Page 5 of Texting My Secret Santa

I like the idea of her rubbing off, but not for that. Thoughts like this are going to get me put on Saint Nick’sfuck-youlist. Or does he have another name for it?

Yet it’s true. She’s curvy, sexy, and tempting. This morning, when I was half-naked, and she was staring at me, I liked it. I wanted to tear off her oh-so-proper pantsuit and see what was underneath. It doesn’t mean I have to act on it.

I walk into the cafeteria. Predictably, there’s another giant, sparkling tree in here. Memories are funny things. One hits me now—hits me hard.It’s Mom, skeleton-thin, rushing around some bush she dug up from a neighbor’s yard. She’d tied some fast-food toy to it with dental floss, grinning at me, manic, high.

“Isn’t this going to be the most special Christmas ever?”

I push the memory away. I’m not a kid anymore. There’s no point in dwelling on the past.

Hundreds of people crowd into the large room. There’s a mic stand at the front and two speakers. In the corner, I spot Holly with a big camera in her hand. She’s got a focused expression on her face. It’s interesting and appealing. She looks passionateabout her job. It’s good to see all my douchebag teasing didn’t discourage her from pursuing her passion.

Dan walks out and takes the mic like a rock star. “What’s up, my holiday heroes?”

Everybody cheers. I clap. I don’t want to draw attention to myself, but hearing “holiday heroes” makes me cringe. There’s nothing heroic about putting on a silly outfit and wrapping consumer products in wastepaper.

“As you all know,” Dan continues, “we love ourselves some Secret Santa. Mystery, intrigue, surprise, but you know what ruins it? When you get a gift thatsucks.” Everybody chuckles. “So, this year, we’ve devised an idea to make that less likely. Using phones from our recycling project, we’ve programmed them so that they can only text one number—your Secret Santa. You can use these to give hints about what gift you’d like or to lead them astray. The only rule isnotto reveal who you are. Keep it secret. Keep it fun. So, who’s ready to get this party started?”

I almost roll my eyes like a petulant kid. Just because I think this is stupid doesn’t mean everybody else will. I line up with the others as people hand out phones.

“And remember,” Dan says into the mic, “if any of youmischievous elves…” More laughter. “… abuse this system, I’ll have HR on your ass quicker than Santa can jump on his sleigh.”

Did he seriously use Santa and his sleigh as an HR threat? I must be losing my mind. The Harpers were always a Christmassy bunch, but this is next level—almost unbelievable.

The closer I get to the front, the closer I get to Holly. She walks around with her camera. I like how she tosses her head to get her thick brown locks out of the way. Then she pauses, grabs ascrunchie, and ties it up into a messy ponytail that’s somehow more attractive.

She sees me looking and aims the camera at me. Doing a quick witness check, I flip her the bird. She lowers the camera. She looks like she’s trying to hold back the smile that spreads inevitably across her face. When she loses the battle, she goes for a pout instead.

Dan hands me one of their older cell phones. “Don’t look too excited.”

“Ha ha,” I mutter sarcastically.

“It’s just a bit of fun.”

“I’m having fun—the time of my life. I can’t wait,” I say dryly but with a hint of a smile.

Back in my office, I call my real estate guy. I’ve got a penthouse waiting for me, but there’s an issue with the bedroom. That means I’ll be with Dan until at least after the holidays.

I could get a hotel. I have the money, but I’ve missed Dan. We were inseparable as kids. He didn’t care that I was from the wrong side of the tracks or had holes in my sneakers. I helped him by kicking the asses of any jerks who thought they could bully him, and he helped me with books and computer time. We were a good team.

Back then, it was easier. Back then, I never dreamed I’d one day find his little sister attractive.

I grab my phone when I hear the alert noise. There are no notifications.

Oh, that’s right. It’ll be myotherphone.

I check that one; it’s a blockier older model. All the phones handed out differ, depending on what our customers recycled. After this Secret Santa stuff, they’ll presumably become recycled.

My Secret Santa:Do you want to give me any hints about what gift you’d like so I can?—

Me:I’m okay with telling each other what we’d like. Or, honestly, you can save your cash, and I’ll just get you something.

My Secret Santa:Talk about ruining the fun. Why don’t you want to do the Secret Santa?

Me:Call it a philosophical viewpoint if you’d like. I don’t mind. Let me know when you’ve chosen your gift.

My Secret Santa:That isn’t how this works.

I put the phone into the top drawer and finish my work. The stranger texting me can’t have any idea how sick I am of people trying to force me to get into the holiday spirit. A knock at my door—Mia again. She’s holding a little tree in a plant pot, complete with lights.

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