Page 64 of Texting My Secret Santa

“Oh, so we’re going to play games, are we? Show me the naked photo, Holly.”

“You’re asking for a naked photo of me when I’ve told you over and over I’m not interested?”

“I’m not asking anything. I’m demanding. Unless you want me to set your world on fire? Andnotin the way I would have if you’d had the common sense and decency to open your eyes to the gift that was staring you in the face, which was me.”

“You’re the gift,” I say, shaking my head. “A man who has harassed me for months. Someone who’s blackmailing me for a naked picture.”

“I’d call it incentivizing, not blackmailing.” He takes a step forward. “Seriously, slut …”

My eyes widen when I spot Asher barreling toward us. Derek turns just in time for Asher to grab him by the front of his shirt.

“Go on, Derek,” Asher growls, wild and rage-filled. “Touch her. Touch my Snowflake.Lay one fucking hand on her.Touch my woman. I dare you to do it. I dare you to eventhinkabout doing it.”

Derek mumbles something.

“What?” Asher yells, shaking him.

People stop and glance over.

“Asher,” I hiss. “You’re making a scene.”

He looks at me. “I don’t give a damn. This motherfucker thinks he can bully you, blackmail you? Nobody has that right.Nobody.”

“P-please,” Derek stutters.

“Asher,” I whisper as if that will make this spectacle less obvious.

I like that he’s standing up for me. I’ve dealt with Derek’s crap alone for so long; it’s a relief to have somebody stand between us. But not here, not like this. Can I deny having a knight in shining armor is nice, though? Heck no.

Asher lets him go. “Cell phone. Now.”

Derek reaches into his pocket and hands the phone to Asher.

“I was just kidding,” Derek says, laughing weakly.

“Just kidding,” Asher repeats, putting the phone in his pocket. “So if Holly had arrived today with a Polaroid, you sick bastard, and shown it to you, you would’ve told her you didn’t want to see it? You would’ve told her it was all a big joke, hmm? I should knock your head off.”

“I’ll just go, okay?” Derek squeaks.

Asher steps forward, towering over him. The difference between the two men—size, demeanor, everything—couldn’t be more apparent. “Not until you apologize, you won’t.”

“Asher, it’s fine,” I whisper.

“No, it’s not,” he snarled. “He’s not leaving until he gives you thebare minimumof an apology. Now, Derek.”

He shudders, turning to me, fear painted across his face. At least nobody’s watching us now that Asher has let him go. “I’m sorry,” Derek says. “I shouldn’t have done this.”

“Just get lost, Derek.”

He hurries away, but then, once he’s out of Asher’s reach, he calls over, “You two arefucked. I recorded that whole thing. How do you think the boss would feel about you calling his baby sister your woman, huh, tough guy? Stop! If you take one step, I’ll send it to him!”

I touch Asher’s arm. He’s burning with rage.

Taking out my cell, I snap, “Ditto, asshole. How’d you think he’d feel about you admitting to blackmailing an employee for naked photos?”

“Fuck,” Derek hisses.

“You bastard,” Asher yells, trembling.

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