Page 13 of Miles & Mistletoe

“It’s our first year selling spiked eggnog. So far the numbers are good. If it works, we’ll keep it as one of our seasonal offerings.”

“I think it’d do really well.”

Lifting his gaze from the paper in his hand, he gave me a lingering look.

“Can I ask you something?” I asked once we were in the air.

“If you’re ready for the answer.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Then fire away.”

“How come you’ve scheduled yourself for so many holiday engagements? You’ve expressed how much you don’t like this time of year, yet it seems you’ve been out and about at every holiday party in the nation so far.”

“Astute observation,” he stated after a long pause. “Simply put … work. Zerlinger Beer has struggled over the last few years due to changes in the market. Younger crowds want more personalized and diversity within their beers and spirits. This year, Zerlinger has kicked off a number of holiday flavors and spirits, as evidenced by the spiked eggnog you love so much. As the CEO, it is my job to ensure that these new endeavors are a success. That entails schmoozing with businessmen and restaurateurs around the country to get them to put our products on their menus.”

“Hm, makes sense I guess. But doesn’t it get tiring?”

“Nothing tiring about putting in a good day’s worth of work. Now I’ve got a question for you,” he responded, quickly turning the tables.

“Well, I can’t say I’m an open book but I’ll answer any question you have within reason,” I hedged.

He nodded. “Why do you wear wigs?”

I gasped and my hand flew to my head. Had my wig shifted, showing my hair?

“It’s on fine. I just wondered why you wear them.”

I swallowed, feeling embarrassed. No man had ever asked me about my hair before, at least, not so bluntly.

“It’s for work,” I answered.

Ian tilted his head to the side. “How so?”

I shrugged. “We’re supposed to appear polished and professional at all times. The wigs I wear allow me to do that, at least by our company’s standard,” I answered, wondering how he even knew I was wearing a wig. Not to toot my own horn, but after seven years of wearing wigs and weaves for work, I knew how to lay a closure down so that no one would know it wasn’t my actual hair. Now here Ian was calling me out.

“No need to feel embarrassed. I was just wondering.”

“How am I not supposed to feel embarrassed? You just called me out.”

“What does your real hair look like?” he asked as if he couldn’t care less about my feeling incredulous.

“Why?”

“I want to know what you really look like.”

Another answer that stole all of my gusto. He wanted to know more about me for whatever reason.

“It’s cut short and dyed blonde.” That was why I didn’t wear it out at work. While there was no official requirement for length of hair, we were supposed to present a certain image. Longer hair in either curls or pulled back, presented that look, or so was the message I’d gotten from my employer.

“Wear it tonight to our dinner.”

My eyebrows raised. “What?”

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

“Yes, I think you do.”

---