Page 1 of His Until Christmas

1

JACK

London is life, especially in December when lights sparkle and the streets fill with Christmas shoppers.That’s what I grew up hearing from my grandparents, who met and married in this city.

Gran promised that wishes came true here at Christmas parties. All anyone had to do was turn in circles for one glittering evening, like she had at a ball where she met a handsome Horse Guard. She’d been waltzed off her feet and scored a diamond ring a week later, so I guess falling in love only takes seven days for some lucky people.

As for me? I don’t have a week spare for romance, and all I want for Christmas is a boss who isn’t a complete nightmare to keep track of.

I can’t believe I’ve lost Rex.

Again.

That’s why I turn in circles between Mayfair and Soho today, much to the ire of Christmas shoppers. I don’t spin to annoy them. Or in hopes of waltzing away with a handsome Horse Guard, even if Gran did teach me dance steps the bigboys at school laughed at when I practiced twirling across the playground. Now I turn in slower circles to search for my employer as a bitter breeze makes me wish for the cloak Gramps used to wear when serving his Queen and country.

When my parents were rushed off their feet working retail each Christmas season, he’d make the time to wrap me in that thick, blue cloak and tell me to remember how it felt to be protected the next time the big boys laughed at me for dancing. Gramps promised that not only Horse Guards like him were brave. He said that me being myself was even braver, and that he’d always love me.

I wasn’t sure about that brave descriptor when I was little.

Almost two decades later, I’m no closer to believing. Take now as an example: I’m actually a little bit afraid I’ve broken the first rule in the personal assistant’s handbook by losing my boss when he should be on his way to his next meeting, and the first week in December on Bond Street is the worst time and place for that to happen.

I can’t see a thing for people.

Shit.

Where is he?

Honestly, I should know better than to take my eyes off the man even for a moment—Rex Heligan is always a nightmare this close to Christmas. I don’t mean he’s a Grinch or a Scrooge. You can save those descriptors for the banker Rex just lost his temper with in his last meeting. Timothy Smallbone is a textbook tightwad who hated Rex when they used to work together. In comparison, Rex is the definition of generous, even if he has bad habits, like ruining the line of his smart Savile Row suits by stuffing his pockets with dog treats.

I bet those treats are the reason he’s gone missing. Rex will have spotted a dog in a Christmas sweater and stopped to become its new best buddy.

Sleet stings my face as I turn one more time, still searching.

I can’t have lost him.

It really shouldn’t be possible; after all, we left that meeting together. Only now I’ve achieved a minor miracle by flagging down an unoccupied black cab, is Rex still beside me?

No, he bloody well isn’t.

“Rex?” I call out and get no answer, so I let out the kind of yell I’m pretty sure isn’t in any PA handbook. “Rex? You need to hurry!”

All I get in return are air-brake hisses from scarlet double-decker buses and Christmas carols booming from a department store’s open doorway, but the PA handbook does recommend persistence, so I don’t give up.

I crouch, and there he is.

Rexhasfound a dog and is busy giving a golden retriever a belly rub as if he has all the time in the world. In reality, he doesn’t have a spare second for getting hairy, so I get even more vocal.

“Rex Arthur Robert Heligan, leave that dog alone and get your arse into this cab, pronto.”

Does he hurry?

No, he bloody well doesn’t.

He takes his own sweet time to say goodbye to his new bestie, then ambles over, and I apologise, although not to Rex for unprofessionally swearing at him. Instead, I send up a silent sorry to the poor soul who will soon replace me.

His next PA will need stocks and shares in patience as well as their very own lint roller, like the one I whip out.

“You’re covered in hair, Rex. Covered!”

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