Page 9 of Daddy Christmas

I grinned and scanned the cleared area, where several coworkers tried to keep up with their mellow chitchat even as the rest of us arrived with our not-so-indoor voices. Some of them threw us dirty looks.

Meow.

“They’re afraid we’re gonna steal their wine and chee…” My mouth suddenly went dry when I spotted Mr. Abrams coming out from his office. “…sus Christ, he’s sexy.”

He wasn’t the average mall Santa either. No fake beard or belly. No wig. The red costume seemed more expensive too, like the material or whatever. But it did look like he’d dusted his already graying beard white. That was fucking hot.

A bit endearing too, because I knew this wasn’t his thing. My first year here, there’d been a lot of new hires, and he’d explained that it was his uncle who enjoyed the “dog and pony show.” I still remembered it vividly, him standing there with a glass of whiskey in his hand and a charming smile on his face.

I had to make him smile again.

“I bet he’d smile if he fucked me six ways to Sunday,” I mumbled.

That made Kim and Mya laugh a little too hard, effectively directing everyone’s attention my way. Fucking great.

Mr. Abrams merely raised a brow at me, then shook his head and continued toward the little podium they set up every year. Next to it waited several burlap sacks with the gifts from corporate.

How could he be so damn composed? Not even the slightest hint of surprise at seeing me nearly naked?

“If he were gay, I’d probably do something stupid,” I said.

Down to chuckles, Mya cocked her head and eyed the boss man. “I think he is gay.”

“No! Get the fuck out.” I balked. She couldn’t say that shit to me!

“I think she’s right,” Kim mused.

I whipped my head her way. “How do you know? Have you seen him with anyone?”

“God, no—” Mya took over again “—but I worked with his niece before I transferred here. I’m pretty sure she indicated…”

Oh, balls. An indication was enough to get my ridiculous hopes up.

There was just something about him. Something underneath the ten layers of “I’d rather slit my wrists with a rusty spoon than spend an hour with you.” It was partly the calm assertiveness he exuded. His feathers were so unruffled. I kinda wanted to ruffle them a bit—or at least see if I had the ability. And what his reaction might be.

Case in point. Mr. Abrams didn’t need to ask for everybody’s attention. As he took the podium, everyone just quieted down and listened. If I went up there, I’d need a PA system to be heard.

Someone handed him a microphone, though I wasn’t sure it was necessary for the… I glanced behind me and backtracked. Okay, maybe it was needed. I guesstimated about seventy people were here. More than half the workforce at this branch.

And another case in point. Mr. Abrams’s speech was fucking boring, yet he still made the whole office listen quietly to every word he said. Sales numbers, growth, something about nine percent, plans for the coming year, blah-blah-blah.

By all means, keep talking, Mr. Abrams. But I was only interested in his voice. It was perhaps the warmest part of him.

“But not everything is about sales,” he continued. “Data shows an increase of traffic on our social media platforms and websites, primarily thanks to the changes we’ve made in design and accessibility.” Woo-hoo, I’d played a part in that. A small one. “Our goal to get visitors to spend more time with us has certainly been reached, and we see the results every day. Rebranding our event services has proved fruitful as well, and we’re noticing an uptick in small businesses not only reaching out but spreading the word.” He flicked a quick glance my way, and I smiled. I’d worked on the rebranding most of the summer. “To wrap things up, I’d like to convey my thanks for your hard work this year. A little birdie told me that the graphic designer who worked on our holiday gift was very particular about the branding not taking up too much space. ‘This is for employees, not for the company to push promotions.’”

Oh shit. I grinned.

“Yeah!” Several clapped for this certain graphic designer.

Mr. Abrams had asked around about me.

I had said that. I had complained about the logo being too big at first—or rather, the designated spot for the logo—and I’d basically accused corporate of wanting to turn the gift into ad space.

A few of the employees on the seventh floor joined Mr. Abrams on the podium to start handing out the gift, which, funnily enough, always got more attention than the gift that really mattered: the Christmas bonus.

While Mya and Kim rushed forward, I stayed back and kept my eye on Mr. Abrams instead. I wanted a moment with him. I was drunk enough to feel bold. To do what, I wasn’t sure of yet.

“Oh, this is cool!” someone exclaimed.

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