Secret Santa

by Noelle Adams

  I burst into messy laughter, wiping at my face and pulling away. “Good tears. They’re good tears.”

  Jeremy’s face relaxes into a fond smile. “Okay then. Cry all you want.”

  “I’m done.” I sniff and mop at my face with the back of my free hand. “I’m done. I’m ready. If you want to... want to ask me something.”

  He clears his throat and reaches over to take the ring out of the box I’m still holding. He shifts from foot to foot. His hand shakes just a little as he reaches to grab my left hand. His voice is slightly gruff, but it doesn’t waver at all as he says, “You’re my best friend and the love of my life, May. I want to spend the rest of my life and every Christmas I have left with you. So will you marry me?”

  I nod and start crying again and keep nodding even through my tears. “Yes!” I manage to burst out eventually. “Yes, I will!”

  Jeremy makes a strange sound that’s almost like a sob as he slips the ring onto my finger. Then he grabs me in a hug so hard it feels like it might crack my ribs.

  I don’t care. It’s exactly right. It took twelve and a half years for us to get here, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  We hug for a long time. Then we eat the dinner Jeremy prepared and have cherry pie and ice cream for dessert. Leo plays with the torn wrapping paper and decides a couple of the lower ornaments are actually chew toys for him, and we’re too distracted to stop him. We watch my favorite sappy Christmas movie before we make love on a blanket in front of the fire.

  I’m crying on and off for the entire night, but Jeremy doesn’t seem to mind at all.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE: The next book in the Milford College series is Temp (about Liam Cunningham and the new temp who has to work for him). You can find an excerpt on the following pages.

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  Excerpt from Temp

  MAYBE IT’S A LITTLE unusual to work for several hours at a new job before ever meeting your boss, but I’m glad of the breathing space while Liam is in meetings. I spend the morning getting used to the desk, computer, and phone system. I ask questions of the other assistants in the executive suite for anything I’m not sure of. And I answer the phone and take messages.

  That’s pretty much all I do from eight until after one.

  Whenever I meet someone new and tell them I’m working for Liam Cunningham, they give me a look of wary sympathy that makes it clear he has a reputation around the college.

  After I come back from lunch, the mail has arrived, so that gives me something else to work on. I sort it as best I can, figuring out what I can deal with myself and what should go directly to Liam and asking Cindy whenever I’m unsure. I’m about halfway confident in my sorting decisions as I take the final pile into the office and place it carefully in the inbox.

  I stare down at it for a minute, wondering if I should do something different with the letter on top of the pile complaining about the lack of funding for the science department. It’s really just an angry rant. The letter doesn’t require direct action except a brief, polite response. Maybe it’s not something that should be included in Liam’s inbox.

  That’s the kind of person I am. I like to do things right. I try to avoid mistakes as much as I can. Even small ones like not sorting the mail perfectly, despite the fact that I’m on my first day in a temporary assignment.

  “Who are you?”

  The words are gruff. Abrupt. Completely unexpected. And coming from the doorway behind me.

  I whirl around, startled and therefore momentarily speechless. I swallow and force out a (rather stupid) response. “I’m Polly.”

  The man standing in the entrance of the office is probably Liam Cunningham—The VP of Finance at Milford College and my boss for the next seven weeks—but he’s not at all what I expected. From the way everyone has talked about him, I expected a grizzled, ornery older man.

  This man isn’t grizzled or old.

  He’s hot.

  I realize now that I saw a couple of photos come up of him in last night’s Google search but assumed they were of a different Liam Cunningham. He’s tall and fit and looks like he’s in his mid-thirties. He’s got dark hair, broad shoulders, and a handsome face with a short beard. He is scowling—so that much meets my expectations. His eyes run up and down my body with open disapproval.

  “And who is Polly?” he demands, taking a step closer to me.

  I gulp again and look down at the pile of mail my hand is still touching. I was shy as a child, and I’m still not the most outgoing of people. But I’m not a pushover, and right now I’m doing exactly what I was told to do.

  This is my job. This man has no right to bark at me and make me feel like a naughty child.

  So my voice is cooler than it normally would have been as I reply, “Polly is your new temp. Surely someone told you I was starting today.”

