Page 3 of Her Christmas Monsters

The button just below my floor lights up, and I pull in a deep breath, knowing I need to compose myself before those doors open. I can’t show any weakness in there. Stumbling over my words or searching for the answer is not an option.

I know what I’m doing and I’m damn good at my job, I remind myself as the elevator dings and the doors slide open. I’m expecting to have to ask someone where to go but a woman with long, sleek black hair slides in front of me the moment I step out, her lips pressed into a straight line.

“This way,” she says abruptly, and turns on her heel, marching down the tiled hallway. I rush after her, not wanting her to get too far ahead. This must be Julie—judging by her brusque greeting.

I catch up to her, keeping a steady pace just behind her as we pass a large reception desk with a conference room visible through the glass wall behind it. Julie keeps heading straight though, and I’m sure if anyone got in her way, she would bulldoze right through them. A few doors line the sides of the hallway, with gold placards on the frosted glass, but I can already tell we aren’t heading for any of them.

A large black desk stands at the far end of the hallway with double doors to the right of it. The executive floor is sleek and modern, a huge difference from the cubicles a few floors down. The frosted glass walls and doors separating each office space almost look like they have crystals forming on them, like they were modeled after the thick frost of winter.

Julie heads straight for the double doors and wastes no time pushing them open. I barely have a moment to collect myself before she’s gesturing me through.

“Clara Wright is here for you, sir,” Julie says, literally shoving me past the threshold as I take a tentative step forward. I stumble slightly and narrowly avoid falling on my face.

Damn. At least I didn’t have a chance to let my nerves get to me again.

I hurriedly straighten, hoping Mr Ainsworth didn’t see. It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to scowl back at Julie. I have no idea if she did that on purpose, but if the CEO is that impatient I’m glad that it’s her that has to work with him and not me.

“Take a seat,” a deep, booming voice echoes from the desk in front of me. The sharp note jolts me from my thoughts, and my eyes lock on the man before me, well on the side of his face since he doesn’t even bother looking up from his computer. The click of the door behind me is the only sign that Julie has slipped out.

His long silver hair cascades down his back, with the top tied back out of his face. The glow of the screen lights up his grey eyes, highlighting the specks of silver in them. His chiseled jaw tenses as he types, drawing my gaze lower to his broad shoulders and his crisp suit jacket that must cost more than I make in a month.

His muscles bunch under the expensive fabric, and his commanding tone coupled with the sure way he’s typing away on his keyboard make my mind go to places itreallyshouldn’t be heading right now.

I’m not sure what I expected but it definitely wasn’t someone this ... handsome. Sure, there’s been internal communication that included pictures of the executives, but none have included the CEO himself. He was a mystery to most—at least those who I have any contact with—and most figure he’s either just a recluse, or too busy spending his fortune. I honestly expected Mr Ainsworth to be the same age as the usual high-powered businessman, but he can’t be more than forty.

“I don’t like repeating myself,” Mr Ainsworth says, and I internally scold myself for getting distracted again. He might be sexy and assertive, in a ‘I want him to bend me over that desk’ type of way, but I can’t mess this up. He holds my fate in his strong hands, and I can’t forget that.

“Of course,” I say evenly, and stride over to the desk, making no attempt to meekly cower as I sit, despite the way my heart thunders in my chest.

His brows furrow and he finally looks up from his screen. His lips curl into a sneer, surely about to chew me out for wasting his precious time, but the look of contempt fades as his eyes meet mine. Electricity seems to spark between us as our gazes lock, and I suck in a sharp breath at the intensity in his silver-flecked eyes. They bore into me, almost as though he can see into the depths of my soul with a look alone.

But that’s not possible.

He clears his throat abruptly, bringing reality crashing back down around us. At least I wasn’t the only one to get distracted this time. A deep frown forms as he glances down at the papers strewn before him, hastily sweeping them up into a messy pile as though the brief moment hadn’t just passed between us.

“You wanted to see me Mr Ainsworth,” I offer, attempting to get my head back in the game.

“Call me Fynn,” he huffs out on a breath of annoyance. “I understand you’ve taken over the holiday displays this year.”

“Yes, sir,” I say, the word slipping out almost on reflex. His jaw tenses, and the papers crumple in his tight fist.

“I don’t have all day, Ms Wright.”

“Clara. You can call me Clara,” I say, wishing I could clamp a hand over my mouth or push a rewind button or something. My voice sounded way too breathy there, and that is so not a good thing. “The theme has been set, and the promotional materials are ready to go.”

I flip through the pages of my folder and take out the one that outlines the theme and advertisements that are set to be rolled out both online and on posters next week. He drops the crumpled ones in his fist, and scours over the one I hand to him.

“I decided to go with a winter wonderland theme this year. We’ve found that this has the best ROI when it comes to mall attendance over the holidays,” I explain and hand him the next page in the folder with the cost-benefit analysis and market research. “Each of the malls will have that overarching theme, but they’ll all be unique in the costumes for Santa and his elves and the main figure or tree.”

“Just give me all of them,” he snaps, reaching out just as I’m about to hand him the next one.

I barely swallow my sound of annoyance at the last second, and pass him the folder instead. A jolt of electricity runs over my skin as his fingers brush mine, and I hurriedly snatch them away, not liking the warmth that floods my chest from the small touch. I awkwardly fold my hands in my lap, wishing I had the folder to clutch still.

The focal pieces are white and blue designs. Some are ice castles, while others are frost-covered trees. This office itself honestly resembles the theme. The double doors are the same frosted glass, but the wallpaper surrounding the room seems to resemble ice crystals too. Even the desk is glass, with the same frost coating it. I brush my leg against it, and the exposed skin of my calf merely slides over the room-temperature surface. I work to hide my look of disappointment since I’d almost expected a sharp prickle of pain from the ice to radiate through my leg.

I expect to see begrudging respect on his face when I look back up at him, but his scowl only seems to deepen with each page he meticulously scans.

“It’s ... fine.” He sighs, and flips to the next page. “A bit uninspired, but you have the numbers to back up your choices.”

---