Page 1 of One Night on the Naughty List

Samantha

Istraightened the things on my desk for the hundredth time since I arrived at work.

Maybe the thousandth. I lost track somewhere between checking my makeup with my iPhone camera and watching the door for Bain.

Bain Thatcher, founder and CEO of Bain Nutrition. My boss. My sexy-as-sin boss who did CrossFit and looked like Jamie Dornan’s hotter, older brother. My boss who showed up in my office yesterday afternoon and persuaded me to accompany him to his family’s Christmas party at the North Pole.

Not the North Pole.

North Pole, New York—a teeny, tiny hamlet deep in the Adirondacks. According to Bain, it had a kitschy Santa’s Workshop tourist attraction and more squirrels than people. But we wouldn’t be visiting the workshop. Bain’s widowed mother threw a holiday gathering at his childhood home every year, and she expected Bain and his brothers to be there. It didn’t matter that Bain Nutrition was in the middle of a new product launch, or that Bain and I were supposed to be knee-deep in our quarterly marketing meeting.

“Mom’s a stickler for this party,” he’d said, his blue eyes twinkling as he leaned against my office doorway. “Can I convince you to take our meeting on the road?”

It hadn’t taken much convincing. And by “much” I meant “none.” I probably would have agreed to go ice fishing with Bain Thatcher if he suggested it. I usually took pride in my ability to carry on a conversation with anyone. It was a skill fat girls learned early on. Be funny. Be the nice one. Be the girl the boys like to talk to. “You’re so funny, Sam. I feel like I can tell you anything.”

But my skills deserted me the moment Bain walked into a room. He only had to smile and I was reduced to hot flashes and heat in inconvenient places. More than once, I rushed home from a long meeting with him and stood under an ice cold shower. It didn’t always work. Sometimes, I ended up in bed alone, my hand straying south while I replayed every smile or casual touch he gave me.

Nerves prickled down my neck, and I propped my elbows on my desk and put my head in my hands. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I said weakly.

“If you’re lucky, you’ll be doing him,” a familiar, teasing voice said.

I sat up. “Hey, Kara.”

The office manager leaned a hip on my desk and waggled her eyebrows at me as she sipped her coffee.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” I scolded. “Aren’t you supposed to handle human resources?”

She gave me a suggestive look over her mug. “I would kill to handle a human resource like Bain Thatcher.”

“Kara.”

“Did you know the ladies in the accounting department call him Panty Melter?”

“Kara.”

“Ooh, are we talking about the date?” Alexis, the head of accounting, breezed in, her oversize coffee mug steaming. She was an attractive brunette with cat eye glasses and a killer sense of style. Normally, at least. Today, she was dressed like an elf.

Kara looked her up and down. “Aren’t you taking this North Pole thing too far?”

“What?” Alexis gave her a mock hurt look. Then she shook her head, making the bell on her hat jingle. “I thought we were launching the new protein bar today.” She looked at me. “Aren’t we?”

I cleared my throat. “Yes, but it’s a soft launch.” Bain Nutrition’s newest product was the North Pole Protein Bar, an on-the-go snack designed to give athletes the calories they needed to perform in cold weather. As advertising director, it fell to me to make sure the launch was a success.

Kara smirked. “I don’t think Bain does soft launches.”

“Or soft anything,” Alexis said. She lowered her voice. “Did you see his abs in the North Pole ad?”

I certainly had. I was there the day the photographer took the photos. It was my idea to have Bain dress up as a “fit Santa” for the advertising campaign. He was reluctant at first (“I’m not a model, Samantha”) but he warmed up to the idea after I promised no one would recognize him with a snowy white beard. Which was a lie, of course. I would recognize his chiseled stomach and broad shoulders anywhere.

“We all saw his abs thanks to Sam,” Kara said, saluting me with her coffee mug. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and get snowed in. Best date ever. I’ll be happy for you, but also jealous to the point of never speaking to you again.”

“It’s not a date,” I said. “It’s a marketing meeting.”

“It’s a date.”

Alexis’s expression turned dreamy. “Imagine getting snowed in with Bain.” She sighed. “A night alone with the Panty Melter.”

“It’s not a date,” I told Kara. I shot Alexis a stern look. “Stop that. No one’s getting snowed in.”

---