Accidental Santa

by Celia Aaron

  He’s saying things that press all my turn-on buttons. This mean man in his nice suit with his silver tongue is my catnip. He’s a brat tamer, and I am most definitely a brat.

  I run my hand down the lapel of his fine suit. “Isn’t this some sort of a workplace violation? I mean, I’m pretty sure I’ll have an excellent lawsuit if I go home with you.”

  “You can sue me from here till kingdom come after I give you what you need.”

  “And what do you think I need?”

  He takes my palm and presses it between us, his hard length showing me just how much he means every word.

  Heat lights through me, that sort of static electricity that comes from nowhere and everywhere and ends between my thighs. I want him. Okay, I’m desperate for him. But this is too fast, even for me.

  “I can’t.”

  “Can.” His gaze is a blunt instrument, one he wields with frightening ability. Because when those green eyes lock on me, I can’t seem to look away.

  “I have an early start in the morning.” I lean closer to him, my lips almost touching his. “And someone had me working nonstop today, so I’ll have to rest if I want to make it on time.”

  His driver hits the bridge out of Manhattan, and I lean back and breathe a little sigh of relief. I’m going to my apartment, not his.

  Crane seems to notice, because he grips my chin gently and pulls my face back to his. “You think I don’t own real estate in Brooklyn?”

  Before I can answer, he kisses me, and whatever clever retort I’d been working on disappears.

  Chapter 7

  Crane

  The sun creeps into my office as the clock ticks over to 8am. My stores nationwide are humming, dragging in dollars to make our brand even stronger. Marley’s is in the black, and it will stay that way as long as I have anything to say about it.

  My little Georgia peach is likely already flitting around in her elf costume. She refused to come home with me last night despite my entreaties. Playing hard to get. Or perhaps I came on too strong? I don’t know. It’s not as if I’ve been faced with this situation. She intrigues me. One moment, she speaks plainly, the next I’m trying to follow along. She’s a surprise. I want to go down to the store, but I have a conference call with all store managers in an hour. Just a brief check-in to make sure sales are on track, but I don’t want to miss it, and I certainly want to be able to call out any managers whose numbers aren’t to my liking. I click over to my real-time spreadsheet and watch the digits tick up.

  Beverly’s voice comes through on my phone. “Mr. Marley, Henry’s here to—oh, nevermind.”

  “Good morning, big bro.” Henry bursts in, his usual morning cheeriness wasted on me. “How’s numbers looking? I gave that Lew Vines down in Orlando a big pep talk last night after he emailed and said he was worried he was going to let you down.”

  “You worked after hours on a holiday?”

  “Yeah.” He shrugs. “I took one for the team. Where were you, by the way?”

  “I wouldn’t have given anyone a pep talk, so it doesn’t matter.” I scroll down to the Orlando store numbers. “Besides, if Mr. Vines can’t get his sales up today, he’ll be asking Santa for a new job for Christmas.”

  “Oh, come on. Have a heart. It’s just business.”

  I rub my temples. “And this is why the business was entrusted to me, not you. Everything is business, Henry. Everything.”

  “What about that cute little elf?” He leans on the edge of my desk and gives me a smug grin. “Is she business, too?”

  “She’s an employee.” One that I wanted to take home with me and almost did. That kiss. Holy hell. Her mouth was so warm and sweet, a Georgia peach through and through. The way she felt in my hands, the way her soft body pressed against mine. I’ve already crossed the line with her, and instead of firing her like I should, I want more. My lawyers would have a conniption if they knew the things I’d told her, the way I’d propositioned her, my employee. But regret isn’t exactly my strong suit, so instead of worrying about repercussions, my mind goes back to trying to find a way to get her into my bed.

  “You still in there, Crane?” Henry leans closer to me.

  “Oh, piss off, Henry.” I kick away from my desk and stand. “Just keep pep talking the managers until I get around to firing them. You’re good at it.”

  “Don’t fire them.” He stands, too, and crosses his arms in front of him. “They’re doing their best, and Higgie told me—”

  “Higgie?” I cock my head to the side.

