Exmas

by Winter Renshaw

  First, it’s the micro expressions. The biting of her lips, the lifting or furrowing of her brows. Then it’s the occasional sigh that I don’t even think she realizes she’s doing. And don’t even get me started on the way she licks the pad of her finger before turning a page.

  But most of all, I think it’s the fact that she’s a well-read, intelligent woman with interests that veer beyond social media and trend-chasing that turns me on the most.

  “Pam, why don’t you go ahead and order lunch for everyone who came in today,” I say, sliding my company credit card across the top of her desk mid-morning. “Anything they want.”

  Her face lights. I know Harold doesn’t treat them to this sort of thing as often as they deserve. He’s always kept a clean expense report. No red flags. No superfluous or questionable excesses.

  He likes to fly low, stay off the radar.

  Little does he know, that little strategy is about to blow up in his smiling face.

  Heading back to the conference room, I take a seat, crossing my arms and covering half of my face with one hand as I stare at the piles upon piles of audited reports and evidence, all of them indicating fraud.

  Fraud.

  Genesis Financial Securities is going down and a lot of good people are going to lose their jobs, but if I don’t do anything, a lot of people who trust this place with their hard-earned money are going to lose even more of it.

  Gathering a deep breath, I wake my computer and compose an email.

  To: scott.litchburg@sec.gov

  From: reedyork@gmail.com

  Subject: Confirmed

  Audits finished. Report to follow.

  Joa drops me off after work, mumbling something about running home to change and returning in an hour for dinner. Apparently the Jolivets do both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day dinner.

  Her father’s outside shoveling, his face red and little puffs of cloud-like breath filling the air around him, and he gives his daughter a gloved wave as she backs away.

  “Reed,” he says as I approach. “How goes it?”

  “Great, Mr. Jolivet. Yourself?”

  He rests an elbow on top of his shovel handle. “Snow’s a bit heavier than I expected. And of course the snow blower’s at the repair shop. Going on two weeks now.” He shakes his head, and when he speaks he’s winded. “But ah, well. Whatcha gonna do?”

  “Mind if I?” I point to the red-handled shovel in his hand. There’s no sense in him huffing and puffing out here in the cold while I’m loafing in the confines of the warm house he and his wife opened to a complete stranger.

  “Oh, you don’t have to—”

  “I know,” I say. “But I want to. I’ve never shoveled before. We don’t get snow back home.”

  “Right. Well, I suppose I shouldn’t deprive you of such an experience.” Tom laughs and a second later he’s handing the tool over. “Be my guest. Knock ‘er off your bucket list.”

  He supervises me for a few minutes. Or maybe he feels guilty or letting another man do his work. But either way, he doesn’t linger long.

  Twenty minutes later, the driveway and sidewalk and clear. I dust the snow off my shoulders before heading in through the garage, and I kick my slush-covered shoes off by the back steps. When I head inside, heat wraps me like a blanket. I shrug out of my jacket and place it on a nearby coat rack. And that’s when Bevin calls my name, beckoning me to the kitchen where she has a mug waiting for me at the table.

  Hot chocolate.

  With marshmallows.

  And a peppermint candy cane to boot.

  We’re gathered around the Jolivet dining table for Christmas Eve dinner. Bevin and Logan ladle and pass out bowls of steaming oyster stew—a decades-old tradition I’m told. Seventies soft-rock style Christmas music plays from a stereo system in the next room, and

  “So, Reed,” Tom says once Bevin and Logan are settled in their seats. “You worked with Joa in Los Angeles for … how long was it?”

  Bevin swats at his hand. “You know this, Tom. He told us earlier. It was about a year. Isn’t that right?”

  She looks between the both of us. Joa dips her spoon into her bowl, not making a sound. I nod.

  “And were you in the same department?” Tom asks.

  “We were,” I say. “We worked together pretty closely for a while. Same team and everything.”

