Page 4 of Silent Night Temptation

“Remember, I’ll still have to work.” I chuckle at her exuberance. "You're like a kid on a sugar rush. I hope you filled those grocery bags with those disgusting protein bars of yours to help me keep up with your energy."

She playfully nudges my arm. "You know I did. Your writer's brain is working overtime. Remember, last time you almost forgot to eat for nearly two whole days!"

I wince and can’t help but laugh, recalling the incident she mentioned. "Okay, okay! I'll keep my brain fueled this time. Can't have my brilliant ideas disappearing into thin air because I forgot to eat, right?"

Coco's expression softens, her eyes reflecting a mix of joy and concern suddenly. "Nyree, I'm just glad you agreed to come. Last Christmas was tough, and I couldn't bear the thought of losing you,” her laughter hitches as it comes out. “I need my partner in crime around, causing mischief and writing stories about me."

Guilt flashes by my gaze as I recall her expression, fixed in my mind; walking in on me to find an overload of pills and alcohol on my bedside table.

I reach out, squeezing her hand gently. "I'm here, Coco, and I'm not going anywhere." I sniffle, laughing to lighten the mood. “We're like a dynamic duo, remember? I keep you grounded, and you keep me laughing. Together, we can conquer the world.”

I squeeze her hands again with a smile. “Even a spontaneous trip to Shadow’s Bend. "

***

Marcus

Isit at my desk, taking a moment to absorb the quiet of the office. It’s spacious, larger than most, but it fits the scope of what I’ve built. From here, I can see the city spread out below me. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the skyline.

My desk, solid oak, is smooth beneath my fingers, a testament to craftsmanship. It was custom made, sourced from a place as far away as my business has reached. It’s more than just a desk. It’s a reminder of the progress, the long hours, and the risks taken.

The office hums softly, a blend of the subtle air conditioning and the faint echo of machinery from the factory below. There’s a model excavator on the shelf, plated in gold, a gift from a long-time partner. But those aren’t the markers of success I dwell on.

It’s the work itself, the steady flow of deals made, strategies formed, and challenges met. That’s what’s real to me. The leather chair beneath me and the crystal decanter on the tableare just pieces of the environment I’ve grown into over the years. They are tools as much as the machines we produce.

This company, this life, it’s about more than just profit. It’s about building something lasting, something that moves the world forward. Construction machinery and heavy equipment may be what we manufacture, but the true heart of this work is about solving problems and creating solutions that impact industries.

That’s the part that drives me… keeps me going. From this office, it’s easy to reflect on the scale of it all, but it’s the day-to-day, the challenge of what’s next, that keeps me grounded. A polite but firm knock interrupts my thoughts, drawing me back to the present.

“Come in,” I say, already knowing who waits behind the door. Theodora. She steps in briskly, covering the distance between the entrance and my desk in a few quick, efficient strides.

Her heels click softly on the polished floor. One of the hardest workers I know, Theodora has been more than just an assistant over the years; she’s been a vital extension of myself in this business. I can delegate what I need to without a second thought. In a world where I’ve had to remain meticulous and oversee every detail, Theodora is one of the few I trust to handle what needs to be done.

As she reaches my desk, I glance up, a small ritual in our working relationship at this time of year.

"Everything in order?" I ask, my tone casual yet expectant. The air of Christmas lingers faintly, a reminder that the end of the year draws near. It’s the time when I push harder and ensure all the loose ends are tied, so I can step away for a well-earned break, and more importantly, allow my staff to do the same. There’s satisfaction in knowing that when the work is done right, everyone can rest without worry.

“Yes, Mr. Davenport, everything is perfect,” she says with a smile, adjusting her glasses as they slip slightly down her nose. She reads out the figures and reports, her voice steady as she recites the details. None of it surprises me. I’ve already reviewed most of this data myself, but I appreciate the process, the sense of thoroughness we’ve both cultivated. This is how things get done, methodically, without oversight or shortcuts.

“…And that’s a round-up of how all the figures are looking, Mr. Davenport.” She finishes with a relieved sigh, her task completed. Everything sounds right, solid enough to take the coming weeks off without a second thought. Yet something lingers in the air, something unsaid. She hasn’t mentioned the one update I’ve been waiting for. It’s a critical piece of information. The silence around it unsettles me.

“And…?” I prompt, my look steady, not letting the moment pass unnoticed.

She hesitates, a flicker of tension crossing her face as she fumbles with the papers in her hand. It’s a reaction I’ve seen only a few times but recognize well. I will not like what I am about to hear.

“Umm… there’s… there’s been a bit of a setback, sir.”

That word,sir.Whenever Theodora calls me that instead of Mr. Davenport, it is enough to make my gut tighten. It never accompanies good news.

“The deal with the senator fell through,” she says, each word landing with the weight of a stone sinking in water.

The air in the room shifts. My temper flickers, like a flame teased by a gust of wind. I draw in a slow breath, steadying myself, and holding back the sharpness that rises unbidden.

“How did that happen, Theodora?” I ask, my voice calm but with a subtle yet noticeable edge.

“I got in touch with the senator’s assistant as you requested, sir… but I was informed that they will not continue negotiations with us. They’ve received a better offer.”

“A better offer?” the words leave my mouth before I can contain them, my voice rising just enough to cut through the room’s stillness. “Who could offer them better services and products than we can?”

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