  “Higginbotham. You know. That guy, the smart one with the glasses and all the numbers. The one who still hasn’t received his Christmas bonus.” His eyes narrow.

  “Must be a snag in accounting.” I shrug.

  “Well, he says we’re in the black, which is a record for Marley’s. We usually need Black Friday to get into the bla—Hey—” He jolts slightly. “Is that why it’s called Black Friday? Because stores get in the black on that day?”

  “Henry, the door is there.” I point.

  “All I’m saying is, you’ve got the business running well, why not let the employees reap the benefits of it instead of pushing them harder?”

  “Because I’m not here to make them feel better or happy or fulfilled. I’m here to make money. If you’d spent your time here learning the business, you’d know that. But you were too busy with your own bullshit.” I turn away from him. “Leave.”

  “I’m here now.” He retreats, but pauses at my door. “And I know what you’re doing. You want me to give up. And you’re right—I usually do. I quit, and run, and do anything except take responsibility. But those days are over. I’m here to stay, so you should get used to it.”

  The door doesn’t exactly slam, but I still get the impression of Henry storming out.

  I sigh. He doesn’t see the big picture. Possibly because I haven’t painted it for him. We’re in the black. Great. But if we knock earnings out of the stratosphere, then selling the company will be a sure thing. I’ll pad my pockets and say goodbye to the whiny workforce and my boardroom full of fools. Henry will be well-stocked with women and booze when he tires of playing at being an adult, and I’ll be rid of this company.

  Settling in, I start my conference calls. Though as the managers report in, I find my gaze drifting out the window toward the store where my sweet little elf works. I wonder how her day is going.

  More importantly, I wonder if she’ll be mine tonight.

  Chapter 8

  Lindsay

  “What would you like for Christmas?” I sit a cute toddler on my knee, his smile just as genuine as his drool.

  His mom bends over, her overflowing cleavage nearly grazing my beard. “Harley wants a toy phone, a roaring t-rex, and some new bath toys.” She drops her voice, “But Mommy’s been so bad this year, Santa. She needs a spanking.”

  I clear my throat and focus on the child. “Harley, eh? Is your last name Quinn, little guy?” He drools happily while I pretend his mom didn’t say anything weird.

  “Just being close to you like this makes me so moist.” She reaches out and slides something between the buttons of my suit. “Call me, Santa. We can set something up after hours, and I pay well.” She stands, her chest mercifully away from my face as I try to focus on the child instead of his moist mom.

  “That was inapropes, eh?” I bounce him a little and whisper, “Super creepy. Sorry you got that one for a mom, kid. But she’s probably just going through a phase. She’ll be fine.” Looking up, I smile big as the elf in red—Chrissy—shakes a tambourine to get Harley’s attention.

  He looks at the camera, and so do I.

  His mom stands just to the side of Chrissy and reaches up, pulls her top down, and gives me a full view of two round, hard headlights pointed directly at me as the camera clicks.

  “Holy—” I cover Harley’s eyes.

  “I think we got it!” Chrissy cries in her overly-cheerful voice as Harley’s mom stows her jugs.

 
; The elves saw nothing. Santa got the full blast.

  “All right, little one. Take care of yourself, and I hope you get everything you want for Christmas.” I hand the drooler off to the flasher.

  “See you soon, big man.” The mom winks at me and, thankfully, exits the platform.

  I mop my brow with my glove. “Holy jingle bells.”

  “Lunch,” Chrissy calls and turns the sign around to “Santa’s at the North Pole, but will return at 1pm.” If the North Pole is the dark, musty stock room, then yes.

  When I showed up this morning, I brought my well-fitting elf costume—thanks Grant—but the Santa actor was nowhere to be found. Not even his pee stain remained. Instead of slipping into my elf costume, I became the big guy again, stealing some more of Rudolph’s stuffing and playing the role with ease.