  Joa’s gaze darts to mine and she offers the smallest squint that leads me to believe she’s told her parents nothing about me. I figured as much, which was why when her mom served me hot cocoa earlier and nonchalantly grilled me about my love life between questions about my job, I made damn sure not to mention that I’d so much as kissed her daughter before. It wouldn’t have taken much for her to put the facts together, I’m certain.

  “Now, Joa, you never mentioned that.” Bevin points her spoon. “Reed, how long have you been CFO?”

  “Not that long. Half a year or so,” I say.

  “Had you always wanted to climb the corporate ladder, so to speak?” Tom asks.

  “No, actually.” I answer him, but I look to Joa. “It was never anything I actively sought out. It just sort of … fell into my lap.”

  Joa’s spoon falls against the lip of her bowl with a loud clang, causing everyone to look her way at the same time.

  “This stew is amazing, Bevin.” I change the subject for Joa’s sake.

  Bevin beams. “It’s my grandmother’s recipe.”

  “Mom, how does Santa get down the chimney?” One of the twins asks.

  “You ask this every day.” The other twin smacks her hand across her forehead. “Dad already told you. He shrinks down because he’s magic.”

  Logan stifles a laugh and Tom and Bevin exchange looks.

  “That’s right,” the girls’ dad says, pointing at their untouched soups. “And you know he only comes if you eat your Christmas Eve dinner and go to bed on time.”

  “I’m not hungry.” The left twin says.

  “Ellison, just try to eat something,” Neve pleas. “If you don’t eat, you’ll wake up hungry in the middle of the night and if you’re up, then Santa won’t come.”

  The other sister kicks Ellison.

  “Girls.” Their father’s voice startles them and they both reach for their spoons at the same time.

  The sound of silverware chinking against mismatched china bowls fills the room for a few minutes and the cat won’t stop rubbing herself against my ankles.

  “I asked Santa for a Barbie Dreamhouse,” Ellison announces out of nowhere. She tucks a strand of saffron-colored hair behind her ear and beams proudly at the rest of us. “What did you ask for, Mr. Reed?”

  I swallow my bite and buy some time, not expecting to be put on the spot like this.

  “Do you think you’re on the naughty list or the nice list?” Ellison asks.

  Joa arches a brow. I know what she’s thinking.

  “Nice list,” I say, sitting up tall. “Definitely.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Joa breaks her silence.

  “When you do nice things, you make the nice list.” I shrug. “It’s pretty simple, Joa.”

  The girls laugh at their silly aunt.

  “But what did you ask for?” The one turns her attention to me again.

  All eyes have made their way in my direction.

  I clear my throat, mulling over the perfect response. If I give some bullshit answer like “forgiveness” or “world peace” it’ll make me look trite and go over the girls’ heads.

  “A Transformer,” I say. “Bumblebee.”

  The twins turn to one another, wrinkling their noses and sticking out their tongues. “Ew. We hate Transformers. We only like Barbies and Shopkins.”

  “Girls, don’t say hate.” Neve’s eyes shift around the table, but I don’t judge. Kids pick up on worse things where I’m from.

  “Sorry, Mommy,” they say, almost in unison.

  “Take a few more bites and then you can play for a little bit.” Neve checks her
watch. “We’ll probably head out in about an hour. Start getting the girls ready for bed.”

  “Reed, will you play Barbies with us?” Ellison asks.

  Joa hides a smirk with her hand, glancing down.

  “After we eat,” the other sister says. “Will you go to the family room and play Barbies with us? We need someone to be Ken.”

  Their inquisitive big blue eyes and blonde curls make it nearly impossible for me to turn down their offer, so I take a deep breath and sign my ego away on the dotted line.

  “I’d love to,” I say.

  Past

  Reed

  “She’s such a kiss ass.”

  “I know, right? I thought I was the only one who noticed. Glad you see it too.”

  “I heard she’s been screwing with York since she got here.”

  “Lucky bitch.”

  “I know. Ever since she got here, he looks at me like I’m about as appetizing as Alpo.”

