet again, escaped the coil on top of my head and fallen around my face. I can’t remember the last time Louis said something nice about my hair, or anything for that matter. For a man this handsome to compliment me, well...I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t pleased. But mentally, I reprimand myself.
‘Don’t encourage him, he’s a seasonal employee and a lady-killer, and you have a boyfriend!’
He chuckles as he watches the play of emotions cross my face. “You don’t seem used to compliments.”
“I get my fair share,” I raise my nose haughtily, “and as for your question...” I frown, pausing as I grope for words. I’m so used to glossing over my ambition and, instead, listening to Louis talk about his family firm and his plans for world domination when he graduates, I actually need time to formulate the words for what I hope for. “Uh, I don’t want to bore you.”
“I’m very interested,” he says quietly.
“Well,” I grimace and take another sip of the wine, which actually isn’t so bad after half a glass, “ideally I’d like to own a small design studio and gallery. I’d produce art for commercial purposes to pay the bills, like wine labels I suppose, but I’d paint and sculpt on commission.”
“You sculpt?” he raises an eyebrow, “I sculpt.”
“Really?”
“Yes, ice,” he nods, “I’ll show you sometime.”
“I’d like that,” I smile, as he puts his glass aside and rises.
“Scoot over, I’ll rub your feet.”
“What?” I know my voice sounds shocked, “ah, no, I don’t think that would be…”
But he has already sunk into the end of the chaise and pulled my feet onto his lap.
“Relax, Holly, it’s just a foot rub,” he chuckles, holding my feet tight.
I stop trying to free my feet and grit my teeth as he begins to rub his thumb under my instep while gently squeezing the top of my toes.
“Oh,” I breathe, closing my eyes.
“Better?” he croons, looking down and concentrating on rubbing, using his thumbs and fingers in deep, circular motions. It feels like at least a few parts of my feet are connected directly to my hootchie, because, Whoa! This is a turn on.
“Oh, you have no idea,” I moan, trying to keep my thoughts clean.
“You need to look after yourself, Holly,” he says gently, glancing up and catching my eye, “instead of always putting others first. Put yourself first for once, love yourself.”
“I thought you were going to make some kind of elf joke then,” I laugh, “like love your elf.”
“Oh, you should definitely do that too,” he smiles, his thumbs pressing firmer against my insole and my skin instantly goose-bumping.
“I do, I mean,” I gulp as little tremors begin to run from the base of my feet into my tummy, and other regions, “I am looking after myself.”
He says nothing, merely looks down again as he continues rubbing, and I try my hardest not to writhe. But the sensations I am beginning to feel are not just relief, they are much, much more. I know the combination of the wine and the lustful reaction my body is having will soon have me launching myself at him if he doesn’t stop. Only I don’t think I can ask him to stop, it feels far, far too good.
I can’t contain a moan escaping my lips, as he begins to pull my toes, one by one.
Thankfully, his hands still before I can make even more of a fool of myself.
“Ah, Holly,” he murmurs, rising and walking swiftly to the door, “I’d better go. Thank you for dinner.”
I try to put a cork in my emotions, every nerve tingling and on end.
“You haven’t finished your wine,” I splutter, as he keeps walking.
‘What’s his hurry all of a sudden? Oh, he must have another woman waiting for him, of course. I mean, when doesn’t he?’
“Another date?” I ask with, I hope, some humour inflected in my tone.
“Shopping first,” he smiles over his shoulder as he pulls on his jacket, his back still to me. “I’ll need to find the perfect costume for you tomorrow.”
“Don’t waste your money,” I snort, as he opens the door, “she’s not going to help you.”
“Sleep well, Holly,” he says, giving me a wink before leaving.
After he has gone, I continue to lay on the couch and allow my body to slowly calm down. My feet and legs feel like jelly – all aches gone, apart from a dull ache in the pit of my stomach that only one thing could assuage.
‘Odd that he should leave so suddenly. God, I’m so glad I’m a woman. If I was a man I’d have an erection taller than that Xmas tree. Wait, could he have been turned on by rubbing my feet? Did he keep his back to me so I couldn’t see his physical reaction to me?’
I smile at the thought and eventually drift into sleep.
Surprising, I do sleep well, but then, my night is not interrupted by a phone call.
8
KRIS
The displays are working to bring more people into the shop, as I knew they would, and by people, I mean women, which I’m certainly not complaining about.
Since starting here, I don’t think there’s been more than a night or two that I’ve spent on that hard sofa bed in the office, thank Christ. But while I’m reaping the benefits of the new clientele, a revolving door of seemingly sexually adventurous women, it’s not just me they are taking home with them, it’s the ideas sold by Holly.
I grin as think about her and what I’ll make her wear when I win the bet.
I shouldn’t be thinking of her this way, I know she has a man in her life and I’m only here for a short time, but I’m looking forward to seeing her dressed in an elf costume. Her clothes hint at a nice figure underneath those bulky t-shirts and jackets, and I’m one for appreciating the female form, even if she is my boss and off-limits.
A boss who, I know, credits me with the new success of the store, without realising she is the architect of the change.
I watch her now as she puts the finishing touches on one of the new window backdrops and notice how she purses her lips when she paints. She is totally unaware of how talented she is.
‘Or how attractive she is. And her moans last night as I rubbed her feet – Jesus, what a turn on.’
I shake my head and turn to hammer the timber before me with force, hoping to calm down the stir in my jeans at the remembered moan.
‘I’d like to hear that moan under different circumstances. No,’ I reprimand myself sharply, ‘I wouldn’t. I’m leaving in a matter of weeks, and I’ve got plenty of other tail to keep me occupied in the meantime. And then after, there’s Aurora.’
But even as I think this, I can’t help but compare the two. Aurora is stunning, there’s no doubt about it. Flawless and well-kept, an elf used to expensive manicures, pedicures and massages, alongside first-class everything. A social climber who had no intention of falling from the top of the ladder, I know she’d only shown interest in me when she heard I was pegged for the top job. It was no hardship to give her what she wanted while I continued to play the field. And I know when I return, we will both benefit from an alliance. She’s no intellectual, but then, that’s not what I need, I’ve got brains enough for both of us. But Holly – Holly is attractive in an altogether different way. Her natural beauty shines through in what she says and does. She’s the type to stand by your side no matter how your fortunes faired, loyal, hardworking and smart.
Total opposites.
I see another lady stop in the street and stare in, and I give a wave. From memory, she is the one who likes to lick my chest, telling me how delicious I smell. The ever-present sprites had found that hilarious and made several jokes about it - until I’d suggested putting them to sleep in the microwave for the night – the little bastards.
The woman waves back, and I note her eyes drift to the artwork behind me.
Holly’s work draws in the crowds, not just to stand outside and admire the detailed scenic backdrops she has painted, but to come in and buy all the materials they might need to try a little art themselves.
If she’s noticed that art supplies are outselling chainsaws and fairy lights, she hasn’t said so, but I can’t imagine what she thinks is drawing in the crowds, if not her work.