  Chrissy, Brianna, and I trudge back to the administration area for lunch, though they peel off and meet friends in the breakroom. I keep going, though I’d much prefer to sit around and shoot the breeze with the elves. But I’d have to take the beard off to do that. Instead, I’m going to change into street clothes, head out for lunch, then come back and suit up again if the real Santa hasn’t shown up.

  “No vomit in your beard. I see this holiday season is treating you better.” That voice, the smooth one that almost talked my panties off last night in the limo, rolls over me as I walk into the storeroom.

  I keep my eyes down as I hurry past him toward the changing area. But what am I going to do? If I change, he’ll see me go in as Santa and come out as me. Crap!

  “I’ve heard nothing but compliments on your performance.” He follows me slowly. “Shocking, I know. By the way, where is Lindsay? She’s one of your elves. I didn’t see her on the floor.”

  “Don’t know,” I add a little gruffness to my Santa tone.

  “Did she work today?”

  She sure did, and got a face-full of unsolicited boobs for her efforts. “Yeah. Went to lunch.”

  “She left?” He moves closer, so close that I can smell his cologne.

  I want to jump him, to maul him where he stands with kisses and more. But that would be foolish and maybe too kinky for me. That’s more of a Harley’s mom sort of thing. No, I’m dressing as Santa only in a professional capacity, so I have to keep my beard to myself.

  “Yeah, left for lunch.”

  “By herself?”

  I shrug. “Her friend, uh, Grant.” I’m just pulling lies out of my jolly ass. “Went to lunch.”

  “Grant?” His voice sharpens. “He got a last name?”

  “Doesn’t everyone?” I ease into the changing stall and am about to draw the curtain, but he grips it.

  “Do you know his name or not?”

  “No.” I shake my head.

  “Mind your attitude or you’ll find yourself out of a job.” His words are delivered in a cutting, ugly tone that I’ve never heard from him.

  “The kids love me.”

  “The kids don’t matter. Their parents’ money does. That’s it. Money is what makes the world spin, not old drunks in Santa outfits.” He lets the curtain close and stalks away.

  I finally lift my face, and I don’t know why tears threaten. After all, I’m not an old drunk. But the way he said it, the cruelty of it. Even if the Santa is a drunk, that was still vicious—and the ‘kids don’t matter’ part? What? They matter most of all. Surely, he doesn’t really believe that. Right?

  Then again, maybe I’ve misjudged him. Ms. Martin warned me not to underestimate Mr. Marley. If that’s the real him, then she was right. He’s not someone I want to tangle with—professionally or personally.

  “He was waiting for me again after work. Limo and everything. But I ducked out the back way and came straight home.”

  “Good.” Dishes clatter in the background as Grant works his third shift of the day. “He’s bad news. I can tell that from a mile away. Just do your job—Santa, elf, or otherwise—get your paycheck, then get back on track with the real acting gigs.”

  “Are you coming home tonight?” I ask hopefully.

  “Got a date.”

  “I figured.” I roll over on my tiny bed. Grant is a handsome gay man in a city full of handsome gay men. If his weekends aren’t taken up by rehearsals or work, he’s always got someone who wants a piece of his time—or a piece of something else.

  “But I’ll be home early tomorrow at walk-of-shame-o’clock. We can talk about it then.” Another loud clatter sounds behind him, and someone yells his name. “Gotta go, love. Text me if you need me. Love you.”

  “Love you. Bye.” I end the call and sigh.

  His love life is always chugging along perfectly. Mine has stalled in the city. I’ve dated a few guys, had a couple of one-nighters that didn’t impress me, and other than that, I haven’t had time for love. But that was before I met Crane Marley. He’s just so sexy and sort of mysterious. “And an utter jerk,” I remind myself.

  After all, he fired that poor Becca just because she was chewing gum on the sales floor. Was it a violation? Sure. A firing offense? Surely not. And she’s just the last in a long line of spiteful firings. Why does he do that? More importantly, why am I jonesing for the man who’s likely just a bad guy in a good suit? I’m still stinging from the way he spoke to Santa. Who goes around popping off to Father Christmas like that? A monster, that’s who. That handsome, yummy-smelling, interesting man is a nasty character. I don’t want to be the fool who falls into the trap of “I can change him,” because I know that’s not true. That mentality landed Grant in the ER a year ago with a broken arm and a shattered heart. We fled that life, and I’m not going to chance it. I have to let my infatuation go. That thought hurts. It shouldn’t, but it does.

