Page 4 of Christmas With the Jerk

His laugh is short, almost mocking. “You can’t be serious. It will probably take us fifteen hours to get there in this weather.”

“It’s not like we have a choice, Thorne. Unless you want to miss the meeting and explain to Dani why we couldn’t pull through.”

His expression darkens at the mention of our boss, Dani Walters. She’s the one person Thorne actually seems to care about impressing. For a second, I think he’s going to argue, but instead, he just huffs in frustration, glancing over at the rental counter where the line is already starting to form.

“We drive,” he mutters. “Unbelievable.”

TWO

Thorne

Just hear those sleigh bells jingling / Ring-ting-tingling, too / Come on, it's lovely weather / For a sleigh ride together with you.

2:41 pm

This day was supposedto be simple. Fly to Boston, land later this afternoon, and have time to go over everything on Wednesday. Then we meeting with Thom Vicary and his team at the ValorTech office, which is within walking distance of our hotel, first thing Thursday morning.

Instead, I’m standing in the middle of a terminal that looks more like a war zone, surrounded by people who have no clue how they’re getting out of here, contemplating driving through a blizzard with the biggest bitch on the planet.

I fucking hate Woodley Price. I'd almost rather be forty thousand feet in the air on a hijacked plane than in this car with her.

At least she’s hot. If she could keep that condescending mouth of hers closed I might actually appreciate her tight body and round ass. As much as I can’t stand her, that black skirt she is wearing is hugging her in all the right places.

She’s annoyingly hot in that way.

I’ve been fuming for a week about having to do this shit so close to the end of the year. Knowing her, she probably requested it because she doesn’t have anything better to do for the holidays. This job is her life and it’s pathetic.

Most of America is at home sipping hot toddies and hosting holiday parties. But in the advertising world, when a Fortune 500 company requests a pitch, no matter what it is or where we need to go, we jump. They call the shots, even if it’s a few days before Christmas.

If we get this job, it will be worth the hassle. They are a major tech company, looking to lock down their national holiday campaign for next year. Millions are on the line, and our company wants this account. We need this account.

Not to mention, my father’s company has a financial stake in the ad company I’m working for. If we land this, it will be a catalyst to open all kinds of doors and increase the bottom line, hopefully leading to us going public. This one campaign holds a lot of promise for a lot people, and I feel like all of it is on my shoulders.

Dani Walters, our direct manager, has been putting the pressure on both of us for weeks. Woodley has been working onValorTech for a year, vying for a shot at doing any ad work for them. I only got added to the team about a month ago because of my father’s connection.

Shitty, I know. But I’ll take a connection any day. It’s what makes the world go round.

If we get this client, both Woodley and I should get promoted and make a bonus likely bigger than our entire yearly salary. Miss it, and… well, I don’t even want to think about that.

I have more to gain or lose than a bonus, though. My father’s investment and my own quest to prove I can play with the big boys are on the line, so I have a lot riding on this one closing, in the big scheme of things.

As for Woodley, I don’t think she comes from much, so this bonus is probably everything to her. She scrapes for every penny she earns, which I would be respect if she wasn’t such a pain in my ass. Her know-it-all attitude is enough to turn anyone off.

All the same, she needs to score this job as much as I do, albeit for different reasons.

I’ve spent hours trying to come up with a solution, including driving to nearby airports, and none of them are an answer to our immediate problem The airlines are swamped trying to reroute passengers, and they’re prioritizing people who got displaced today. What a cluster-fuck.

Not to mention… I don’t think Woodley’s getting back on a plane. You'd think she was sitting next to the bomb she is so shaken up. I try educating her. Explaining that the chances of her dying by tripping over an acorn while walking down the sidewalk are higher than her dying by plane crash. And wayhigher than by plane bombing. But she looks like she’s going to punch me so I stop talking.

I glance at her, still pacing beside the rental car counter. She’s usually calm, too calm, like nothing rattles her. But nothing could be further from our reality here. Maybe she is about to come unhinged.

I get it. After what happened back there, the black smoke engulfing the entire terminal, oxygen masks falling from the ceiling, the inflatable slide exit from the plane, it’d shake anyone up. Hell, I was rattled, and I've flown on private jets my entire life.

“We have to get to Boston,” she says, more to herself than to me. “It’s not all day. I Google-mapped it and it looks like with the weather conditions we will get there in fourteen hours.”

As noted, I can't think of anything worse than being cooped up in a car with Woodley for fourteen hours. I fold my arms across my chest.

“You need to get over yourself, Thorne. The meeting is in two days and we have to be there. We can’t afford to miss it.”

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