* * *
This day needed to be over!
It was impossible to find anything in this goddamn building. I’d been rerouted to three different lobbies and reception desks before I found myself face-to-face with Clarke Abrams’s assistant outside of his office on the twenty-third floor.
I left Mr. Williams’s gifts with the assistant, wished her a nice day, then hightailed it back to the elevators.
Wait.
I came to a screeching stop outside a door with Mr. Abrams’s name on it. Wyatt Abrams, that was. No assistant’s desk here.
I should knock.
I definitely shouldn’t knock. My God, was I a masochist? What was wrong with me? Why was I seeking out more interactions with that turd?
Oh, I knew why.
Mr. Abrams had buttons I wanted to push…
He let me speak to him in a way most stuffy bosses definitely didn’t do. I didn’t treat him with enough respect. He was also so ridiculously attractive.
I chewed the inside of my cheek and glanced around me. Just a few feet away from this floor’s lobby and the elevators. All the corridors were lined with offices, many with the name Abrams on them.
I unzipped my jacket and loosened my tie next. It’d been a workout and a half to play errand boy. Checking my Fitbit, I nodded in satisfaction to myself. Nearly four thousand steps, and it was only 8:42 AM. Nice.
My best course of action right now was to call an Uber and head back to work.
So I cleared my throat and knocked on Mr. Abrams’s door.
“Come in,” I heard him say.
Don’t mind if I do.
I opened the door and poked my head in, immediately registering an office with more furniture than the one in Culver City. Seating area—typical British fancy leather sofas—a bulletin board on one wall cluttered with notes and papers. A bar table in one corner! I knew it. He was the type. Spectacular view of the city… And the man himself, seated behind a large desk, looking none too happy to see me.
My gaze fell to his hand as he quickly stowed away a napkin, and that did it for me.
I grinned.
He’d eaten the cookies.
“What do you want, Parker?” he asked impatiently.
I smiled so hard that my cheeks hurt. “Were they good? Are you sweet now?”
He clenched his jaw. “Get out.”
A laugh burst out of me, and I hurriedly closed the door again. Oh God, I was going to ride this wave of joy all freaking day. It’d worked! He’d eaten the cookies. Not even an old grouch like him could resist homemade snickerdoodles.
DECEMBER 3
Mya and I arrived to work at the same time, and I grinned at her getup. Specifically, the antlers in her hair.
The entire office had breathed a collective sigh of relief yesterday when they got everything up and running again, so I had a feeling people were ready for the office party later today. I knew I was.
“Cute antlers, hon.”
“Cute hat, darling.” Mya flicked the fuzzy ball at the end of my Santa hat. “Wanna get breakfast with me upstairs?”