  He blinks. He has chocolate brown eyes. I can see them now that he’s closer. “Oh. Yeah. I forgot you’d be here.” His eyes run up and down my body again. It’s a look of intense scrutiny—not anything like a leer—and I get the feeling he can see everything about me just by the details of my clothes and face. “I’m supposed to be nice to you. I’ve been told to be nice by at least eight people. Screwed that up pretty well, didn’t I?”

  The shift in tone surprises me so much I let out a soft laugh. “Maybe a little.”

  His eyes focus on my face again. It’s unnerving how intently he peers at me. “I saw your resume. You’re in the middle of a PhD program?”

  “Yes. In nineteenth century French literature. But I had to take the semester off from my coursework, so I’m doing temp work to make some extra money.” I don’t bother telling him about my mother’s broken leg. It’s not really his business, and it doesn’t seem appropriate to spill a bunch of personal information right on first meeting one’s boss.

  “At UVA?”

  He clearly read and remembers my resume. “Yes.”

  “And before that you worked as a translator?”

  “Yes. For a couple of different organizations in D.C.”

  “Why not keep doing that?”

  The question is barked out, making it feel more like an interrogation than a friendly conversation, but I keep my tone pleasant as I reply, “It wasn’t what I wanted to do. My dad was Quebecoise, so I grew up speaking French, and then I studied it in college. So the language wasn’t a problem. But I found translating exhausting and stressful. It didn’t suit my personality. I like teaching a lot better. And I also didn’t love living in D.C.”

  He nods and doesn’t ask for further details. “Okay. Someone showed you the ropes around here then?”

  “Yes. Cindy did this morning.”

  “She told you about me?”

  “Y-yes.” I check his expression and see a glint of dry amusement in his eyes. So I continue, “She said not to expect a lot of friendliness, but that you aren’t as bad as you come across.”

  He gives a huff of amusement. “I’ve found that people have differing views on that particular topic.”

  Since he’s been so direct and open, I figure I can be too. “I don’t really care if you’re nice to me. I’m not going to take it personally. As long as you treat me with respect, then I’ll be happy to do this job.”

  I need this job. If I can’t keep this one, I’ll have to go through an agency and commute to a larger town, which seems like a terrible thing to have to do for a temp job. So I hope he takes my comment in the way it was intended.

  He does. He nods, narrowing his eyes as he scans my face again. “I will.”

  “Okay then. I sorted your mail, and your phone messages are all written out in that o
nline system you use. Is there anything else I can do for you right now?”

  He glanced down at the stack in his inbox. “You can guard the door.”

  “Guard the door?”

  “I have some work to do for the next couple hours, and I don’t want to be disturbed. So answer my phone and don’t let anyone in.”

  “Okay.” That sounds easy enough.

  “People are going to want in. They always do. You need to keep them out.”

  “I will.”

  He studies me from my mid-priced boots to my smooth brown hair. “You look quiet.”

  I frown. “What does that have to do with anything? I can be quiet and still do my job. If you don’t want me to let anyone into your office, then I won’t.”

  I see that glint of amusement in his eyes again. I haven’t seen him smile yet. Not once. But that glint is oddly appealing. “All right then. Guard the door.”

  “I will.”

  “Good.”

  “Good.” When I realize I’m still standing and staring at him, I make myself move to the door.

  “Don’t let anyone in,” he calls back toward me as he sits down in his desk chair.

  “You already said that,” I grumble. I figure if he can be grumpy, then I can too. And exactly how hard does he think telling people to come back later will be for me to do? “I won’t.”

  I close the office door behind me as I leave. It sounds like he’s giving another dry huff of amusement, which must be what passes for a laugh for him.

  Liam Cunningham is not at all what I expected, but he doesn’t seem as bad as everyone was painting him to be.

  I can handle him. I can do this job. I can make enough money to get me through until I return to my teaching assistantship next semester.

  Anything that happens here will just be temporary.

  YOU CAN FIND OUT MORE about Temp here.

  About Noelle Adams

  NOELLE HANDWROTE HER first romance novel in a spiral-bound notebook when she was twelve, and she hasn’t stopped writing since. She has lived in eight different states and currently resides in Virginia, where she writes full time, reads any book she can get her hands on, and offers tribute to a very spoiled cocker spaniel.

  She loves travel, art, history, and ice cream. After spending far too many years of her life in graduate school, she has decided to reorient her priorities and focus on writing contemporary romances. For more information, please check out her website: noelle-adams.com.