Exmas

by Winter Renshaw

  “—the sooner we’ll know if we’re all being canned,” someone else finishes my sentence.

  Scanning the room, I run a quick head count. We’re down to nine. A quick glance to my left and I realize Joa’s missing. She must have snuck out the moment I dismissed everyone. But who’s the other one?

  Harold.

  Interesting.

  “Everyone, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get started.” I walk to the door, hoping the herd will follow. It takes a few seconds, and I get a handful of curious looks, but eventually they shuffle out into the hall and scatter to their offices.

  Returning to the table, I lift the lid of my laptop and take care of a handful of emails, a Monday morning report for the senior leadership team, and hop on a Zoom call with New York. By the time I’m finished, it’s nearly noon—the past three hours gone, just like that.

  Getting up, I stretch my legs and go for a walk around the office. I’ve never seen such a diligent and hardworking crew. No one’s socializing. No one’s hanging out by the coffee maker. Everyone’s got their eyes glued to their computer screens and their fingers pecking away at their keyboards.

  They must take me for a moron if they think I’m going to believe this is how it always is, but honestly, I couldn’t care less. It’s not why I’m here and I’m certainly not an executive babysitter, so they can stop with the act. It isn’t fooling anyone.

  “Excuse me,” I say when I get to the lady with the purple sweater. She’s seated at the front desk, sorting mail and paperclipping bundles together. “Pam? Is it?”

  “Yes! How can I help you?”

  “Could you direct me to Ms. Jolivet’s office, please?”

  Her gray eyes graze my shoulder and she points. “Right behind you.”

  The door is closed and the lights are off.

  “But you just missed her,” Pam says.

  “Do you know when you expect her back?”

  Her mouth twists at the side. “It’s hard to say. It’s a client lunch, so it could be an hour or it could be a little longer. I’d be happy to come and get you the second she walks in.”

  Exhaling, I knock on her desktop with my knuckles. “That’d be great. Thank you.”

  All I wanted to do was offer an appropriate hello, feel her out, and ensure her that the rest of the week needn’t be tense and awkward. It might be a long shot but if I could just get her to talk to me, maybe … just maybe she’ll loosen her grip on that grudge she’s been holding onto for the past year and we can make an inkling of progress.

  But I guess it’ll have to wait.

  Heading back to the conference room, I peer out the window to the sidewalk three stories below, where a black Escalade is parked just outside the main entrance.

  A moment later, a woman in a pencil skirt and wool coat brushes her long black hair over her shoulder and waves at someone in the car. A uniformed driver appears from the other side of the SUV, getting the rear door so a silver-fox-type in a gray trench coat over black slacks appears, wearing a smile so wide I’m sure you could see it from the International Space Station.

  The woman turns for a second, pointing to the building, her lips moving.

  It’s Joa.

  The man laughs at whatever it was she said before narrowing the divide between them and leaning in to kiss her cheek.

  Seriously, Joa?

  Normally in our line of work, we’re the ones doing the wooing—not the other way around.

  I watch the two of them climb in the backseat together, my blood beginning to simmer, and then I watch them drive away.

  All this time, I’d expected her to move on.

  I just didn’t think I’d ever have to see it firsthand.

  “Mr. York?” Pam knocks on the conference room door.

  “Yes, Pam?”

  “I was going to tell you … our office holiday party is tonight after work. It’s pretty informal. We’re just grabbing drinks at a bar down the street and exchanging gifts—though you wouldn’t need to bring anything for that—would you like to join us?” she asks.

  Suffering through an office party with a bunch of strangers sounds like my idea of fresh hell, but it might be my only opportunity to corner Joa, especially if she’s had a couple of drinks and lets her guard down.

  “I’d love to, Pam,” I say. “Count me in.”

  Past

  Reed

  “Make it quick,” she whispers as we stumble into the ladies’ room at some French place in downtown LA after work.

  The whole team is here. Grosvenor insisted on taking us all out for a celebratory dinner since GenCoin surpassed ten grand this week.

  It’s been five days since our last hookup.

  Five days too long.

  Ordinarily I’m a patient man, but I couldn’t tonight, not with this off-the-shoulder number she’s wearing and that sun-kissed collarbone and the way she kept eye fucking me from the end of the table.

  But it wasn’t until some asshole in a three-piece suit sent her a drink from the bar that I almost lost my cool.

  Despite the fact that she’s very much not my girlfriend, the thought of anyone else so much as thinking about touching her makes me rage a little on the inside.

  I managed to rein it back enough because I’m nothing if not in control of myself, and as soon as I composed myself, I sent her a quick text telling her to meet me by the bathrooms.

  “Did you lock the door?” she asks.

  “I'm horny, not a moron.”

  “They’re going to notice we’re gone,” she says as I lift her onto the table.

  “So?” I shove her dress up her thighs and slip her panties off. “Let them.”

  I press my mouth against hers and her fingers lace through my hair as she kisses me back.

  We finish in under five minutes—obviously a record for myself—and when we’ve made ourselves presentable, we dash out of the restroom with matching flushes on our faces, returning to the table just as they’re serving the main course.