  “Is it just me or is her voice really annoying? It’s like almost nasally but kind of baby sweet. And she talks so slow. Oh. My. God.”

  “Yes!”

  I clear my throat and step out from behind the breakroom fridge door, a bottle of Fiji water in hand.

  Sabrina and Cassidy, two interns who answer phones and file paperwork in HR and who openly aspire to “find rich husbands” after college graduation, whip their little blonde heads in my direction.

  “Oh, my God. Reed.” Sabrina’s hand splays across her chest, her nails painted an annoying shade of glitter bomb aqua. “We didn’t know you were standing there.”

  “You don’t say.” I keep myself calm so I don’t say something I can’t take back. The last thing I need is for Frick and Frack to go crying to the head of HR over something I said.

  These airheads aren’t worth the trouble.

  Cassidy can’t bring herself to look at me, but I’m getting a bit of a kick out of making them squirm. It’s the least I can do after the shit they just spewed about Joa.

  Uncapping my water, I linger for a moment, if only to make them squirm that much more.

  After a bout of nervous titters and awkward smiles from the two of them, I turn to leave, stopping in the doorway before I go.

  “For the record, I’d take Alpo over either of you any day.”

  13

  Joa

  I don’t get it.

  They love him.

  They all love him.

  Mom. Dad. Neve. Cole. Logan. Emmeline and Ellison. Even the cat, whom I swear is inflicted with some kind of demonic possession, can’t stop purring and rubbing herself all over his pant legs.

  The family room fireplace crackles and I take a sip of the spiked eggnog in my hand, legs curled up in my chair as I watch Reed play Barbies with the twins in front of the TV.

  “No, you be the boy Barbie,” Emmeline says, handing him a half-naked Ken. “And I’ll be your girlfriend.”

  “No, I wanted to be his girlfriend!” Ellison says, her little fists balled.

  “Maybe we can both be his girlfriend?” Emmeline, our little peacekeeper, suggests.

  “You can’t have two girlfriends,” Ellison says. “Right, Reed?”

  Reed watches the two of them fight over him before clearing his throat and lifting the Ken doll to his ear.

  “What’s that, Ken? You just want to be single right now so you can figure yourself out? That’s very mature of you,” he says.

  I bite my lip, trying not to laugh when I see the way the girls are fascinated with the conversation he’s having with Ken.

  “What’s it mean to figure yourself out?” Emmeline asks.

  “It’s when you sit back and really think about what you want out of life,” he says. “Grown-ups do it all the time.”

  “Have you ever figured yourself out?” Ellison asks him.

  He glances toward me. “I think so, yeah. Closer than I’ve ever been, anyway.”

  I stare into the bottom of my empty glass before rising for a refill. Mom and Neve are in the kitchen, making deviled eggs for tomorrow, and Dad and Logan ran out for more firewood.

  For the briefest of moments, I almost forgot how angry I was at Reed. Almost forgot the sting of raw betrayal. Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened had he not done what he did. Would we be together? Would we be here, right now, just like this?

  I still can’t believe he was staying at a hotel.

  The Reed York I knew was always adamant about never staying at them, though he always refused to tell me why. I never pried because getting him to talk about it was like trying to give a cat a bath. Seemed like it was more work than it was worth.

  “How’s it going?” Neve asks as I rummage through the fridge. “Reed seems to be keeping the girls busy.”

  “Yes,” I say, letting the fridge close. “Pretty sure the girls don’t even know I’m down there. Feeling a little left out.”

  I wink, refilling my cup.

  “It’s nice having him here,” Mom says. “He makes his bed, picks up his towels, even shoveled the driveway when he got home from work.”

  “Uh oh. Better be careful. I think we all know where this is going,” Neve teases.

  Mom elbows my arm, leaning in. “You know, Joa. Reed told me he’s single.”

  I almost choke on my eggnog. “Mom.”

  “Oh, Mom’s been busy getting all kinds of scoop on this one.” Neve shoots me a wink.

