Page 28 of Mistle-Ho

“Did you want me to make Helen her tea?” I redirect the conversation, hoping he gets both hints I’m not so subtly throwing at him. I’m done with this conversation and he needs to start doing his job.

Dillon stares at me a second longer before offering a tight smile as he slides to his feet. “Of course not.” His expression hardens just enough that I know he suspects I’m lying. “Wouldn’t want to put anything else on your already full plate.”

He’s being sarcastic, and it takes every bit of self-control I have not to match his tone. “Thanks. I appreciate it.” Turning to my computer, I go back to the list of emails filling my inbox.

As the office manager, it’s my job to field the inquiries that come through our website, and today there’s a ton. It’s always like this after the new year. Business owners wake up January first deciding they need to get their shit together, and Grant has built a reputation as the go-to guy to help make that happen.

But even with Helen now handling some of the workload, there are more potential clients than we can juggle. I spend the rest of the morning writing up preliminary reports on each one so Grant can start narrowing them down to the ones that might be a good fit. Between that, answering the phone, and checking in appointments, the time flies by.

Before I know it, Grant’s wife Julia is coming in, all decked out in her army green pants and matching T-shirt printed with the logo of the botanical garden where she works. As usual, she’s a little dirty and sweaty, but sporting a wide smile when she sees me.

“Hey, Alexis.” She stops at my desk, looking over my pleated midi-skirt and the emerald green blazer I buttoned over a tweed bustier. “You look cute as shit today.”

“Thanks.” I smooth down the front of the white, light as air fabric covering my lower half. “I love after Christmas sales.”

Julia purses her lips. “I need to take you shopping with me the next time I go.” Her mouth twists into a wicked little smile. “I used to drag Grant’s grandma along, but her taste is a little scandalous.”

“Not shocked.” Sylvia comes into the office pretty regularly, usually to steal coffee and snacks while she’s out and about town. “She once told me if her books looked like mine she’d go topless everywhere she went.”

“I feel pretty confident saying that’s probably true.” Julia glances up as Grant steps out of his office. “Hey, nerd.”

He flashes her a panty melting smile. “You’re early.”

I try to look away, really I do, but the way my boss’s gaze devours his wife holds my attention. And brews up a little envy.

Not jealousy. I’m happy Julia has someone who looks ready to eat her up, even when she’s sticky and muddy. She’s sweet and funny and kind and deserves the adoration Grant has for her.

I just feel like that’s never going to happen for me. I’m not like Julia. I’m not sweet or funny or particularly kind. I’m standoffish, and dry, and serious. So far the only men I seem to attract are the ones who only care about themselves. At least I’ve gotten better at identifying them.

At one point in my life, I would have convinced myself Dillon was the cat’s tits instead of figuring out what a turd he is on the first date. Too bad I didn’t notice it earlier. Then I wouldn’t be stuck trying to come up with a way to avoid his advances without making shit awkward and tense at work.

“I’m early because you said Alexis was ordering me lunch and I didn’t want to miss it.” She moves in close, grabbing the front of Grant’s button-up and pulling him in for a kiss before snapping one of his suspenders. “And because I wanted to come stare at you.”

Ugh. Puke. I hate the way they interact as much as I love it, so I’m relieved when they disappear into Grant’s office. A few minutes later, their lunches—and mine—arrive. After delivering theirs, I settle in at my desk, enjoying my egg salad on a croissant as I scroll on my phone, pausing to watch a few of my favorite creators put outfits together. I’m so focused on a cute and casual combo of cropped jeans and a chunky cardigan layered over a fitted tank, that when my phone vibrates to let me know I have a new message, I drop it right into a pool of the creamy, eggy goodness that leaked out of its vessel.

“Shit nuggets.” I set down the sandwich and pull my phone free of the mayonnaisey muck. “Gross.” I love egg salad in my stomach. Not so much on my electronics.

As I go to work wiping it down, first with a napkin, then with one of the Clorox wipes I keep handy, the vibrations continue. By the time I finally have it cleaned off, I’m already over whoever’s messaging me—especially since it’s probably a freaking group text.

Aka, a hostage situation.

To my extreme disappointment. I’m right. After opening the message app, I find an already lengthy stream of texts from my friends reminding me we’re going out tonight to celebrate Lola’s birthday. The final message—from Isla—dashes any hope I had of a nice, quiet evening at home.

And don’t try to get out of it, Alexis. You’re coming out and you’re going to have fun. We might even find you a date. God knows you could stand to get laid.

14

The One-Eyed Monster

Gavin

“DID YOU GET fucking faster?” Leo swipes one forearm across his brow, wiping away the sweat trickling toward his eyes. “I swear you got faster.”

“Maybe you just got slower.” I look him over as he pants, trying to catch his breath during our break from drills. “You’ve been expending all your energy elsewhere.”

Leo doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. “You’re just jealous.”

I rock my head from side to side, trying to hide my reaction to his comment. My friend isn’t wrong. Iamjealous.

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