  One of the women from another department, whose name is irrelevant to me, stares with judgy eyes at Joa then to me and back. I give her a wink and she quickly looks away, clearing her throat and reaching for her water.

  The details of our arrangement are none of her business, and neither are the things we do when we’re alone together.

  From my end of the table, I feel a fresh set of eyes directed toward me, and I glance up just long enough to catch Joa staring, looking lost in thought almost.

  A second later, she reaches for her martini glass and turns to the woman sitting next to her, attempting to pretend I didn’t just catch her in the act.

  While part of me would love to know what she was thinking just then, most of me knows I’m better off letting it go.

  We’ve got a good thing going.

  And I intend to keep it that way for as long as humanly possible—or at least until I get sick of her or she decides she wants a relationship and shows herself the door like they always do.

  What can I say? I’m a man of my word.

  Besides, I suck at the whole love bullshit, and Joa deserves someone who can love her right—at least when the time comes.

  For now? She’s mine.

  7

  Joa

  “What are you thinking, red or white today?” My client, David Crosswhite, CEO of Crosswhite Holdings, peruses the wine menu.

  Day drinking isn’t my thing and the office party is tonight, but customarily I’m supposed to go along with him.

  Anything for the client has always been the Genesis way.

  “I love a dry white, but I’ll have what you’re having,” I say with a smile.

  “Sauvignon blanc. My kind of girl.” He winks, folding the menu and handing it to our server. “Dry white it is. Why don’t you bring us a bottle of the Cascade Falls, 1999 if you have it.”

  “Excellent choice.” The waiter leaves.

  “You didn’t have to order an entire bottle,” I say, unfolding my nap
kin and laying it across my skirt.

  The restaurant fills with noon hour reservationists, and a string quartet plays Deck the Halls from the next room. The clink of silver on china fills the pauses between us.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve been so good to me this year, Joa. It’s my treat.” He reaches across the table, almost as if he intends to place his hand over mine, and then he stops. His fingers curl slightly and he glances away.

  He’s been trying to date me since six months ago, after our first meeting. And while he’s handsome and worldly and charming in his own way, he’s also nearly twice my age, thrice divorced, and a father of five, ages three to twenty-five. Fortunately for me, he’s the opposite of aggressive—which undermines every assumption I’ve ever made about him.

  “Joa, I can’t tell you how pleased I am with my portfolio’s performance this year,” he says when the waiter returns with a green bottle, a corkscrew, and a promise to be right back once he pours our glasses. “It’s been one of our best yet. And we owe it all to you.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “I’ve worked especially hard on yours, tweaking and perfecting those ratios. It’s all about timing, luck, and some good old-fashioned optimization.”

  The Crosswhite account is the biggest of my bunch by leaps and bounds—the one I’d lose my job over should anything remotely go wrong. I protect it like a bar swallow guards her nest.

  “Does Genesis give you much time off over the holidays?” he asks, lifting his glass to mine.

  We clink our chalices and take sips.

  “Just Christmas Day and New Year’s Day,” I say, scanning the restaurant. I’m not sure why, but I keep half-expecting Reed to show up.

  He wouldn’t—desperation has never been his style. But I can’t help but look for him anyway.

  This morning was … interesting, to say the least. He stood in front of the entire staff claiming he’s simply here for an audit, yet he was wearing the watch I picked out for him and the tie we used many a time as a makeshift restraint.

  And his signature Creed cologne.

  Oh, god. Why did he have to wear the cologne?

  Heat creeps up my neck and I pray that if I’m blushing, David doesn’t notice. It’s dark enough in here that he shouldn’t—the only real light around us stems from flickering tea light candles placed in crystal holders next to clipped red rose centerpieces.

  I didn’t realize how romantic this place is.

  “Are we ready to order?” Our server returns.

  I hadn’t even glanced at the menu.

  David looks to me, his dark gray brows lifted. “Joa, I’d be happy to order for the two of us if that’s okay with you?”

  Anything for the client …

  “Sure. Thank you.” I fold my hands in my lap, hoping he doesn’t go crazy.

  “We’ll start with the tuna tartare small plates,” he says. “After that, we’ll do the arugula house salad and lobster bisque. Two filets for the entrée. And for dessert?” He scratches his chin, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Vanilla bean crème brûlée.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll put these in, and your small plates should be out shortly.” The server leaves, and I sit in stunned silence as I realize we’re going to be here all afternoon.

  On one hand, I’m okay with that. More time here means less time back at the office. But on the other hand, I’m going to have to be rolled out of here Violet-Beauregard style on top of spending the next several hours nonchalantly ignoring David’s advances.

  “That’s quite a feast you ordered us,” I say, fingers resting on the stem of my glass. As long as I go slow and pace myself, I should still be able to walk into the party tonight with all my merits intact.

  “A celebration calls for a feast, don’t you think?” he asks.

  When he emailed me last week asking if I was available Monday at noon, he mentioned a “little celebratory lunch.” To me that means a quick forty-five minutes at a popular hustling and bustling lunchtime spot up the street—not a five-course meal at one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city.