  “No … just … please don’t make this any worse than it already is,” I say.

  “Worse than it already is?” Mom’s brows knit. She’s confused. And rightfully so. She knows nothing, and that’s the way it needs to stay.

  “It’s just awkward, spending the holidays with someone you barely know from the office.” I shrug, taking a sip. “That’s all.”

  I walk away before the conversation gets new legs.

  Heading down to the family room again, I settle in and grab the remote while the other three are involved in some Barbie drama involving a pink Corvette and a fender bender. Reed, of course, plays the role of the handsome stranger who comes to see if everyone is okay.

  Never in a million years would I have imagined Reed York would be hanging out in my parents’ house on Christmas Eve playing Barbies with my nieces.

  Between this and the hotel thing, I feel like there’s a whole other side of him I never knew existed. But he’s always been good at throwing curveballs my way, doing things that I least expect him to do.

  Kind of like the first time he kissed me.

  Past

  Joa

  My lips are on fire.

  A second ago we were bickering about which Excel graph we should use for our weekly report and then the next thing I knew, his hands were in my hair, my thoughts silenced, and everything around me faded into the background.

  “You just … you just kissed me.” I bring my fingertips to my mouth, my narrowing gaze stuck on the man who stole a kiss from me without so much as a warning. “Why? Why did you do that?”

  I’ve only worked here a little over a week, and already I’ve butted heads with this arrogant Adonis more times than I care to count.

  I thought he hated me.

  I thought maybe I intimidated him.

  But now my ears are ringing and his cinnamon taste is on my tongue.

  “Don’t go reading into it,” he says.

  “I thought you hated me.”

  Reed scoffs. “I don’t hate you, Joa. I hardly know you.”

  “You hardly know me, but you felt comfortable enough to kiss me just now ...”

  “You check me out all the time,” he says.

  I straighten my shoulders as heat flushes my cheeks. He isn’t wrong.

  “And you get all fidgety when I come around, like you’re trying to find a flattering position or something,” he continues. “And the other day, you almost walked into that stone pillar by the front desk because you were too busy pretending you weren’t trying to pick up the conversation I was having outside Pai
ge’s office.”

  “What’s your point? Just because I find you attractive gives you free rein to kiss me?”

  “So you admit it. You find me attractive.”

  “Doesn’t everyone? I’m sure you’re used to it by now.”

  Reed drags his palm along his jaw, almost obscuring the vindicated smirk on his face.

  “Don’t act so smug.” I fold my arms before spinning on my heel and heading for the door.

  I suppose I shouldn’t be all that taken aback by the fact that he kissed me. The tension between us had been building since day one, reaching a fever-pitch intensity just before noon today when we passed each other in the hall and his hand intentionally brushed against mine.

  And the looks he gives me during staff meetings, it’s like he gets off on watching me squirm under the weight of his stare.

  But this? This was a curveball.

  “Joa?” he calls after me. I stop, though I don’t bother turning to look at him. “You kissed me back.”

  “I know.”

  “We should do it again sometime.”

  14

  Reed

  I’m perched on the edge of a full-sized bed in the middle of Joa’s childhood bedroom, accompanied by the glow of a white lace lamp.

  The house is quiet—everyone left a half hour ago. They’ll be back in the morning, I’m told. They start their Christmas festivities somewhere around nine, though they don’t tend to eat until one or so … says Bevin.

  I’m just relieved to get a break from playing Barbies.

  As if playing Barbies and doling out Ken-style relationship advice, wasn’t awkward enough, Joa insisted on sitting there in a leather recliner, sipping on eggnog and watching the entire thing playing out with this smug look on her face—only moving to refill her drink.

  Hope she enjoyed the hell out of that free entertainment. Next time I’m charging.

  I grab a framed picture off the nightstand. It’s Joa and her sister, Neve, who’s a good five years older than her from my estimate. Joa has braces and glasses and scrawny arms, and they’re standing in front of some castle. Disneyland, maybe? I’m not sure. I’ve never been.