Page 15 of My Favorite Holidate

“That would be great.”

I grab my purse and locate a small tube of hand cream. “It’s Dark Kiss,” I say, reading the label.

He gives a casual shrug, likewhy not use Dark Kiss. “Sounds perfect.”

It does? Is that how he likes to kiss? Dark and dreamy too? I blink away the surprisingly tempting thoughts invading my brain.

“Here you go.” I offer the tube to him. Probably safer than me squeezing it. I’d get it all over the shirt that covers his titanium abs, which go with his granite pecs.

He squeezes a little bit on his finger and rubs it on his cheek but misses the path of festive sparkles.

“Still there,” I say with a guilty wince. He doesn’t move. He barely even lets out a sigh. I really can’t read him. But he has to be annoyed. My stomach twists. “Can I help?”

“Okay,” he grits out like it costs him something.

“I’ll be gentle,” I say, trying to keep the mood light as I take the tube again, then step closer to him than I’ve ever been. Closer than when I rolled him. He’s inches away now. Wilder Blaine is taller than I am, but not by an absurd amount. More like…ajust rightamount. With my fingertip, I pat along his cheekbone, and I’m close enoughto notice he smells like falling snow and midnight—something calm and powerful all at once.

Something alluring.

I’m a scent girl. If a man takes the time to smell good, it says he cares. It says he tries. It says he doesn’t take things for granted.

He’ll make the effort.

To brush his teeth before he kisses you in the morning.

To dress in a fresh, clean shirt, rather than sniff-test his dirty laundry.

To pat on just the right amount of cologne for a date—the amount that makes your pulse speed up.

But a few seconds later, he’s glitter-free, and I jerk my hand away. I can’t spend the morning thinking about how good the man who signs my checks smells. That’s a recipe for trouble. For losing a job I both loveandneed. For making more mistakes. For messing up this tremendous opportunity.

I have to rein in this momentary bout of lust since that’s all it is.

Wilder gestures to the dove gray couch in his office. I sit, and he takes the navy blue chair across from it then adjusts his tie. It’s slate gray and has whimsical illustrations of skiers on it. He’s clearly ready for our meeting to finally begin and frankly, so am I. But it’s time for me to apologize. “I’m so sorry. I was rushing and I grabbed the wrong shirt and I feel terrible. I’m pretty sure I have the actual shirt for the employees’ stockings in my purse. I swear I’m an industrious elf. I can get it and show it to you,” I say, then I lunge for my purse, ready to right this ship.

“Let’s take five on that,” he says, then rolls up the cuffson his shirt. “But don’t think twice about it. I’m more interested in something else.”

I tense and stop searching for the actual shirt. “What is it?”

His expression is intense, borderline severe. “Should we start a line of shirts with sparkly Christmas penises on them?”

He says it with such a straight face that I’m so tempted to pick up the gauntlet he’s throwing. To toss out names for a line like that. Snazzy Schlongs? Twinkling Twigs? Or better yet—Glitter Dongs and Shiny Schlongs.

But I realize he’s graciously letting me know he’s not pissed. I grab the lifeline he’s thrown and hoist myself back into the meeting. “No, but Iamsuggesting we start a line of sparkly shirts. Everything is better with a little bling.”

I reach for my tablet inside my purse and unlock it, then show him my presentation on the growth of our merch and the bennies of sparkles, flicking through studies on human behavior that show how we’re naturally attracted to shiny objects.

I stop momentarily when Shay knocks on the door and brings us two cups of coffee. Wilder and I thank him, and when he leaves, I return to the presentation. “It’s the peacock effect. We’re all drawn to that iridescent plumage. But here’s the issue with glitter.”

“It sticks to everything?” he asks wryly.

I smile and nod, taking that on the chin. “Yes, but it’s also a microplastic,” I explain.

He nods in immediate understanding, then adds, “Which means it gets swept down drains and blown by the wind.”

“Exactly. But this glitter—on both theFondle with Careshirts and the one I’m about to show you—is sustainable. It’s made from mango skins and coffee grinds.”

His lips twitch in amusement, then delight. “I do love mango. Much more than…eggnog. But not as much as mint.”

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