Page 26 of Mistle-Ho

I’m not even in my car before the regret hits. The frustration. The humiliation. I slam both hands against the wheel, snarling at my inability to be better than I was taught to be.

I don’t want to be like my dad, but maybe I can’t fight it. Maybe he’s drilled too much bullshit into my head for me to ever shove it all back out.

And if that’s the case, I can’t be around Al. Not anymore.

I’m too weak to keep my hands off her and too fucking dumb to deserve her.

13

No One Likes a Hostage Situation

Alexis

I’M JUST FINISHING wiping down the office coffee station when my boss strides through the door. Grant flashes me a grin as he crosses the small main lobby. “Good morning, Alexis.”

I return his smile as I chuck the paper towel I’m holding into the trash can beneath the counter. “Morning.” After settling his favorite mug onto the platform of the single-serve maker, I rattle off his morning agenda. “Mr. Rivera’s your ten o’clock. His company’s file is on your desk.” I load in a coffee pod and set it to brew. “Since he usually runs over his allotted time, I placed a lunch order so you wouldn’t be rushed for your one o’clock with Miss Burton.”

“Shit. I forgot about that.” Grant pauses beside my desk. “I told Jules I would take her to lunch today.”

“I can call and add another meal to the order.” The coffee finishes brewing and I tip in a tiny bit of half and half from the hidden mini fridge before passing it off to him. “Do you want to choose it or should I pick?”

Grant snorts. “You already know the answer to that.” He turns toward his corner office then stops, twisting back to face me. “And I forgot to tell you how much she loved her Christmas gift. She says you have amazing taste.”

My eyes widen. “You told her I’m the one who ordered it?”

My boss is a great guy. He’s kind and smart and pays really fucking well, but he has terrible taste when it comes to women’s clothes. Luckily, he knows it, which is why Grant always enlists my help when it comes to birthday and Christmas gifts for his wife, mother, and grandmother.

“Oh, no. I tried to take full credit.” Grant sips his coffee before continuing. “She knew damn well I didn’t pick out those pajamas.”

Technically I didn’t pick them out either. I had them specially made. When my boss told me his wife’s favorite pair of pajama pants were falling apart at the seams and he wanted to replace them, I discovered a complete lack of banana-printed loungewear. Lucky for him, I don’t mind putting in a little leg work when it comes to fashion, so I spent an afternoon tracking down every cotton stretch banana fabric I could find, ordering two yards of each. Then I took the fabric to the seamstress who does all my altering. She used Julia’s old pants to make a pattern and stitched up ten pairs of sleep pants.

Plus a couple pairs for me from the extra fabric. Sometimes it pays to be pint-sized.

“I would have backed you up.” After trashing the spent coffee pod, I wipe the counter again, removing any trace of oversplash.

“Then she would have called us both dirty liars.” Grant lifts his coffee cup. “Thanks for this.”

“Anytime.” I finish with the coffee bar as he goes into his office and gets to work. After that, I check the bathroom, replacing the vial of scented oil in the warmer plugged into the corner outlet. Then, using a Clorox wipe from the cabinet below the sink, I give the counter a quick wipe down.

Technically none of this is in my job description, but I like the office to look as put together as possible. It’s the same as addingaccessories to a really great outfit. Without them, the clothes look fine. But once they’re layered on?

Impeccable.

I’m just getting back to my desk when Helen, Grant’s former assistant, walks through the door. After she graduated with her accounting degree, he promoted her to help him juggle his constantly growing client list and hired me to take her former position.

At first I was a little worried she’d judge everything I did and compare it to the way she’d handled things. Nope. Helen is awesome. She’s cool and calm and kind and happy to let me do things my own way.

She’s also freaking gorgeous. Tall and slender, with rich brown skin and long shiny braids, she’s exceedingly glamorous, and I look forward to seeing what she’s wearing every morning. Today, the former beauty queen has on a pair of wide-leg, camel-colored pants, paired with a white knit top. Chunky gold jewelry is draped around her neck and wrist, and a pair of large diamond studs dot her earlobes, completing the ensemble.

As always, she looks insanely good. And, as always, it’s an outfit that would look way less fantastic on my five-foot-one curvy frame.

But maybe I could pair a shirt like that with a nice pencil skirt—

“Good morning, Alexis.” Helen’s brisk tone doesn’t bother me. Probably because it’s a whole hell of a lot like mine. As is her temperament. And her love of quiet.

“Good morning,” I greet her. “I’m placing a lunch order for Grant. Would you like me to order something for you?”

She pauses at my desk to collect her mail, quietly contemplating for a second. “I don’t think so. I’ll probably work through lunch.”

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