  “Ugh.” I bury my face in my pillow. “Hopeless, Lindsay. You are hopeless. You cannot fix a bad man. Can’t unbake that cake. It. Is. Done.”

  I just have to avoid him. Hopefully, the real Santa shows up tomorrow morning, and I can fall into my elf role, shift to the background, and keep my head down until this holiday job is done. Easy.

  Now that I’ve gotten that sorted, I snuggle into my bed. I’m beat. I’ve almost dozed off when someone knocks at my door.

  I stare at it, certain that I misheard. After all, you have to be buzzed in, and our neighbors aren’t the least bit neighborly. My eyes drift closed, and the knock comes again, louder this time.

  “What the?” I sit up and push the space heater away, then wrap my top blanket around my shoulders. Shuffling to the door, I try to look out the peep hole. It’s, of course, covered with several layers of paint, probably full of lead.

  “Who’s there?” I call.

  “Crane.” His low voice positively vibrates through me, and I can’t stop the thrill that shoots down to my toes.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I waited for you outside the store. You never came. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” A pang of regret hits me. He sounds … hurt. And worried.

  “Can I come in?”

  I turn and look at our tiny apartment with its sad furnishings. “Um, probably not.”

  “Why? Is there—” His voice drops. “Is there someone in there with you?”

  “What? No.” I open the door and peer out at him. Of course he looks utterly dashing with his nice suit and fancy Burberry scarf—but not the one everyone has, this one’s blue and somehow, even fancier.

  “Hi.” He smiles.

  My foolish heart does a pitter patter. Remember how he talked to Santa, I remind myself.

  I take my cue from Ms. Martin and stiffen my upper lip. “You should probably go.”

  “What’s wrong?” He seems solid, rooted to the floor, as if there’s no way he’s leaving.

  “Nothing.”

  “Something.” His eyes drill into me.

  “What’s with the blanket?” He blows his breath into the air, and it fogs white. “It’s freezing in there.” With a gentle push, he walks me back into my apartment
and closes the door. What’s worse is that I let him. I’m a pushover and a horny mess all rolled into one.

  “Why isn’t your heat on?” He points to the space heater. “That’s a fire hazard.”

  “The gas is more expensive.” I shrug. “That thing keeps it warm enough.”

  “That thing is dangerous.” He reaches over and yanks the plug from the wall.

  “Hey!” I try to snatch the cord from him, but he tosses it and catches me in his arms.

  “You can’t stay here.”

  “I can.” I look up at him, defiance in my tone, desire in my ladybits. “This is my place, well me and Grant’s place, and we—”

  He releases me, putting a few inches of distance between us. “Grant?”

  “Yeah.” I point to the futon. “My roommate.”

  “Your roommate’s a man?” He grinds his teeth.

  “Yeah.” I pull my blanket tighter around me. Without the heater, the temperature is already dropping.

  “He’s your boyfriend?” If jealousy had a sound, it would be his voice, and I am, apparently, a basic bitch, because I love it.

  “Yes.” I nod.

  “I see.” He seems to deflate, his hand going to his hair as he turns toward the door and almost knocks over our only lamp. He catches it, puts it back, then grips the door handle. “I should be going.”

  “Crane?”

  He pauses. “Yes?”

  “I meant to say Grant was my boyfriend in second grade, but then he dumped me for Tyler, the new boy who transferred from—”

  He turns so quickly that I jump, but then I’m in his arms, his mouth consuming mine as I hang onto him. I’ve never been kissed like this, never been touched like this. It’s intoxicating and all Crane. I press myself to him, and he growls into my mouth, his hands pushing beneath the blanket and feeling along my tatty t-shirt, then down to my panties. When he grips my ass and lifts me, I wrap my arms around his neck.