Page 11 of Her Christmas Monsters

“What?” he asks incredulously, the self-satisfied smirk slipping away.

“That’s the way business works isn’t it? I’ve been doing this job for years now. Hell, last year I did it on my own with how little Jackson even bothered showing up,” I scoff, disdain dripping from my voice.

“If I’d known that then he would’ve been out the door long before now.” His tone is lethal yet calm, as his eyes glint with steely determination.

“Well I guarantee someone on your team knew,” I sigh. “Anyway, that’s not important—”

“It is important,” he grunts, cutting me off and scribbles down a note on a piece of paper.

I try to subtly glance at what it says, but he shoves it into a drawer in his desk before I can even read a word.

“Now, you barged into my office to show me something. What is it?” he huffs out in exasperation.

“You’re right about that,” I agree, and reach into my briefcase with a smug smile on my face. “You wanted something unique, and I can guarantee I delivered on that front.”

I pull out the tablet and bring up the sketch from last night. I finished most of it before I fell asleep at my desk, but my dream—or whatever it was—helped me with the last few finishing touches.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he says, with an unimpressed look. He reaches for the tablet but I don’t hand it to him, not this time.

“My proposal is to keep the original design where it is, like my first sketch,” I say and hold up the exquisite design of the crystal ice castle, with silver and white trees and blue decorations.

“Did you mean unique as in, ‘it’s unique to completely ignore my boss and throw away a huge opportunity for my career?’” he asks incredulously, his lips already curling in a sneer.

“You really need to learn how to be patient, Mr Ainsworth,” I chastise him, and shake my head in disappointment.

“Call me Fynn,” he grunts, but leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Call me Clara,” I volley.

“Fine, Clara.” He sighs, some of his annoyance seeming to ebb as he says my name. “Is there more?”

“Of course there is.” I flip to the next picture and watch as his eyes widen in shock. “This is the unique part. We build a replica of the ice castle, but it’s the opposite of the cheery crystal one on the other end of the mall. This one is cloaked in shadows, and rather than the crystal shards, we make it look like it’s been hewn from black obsidian.”

“Why?” he barks.

“The ice palace will be the home of Santa, while the dark mountain will be the home of Krampus,” I declare, my smile already stretching across my face at the shock and confusion I see written on his.

“Krampus?” he asks in disbelief. “You know about Krampus?”

“I did some research last night,” I say and go to pull out the summary I wrote up.

“I know who Krampus is,” he growls. “Why is this something I should put in my mall?”

“Families already want to come to the mall to take pictures with Santa,” I say and scroll to the original sketch. “That’s why we need to keep a traditional display. But one of the key demographics who do the majority of shopping online are young adults ranging from their late teens to mid-thirties.”

I scroll back to the black obsidian cave and zoom in on the mock-up of the interior.

“There’s been a resurgence of the lore of Krampus in recent years, and like you said people want an experience.” I grin as I use his own words against him. “With this, not only are we drawing that demographic to the mall with this unique event, but we’re able to bridge that gap between Halloween and Christmas with a display that will draw customers into the stores a whole month before they are even expected to, allowing us to reach record profits in the final quarter.”

“How does this tie in with Halloween?” he asks, intrigue glimmering in his eyes.

“Because, it won’t just be a photo op,” I explain, and scroll to the next photo with a detailed layout of the maze. “It will be a cross between a maze and a haunted house, and all those who enter will be stalked by Krampus himself.”

“Can I see now?” he asks, and reaches for the tablet which I carefully hand over to him. Excitement is already brimming inside me at the interest written on his expression as he examines the sketches.

“I asked you for a unique Christmas,” he muses, his face unreadable. “And you delivered.”

I exhale a sigh of relief, some of the tension easing from my chest at his admission. I can’t help the feeling of disbelief though that comes creeping in. I honestly thought he was going to lie and say my idea has been done before just to get under my skin.

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