Page 5 of Santa's Pretty Helper

I narrow my eyes at him. “You call it attitude. I call it standing up for my staff against a bullying prick.”

For a second, I think he might hit me. A part of me hopes he does because I’d love an excuse to hit him back.

“Get. Out. NOW!” he bellows in my face. Anger pulses through me, hot and dangerous, but as always, I keep a firm grip on what I’m feeling. With a sneer and a shake of my head, I takethe kitchen towel that’s resting on my shoulder and toss it onto the counter.

“Fine. You’re making a huge mistake, Hugo. But you want me gone? I’m gone.”

I turn and stride into the employee area, feeling every set of eyes in the kitchen glued to me as I leave. I quickly gather up my stuff without looking back. I’m not embarrassed. Firings happen all the time in the culinary world, and I don’t regret sticking up for Eric.

And it’s not like cooking is my only source of income. I have a secret revenue stream that I can lean into, so financially, I’ll be fine. It’ll give me time to figure out what I want to do next. If I want to find another restaurant job, or branch out on my own.

I leave through the back door and step out into the chilly Toronto night, the cold air almost shocking as it hits my face.

Tonight, I’m going to go home, drink some whiskey, and stroke myself to thoughts of Bella.

Tomorrow, I’ll figure out the rest.

Three

Bella

My stomach is so full when Madison and I get home that I think I might burst. I always do this to myself when I eat at Haute Maison. I feel compelled to finish every single morsel on my plate, not because the food’s expensive—we never have to pay for anything there, which I assume is my brother Eric’s doing—but because I don’t want to waste even one bite of food that Gabe prepared.

God, Gabe. This crush I have on him is like a sickness. It’s invaded my bones, my blood, my brain. My heart. I think about him every single day. I look at pictures of him online and touch myself, imagining it’s his big, scarred hands on me. I’ve felt this way about him for a long time. Since before it would’ve even been legal for him to touch me. He’s the only man I’ve ever noticed. The only man I’ve ever wanted.

He’s the reason why I’m the horniest twenty-year-old virgin on the planet. I don’t want anyone except him, even though I’m pretty sure he doesn’t see me as anything other than Eric’s little sister.

And yet…there was that moment, the night of my nineteenth birthday. When he touched my cheek and told me I was beautiful, and for a second I thought he might kiss me. He didn’t, of course, and he hasn’t touched me that way or said anything like that since.

Can you wear out a memory by replaying it too many times?

I hope not, because it’s one of my favorites, and I revisit it regularly. What if Gabe hadn’t pulled away? What if he’d leaned in those last few inches and claimed my mouth with his? Would the kiss have been soft and gentle?

Or maybe it would’ve been hungry and passionate. Maybe he would’ve backed me up against the counter, his body pressed against mine, his hand tangled in my hair. Demanding lips, grazing teeth, writhing bodies.

“Hello? Earth to Bella,” says Madison, and I glance over to realize that I’ve frozen in our front entryway with my coat half off, staring unseeing into our small living room. “Gee, I wonder where you went,” she teases, bumping her hip against mine as she moves into the kitchen. “Not thinking about Gabe and how good he looked tonight, no, definitely not.”

Blood rushes to my cheeks, but I laugh. Madison knows all about my ridiculous crush on my brother’s much older best friend and loves to tease me about it. Frankly, I don’t mind because it gives me an excuse to talk about Gabe.

She knows that the list of reasons I’m half in love with him go beyond the physical, although the physical is nothing short of magnificent. He has thick brown hair that almost looks bronze in certain lighting, long enough that it’s not short, but short enough that it’s not long. Just the right length for a girl to sink her fingers into. And his eyes…they’re the most intense shade of blue I’ve ever seen. Like an arctic blue, light and clear and bright.

The rest of his face is no less perfect. He’s clean-shaven with a square jaw and the most beautiful lips I’ve ever seen. Themost talented sculptor in the world couldn’t have made a more breathtaking, masculine face.

And his body. God, his body. He towers over me at six-foot-three, and I can tell he’s fit. I’ve seen the way his sweater reveals his broad shoulders and the muscular planes of his chest. The way his Levis hug his ass. How his forearms are corded with muscle.

I bet he has visible abs. What I wouldn’t give to know firsthand.

But it’s not just the physical that draws me to him. It’s his passion for his job, his loyalty to my brother, his kindness to me since I was just a kid, his unwavering steadiness. Nothing ever rattles him. The sky could fall, and Gabe Mitchell would know exactly what to do.

I blink, realizing I’m still standing by the front door, and Madison cackles with laughter.

“You’re especially moony tonight, even for you,” she says from the kitchen, flipping on the kettle to make tea.

“I know,” I sigh, finally freeing myself from my coat and my boots. “It seems to get worse every time I see him. It’s like this full body ache.”

Madison plops a tea bag into her mug and then holds the box up, silently asking me if I want a cup of tea as well. I shake my head. I’ll be sick if I consume anything else right now.

“You know, you could just tell him how you feel,” she says with a little shrug, as if that’s the simplest thing in the world.

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