Page 37 of Merry Little Hate Notes

Perhaps it was time to throw in the towel and call it a day. The thought sickened me, though. Of course, my wingman was against it. Mom had begged me this morning not to give up, so I decided I’d give the hate notes one more chance, even though I wasn’t the slightest bit hopeful Holly would engage. In fact, I was certain she wouldn’t. So, I would do my best to close as many deals aspossible this month before heading back to North Carolina. That way Holly could live out her Monica Geller dreams. I supposed that meant her marrying the yahoo across the hall from her. I already hated him.

I approached my desk carefully, not wanting to scare her off. “Good morning,” I said stiffly, not sure how to behave around her now.

“Good morning.” The corners of her lips twitched.

Interesting. I did a quick glance to see if the note I’d written earlier was gone. Disheartened, my eyes drifted immediately to the wastebasket under her desk. To my surprise, nothing bright blue appeared to be in there. Not that it meant anything—Holly could have ripped it to shreds and flushed it. She did spend a lot of time in the bathroom.

But I took my chances and asked a smooth question like, “How are you?” I had zero game with this woman.

She stopped typing and turned toward me with a mischievous glint in her gorgeous eyes.

I had to wonder what she was up to. Whatever it was, it probably didn’t bode well for me.

“I’m good. How are you? How did your call go with Maximus?”

Shocked by the fact she’d used three sentences in a row to speak to me, it took me a moment to respond. I figured she’d probably set up some elaborate prank to get back at me for the years of torture Christian and I had made her endure. I couldn’t think of any other reason she’d be so pleasant toward me. “Uh ... good,” I stumbled over my words like an idiot. “I have a call with their CEO tomorrow. It looks promising.”

“That’s excellent news. Would you like me to update their pitch deck?”

“That would be great, thank you.” I was getting more suspicious by the second. I scanned my desk and chair to see if she’d rigged them to explode. Nothing appeared to be tampered with. Except ... I noticed myOfficebobbleheads were no longer lined up the way I’d left them. I stepped closer to see what she’d done to them. It was then I got the shock of my life. A red sticky note peeked out from underneath Michael and Jim. Did I dare hope Holly had reciprocated?

Not wanting to seem too eager, I casually reached for the note while asking, “Were you able to schedule a demo with Dynamic?”

“Uh-huh.” She eyed my hand clutching the note carefully. “Their COO can meet with you on Friday at two.”

“Very good.” I pulled the note closer to me.

Holly smirked while her eyes danced.

This couldn’t be good. I braced myself for her to tell me off or to get lost. Or perhaps she had figured out how to make the paper spontaneously combust. Whatever it was, I had to face the music. I held up the note and read, Your wit is as thick as fruitcake batter.

I had to keep from pulling her to me and kissing her breathless. My Holly was back. She had no idea the hope she’d handed me. I’d never been so happy to have a woman tell me my wit was as thick as fruitcake batter. It felt like I’d won a monumental victory. But the look on Holly’s face said to think of it as more like a participation trophy.

In keeping with the unwritten rules of the game, I didn’t mention the note nor what she’d written. Instead, I slid it into my pocket, wondering what this meant for us. Judging by how she went back to typing and ignoring me, I would say I still had an uphill battle in front of me and should be prepared to squirm.

And that’s exactly what I did as she ignored me for the rest of the morning, albeit with a cunning smile on her face. It was disconcerting, to say the least, but I wasn’t sure what to do about it. I didn’t dare ask her for fear of making the wrong move, which I was prone to do with her. Part of me worried that the note she’d written was a way to lull me into a false sense of security before she unleased her wrath—not that it would be undeserved.

So, I bided my time as the clock ticked slowly, knowing we had to decorate cookies together for the team-building challenge. With any luck, she would speak to me then and not obliterate me. I had a feeling it was irking Holly that we kept losing these challenges, even though they were holiday themed. This was the woman, after all, who’d prosecuted her stuffed animals with a vengeance, and if ever the jury acquitted them, worked tirelessly until she’d researched every avenue to try them for other crimes. Holly didn’t like to lose, especially when she believed truth was on her side and she’d tried so hard to win. So perhaps, for the sake of winning, she would be merciful and grace menot only with her stellar cookie-decorating skills but also the chance to prove she could trust me. A guy could dream.

When noon rolled around, the call went out to meet in the kitchen and dining area for the cookie-decorating challenge. I braved the opportunity to speak to Holly, going with something smooth like this winner: “Are you ready to do this thing?” What was I, ten again?

Holly pressed her lips together, holding back her laughter.

What had happened to me? I was the guy in college who proudly claimed no woman had ever turned me down for a date.

Holly couldn’t hold back her laugh and finally gave in, bursting into a fit of giggles.

I scrubbed a hand over my face, feeling like I should just throw up a white flag and beg for mercy.

Once Holly stopped laughing at me, she bit her lip and stared pensively at our coworkers, heading for the challenge.

“We don’t have to go,” I offered, knowing how she felt about the holidays.

She offered me a thoughtful glance. “Your dad is counting on us,” she reminded me.

I wanted to tell her the truth—that it was all my mom’s idea and my dad was just playing along. But I was sure Holly wouldn’t be happy to know my parents were doing their best to set us up. Instead, I played into my wingman’s plan. “We are his A team.”

“I guess that means we should probably decorate some cookies.” She sounded a little excited about it.

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