  “How are the little ones?” I ask.

  “D.J. is about to turn four next month,” he says with a smile. “It’s all he’ll talk about anymore. That and Thomas the Train. Vivica’s excited for Christmas morning. Think we’ve got one more year of her believing in Santa.”

  He doesn’t mention the older three. Never does. They’re from his first marriage, and from what I can gather, they still haven’t forgiven him for leaving their mother. It’s strange for me to think of classy, well-mannered David embroiled in personal drama, but I suppose no one’s immune to it.

  “Their mother is letting me sleep in the guesthouse Christmas Eve. I’ll be there to watch the whole thing,” he says with a proud beam. “You have any plans?”

  This conversation is killing me. A slow, innocent death.

  He’s a kind man with a huge heart and decent intentions aside from his own personal demons, but there’s no chemistry between us. In fact, there’s less than no chemistry between us. There’s negative chemistry.

  He might as well be my uncle because when I look at him, that’s the way I feel. He’s an older man whom I respect. That’s it.

  “Going to my parents’ house in Mills Haven,” I say.

  “Ah, Mills Haven. That’s a nice little community. I’ve done business there. Is that where you grew up?”

  I nod, stifling a yawn.

  Once again, I slept maybe a grand total of four or five hours last night, marking three nights in a row of little to no sleep. The alcohol mixed with the cozy ambience around us and the gentle stringed music playing in the background is all but taunting me with the fact that I couldn’t go home and take a nap even if I wanted to.

  A food runner deposits a small plate of tuna tartare and David’s face is awash in delight, boyish excitement almost. I guess it’s the little things for him.

  Fending off another yawn, I remind myself that I could be in worse company.

  Past

  Joa

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were staying late tonight?” Reed stands in my office doorway on a Tuesday night, his jacket slung over his shoulder. “Want some company? I’m meeting some friends in an hour, but I can spare a little time.”

  Before I have a chance to explain that I’m doing actual work tonight, work that requires my undivided, non-distracted attention, he’s closing my door, strutting across the room, and sliding his hands over my shoulders, kneading the knots until the pain and tension dissipates.

  God, why does he have to be so good with his hands?

  Gently, I push his hands from my shoulders. “Tonight’s no good.”

  He laughs. “What do you mean tonight’s no good?”

  We’ve been hooking up four months now and not once have I ever rebuffed him, not once have I ever not wanted him.

  But this is serious.

  I’m trying to land one of my biggest clients ever, and this portfolio presentation has to be better than perfect.

  “I’m busy.” I point to my monitor.

  “Yes, Joa, I see that you’re working on a spreadsheet right now, but I don’t see how that’s different from any other time we ...”

  I spin in my desk chair, facing him. “It’s nothing personal.”

  “Of course it is.”

  I’ve never seen him like this before. Normally he lets things roll off his back, dusts his shoulders off, and carries on like nothing happened.

  “For real. I need to get this done and I don’t want to be here all night. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Have fun with your friends.”

  He doesn’t budge, doesn’t blink. He just stands there taking me in with this slightly squinted look on his face.

  I need this client.

  I need to prove to Grosvenor that I’m learning and growing and willing to work twice as hard as anyone else around here because I just got word that our VP of Acquisitions is retiring and I want her job like I’ve never wanted
anything else in my twenty-seven years.

  Landing this client would be huge, not only for me but for Genesis as a whole.

  Grosvenor would practically be obligated to promote me, especially if he doesn’t want to lose me.

  “Have fun with my friends?” Reed echoes my sentiment.

  Maybe I said it a little too harshly. Maybe it came off sarcastic or curt, I don’t know. However I said it clearly bothers him or he wouldn’t be standing here trying to read between two lines that only exist in his current state of insecurity.

  I decide to cut him some slack.

  Everyone has off days.

  Lord knows I’ve had my fair share.

  “I meant it in a nice way. I wasn’t trying to be flippant,” I assure him. “And what’s with you overanalyzing this conversation? Shouldn't you be halfway to your car by now? Thinking about the part of your life that doesn’t revolve around screwing your colleague every chance you get?”

  “You’ve just been different lately.”

  “And what makes you think it has anything to do with you?” I say with an incredulous, breathy laugh as I cross my arms and cross my legs and lean back in my chair. “I’ve been pouring my heart and soul into this project and I’m meeting with the client tomorrow afternoon, so if you don’t mind, I’d really love to finish this so I can go home and get at least six hours of sleep.”

  My voice is louder than I meant for it to be, my body clenched so hard my abdomen burns.

  I’ve never yelled at him, never snapped.

  In fact, we’ve never fought.

  Bickered, yes.

  Bantered, always.

  But never an actual fight.

  “I’ll see you in the morning. Good luck with everything.” Reed shows himself out before I have a chance to apologize, and despite the fact that I need every minute I can squeeze out of this evening, there’s a piece of me that wishes he’d come back, put me in my place, kiss me hard against the back of the door.

  I don’t know what that was about, but he’s gone now, and I don’t have time to give it another thought.