Page 18 of Christmas With the Jerk

As the orgasm subsides, I stay there, leaning against the wall, the water still beating down on me. I feel lighter, more clear-headed than I have in days.

I convince myself that this release will make me more productive downstairs when Woodley and I go over our slides for the meeting tomorrow. It's a necessary reset, a way to ensure that I can focus on what's important without the distraction of unspent desire clouding my judgment.

I take a few deep breaths, the steam slowly dissipating as I regain my composure. With a final rinse, I turn off the water and step out of the shower, a towel waiting for me on the rack. As I dry off, I catch sight of myself in the mirror, a hint of a smile playing on my lips.

Tonight, I'll sleep well.

SEVEN

Woodley

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart / But the very next day, you gave it away.

2:23 pm

The bed envelopsme the second I collapse onto it, the comforter like a soft cloud beneath my body. I let out a deep sigh, my limbs sinking into the plush mattress. It’s the kind of bed that cradles you, makes you feel weightless, like you could drift off and sleep for a century. After the nightmare of last night’s motel, this is heaven.

The temperature is perfect, too—just cool enough under the covers, with the faint warmth from the room's perfectly adjusted thermostat keeping the chill at bay.

I didn’t even have to touch a thing, unlike our last landing pad. The ambiance is set, as if the hotel knows exactly what a person needs after a long day of travel.

Soft lighting from the bedside lamp casts a gentle glow over the room, and the faint sound of Christmas music from the lobby still rings in my head.

It’s everything I didn’t know I needed.

I could fall asleep right now. My skin is still warm from the long, hot shower and my body is definitely relaxed.

My eyes flutter closed for a second, the exhaustion pulling me under. I’ve been running on fumes for hours, and this bed is almost too inviting. I burrow deeper into the covers, the scent of fresh linen calming my senses.

But then reality kicks in.

Miles to go before I sleep. We still have work to do.

I sigh and force my eyes open, staring up at the ceiling. Tomorrow is the big day. The pitch. 7:30 in the morning. We’ve only got a few hours to finalize everything, make sure we’re prepared to blow them away.

Luckily, the meeting’s just a short walk from here, thank God. At least we won’t have to battle traffic or find another way to complicate our morning. If I never get back in that rental car it will be too soon.

I run through the checklist in my mind. We’ve got the creative direction locked down, but the delivery, the way we split up the talking points, the flow—we need to go over it again. My attempt in the car gave me some clue, but I don’t want there to be any question where my part ends and his begins.

I push myself to sit up, rubbing my hands over my face. I’m so damn tired. I could stay in this bed all night, not move an inch, and it’d be glorious. But that’s not an option. Not tonight. I’llsleep for a full twenty-four hours tomorrow when I get back to Chattanooga.

With a sigh, I get up and pull on the plush hotel robe, running my fingers through my damp hair. The steam from the shower still lingers in the air, the room smelling faintly of the fresh-smelling hotel soap. I shake off the temptation to crawl back into bed, and instead, grab my phone from the nightstand.

I've got twenty minutes. If I hadn't taken such a long shower, maybe I could take a power nap. But by the time I brush out my hair and put on some clothes, I will have minutes left. I might as well stay upright and get an energy drink.

I toss my robe aside and get dressed, forcing myself into focus mode. Tomorrow is huge, and, like Thorne said, we've got this.

3:45pm

The lobby baris buzzing with life, the warmth inside a sharp contrast to the storm brewing outside. I sink into a plush armchair, pulling my coat a little tighter around me as I glance out the large windows. The sky is darkening, and the snow is coming down harder now, swirling in the wind like a scene out of a Christmas card.

It’s not even four in the afternoon, but with the heavy snow and early sunset, it feels later—cozier. I take a sip of my vodka and Red Bull, grateful to be inside, away from the chaos of the road. Small miracles.

Christmas music plays softly in the background, and I can hear the distant laughter of children as they run past, their parents hurrying after them. Families are everywhere—checking in, heading to the restaurant, gathering by the massive tree in the center of the lobby. The decorations are perfect, the twinkling lights making everything seem magical. Almost makes you forget it’s a work trip.

Almost.

I sit back in my chair, my fingers tapping absently on the rim of my glass. It’s beautiful here—everything about the holiday atmosphere makes it feel like a scene from a movie.

---