Page 2 of Storybook Christmas

“Deep breaths.” He approaches me and puts his hand on my back. “You should really sit before you fall.”

“Good idea.” After plunking down in my teak patio chair, I unbutton the top pearl button of my cashmere sweater, a gift from my parents. I love it, but right now, it’s suffocating.

The Hurricane sits in the chair beside mine and hands me the bottle of water he’s holding. “Can you sip this?”

“I’ll try, thank you.”

“No problem.” He screws off the lid and hands it to me.

It’s extra cool in my hands, and I put it against my forehead. For some reason, this feels like the most amazing thing ever—it’s not even too cold. I must be numb. “I’m just gonna sit like this forever.”

“Glad it’s helping.”

I finally take a sip, my stomach not loving the idea. Trying to distract my brain from being nauseated, I blurt out the first thing that pops into my boozy mind. “If my work finds out about this, I’m toast.”

“Why?”

“Because my bosses already think I’m just the little blonde,” I slur, “who fetches everyone coffee with a smile. Even with the best track record in my department, I got passed over for promotion.”

As associate editor for Platypus Press, the children’s imprint of Sutton & Sutton Publishing, I work on the books of two top-selling authors. With enough wits about me not to blab my company name or job title, I blurt, “They promoted my ex instead.”

“Ouch. Why?” The Hurricane’s tone is genuine, and right now, comforting. For some reason, I feel like I can be completely honest with him.

Of course, it could also be my blood-alcohol level.

“He met my boss’ stringent criteria for management: he has a penis.” I look and nod to The Hurricane’s crotch, which is now covered in jeans. “I mean, no offense.”

“None taken.” A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. He points downward, saying, “I’m aware that this thing opens doors.” He quickly adds, “Not literally.”

I burst out in drunken laughter. “NowthatI’d like to see.”

“It could be arranged. Joke.” He puts up a palm, flashing his gorgeous smile. “Anyway, I’m sorry about your work. Can you look for a job at another company?”

“I love what I do, and the people I work with. Most of them.” I swat a hand. “Besides my sexist bosses. Everyone has to put up with something they don’t love about their job. Overall, I’m lucky.”

“I like that attitude.”

“Thanks. I’m working on it.” Joshua told me I needed to. He was right, but it still stung. “And I’m getting a full week off for a long overdue Christmas vacation to Paris. It’s gonna be amazing.”

“Sounds amazing.”

It was a trip Joshua and I’d planned, and when we broke up, I couldn’t bring myself to cancel. I decided to keep my tickets and go solo. “I’ve always wanted to see the city, and it doesn’t hurt that I fly out the twentieth, a day before the holiday party at my parent’s law firm.”

“That big of a drag, eh?”

“It’s okay—I just can’t go without a date. My mother thinks she’s a matchmaker. Besides that, the shindig is a bunch of attorneys.”

Attorneys who never miss a chance to compare me to my lawyer sister. At thirty-three, she’s on track to make partner early, and my parents are grooming her to take over the law firm. And I, the late surprise baby, work on “little books” at twenty-six.

I can’t stand that my family talks about my career like it’s a hobby. Not only is it disrespectful, but it also couldn’t be further from the truth. Managing and editing children’s books is a grueling sixty-hour a week job that has no respect for weekends or holidays.

The Hurricane cuts into my thoughts. “Well, you impress me, Lacy Callahan.” His jaw twitches when he says those words, and it’s sexy. Even his tics are hot.

I meet his gaze, which is hard to do because right now, it’s a moving target. “That’s sweet, but you were paid to say that.”

“No, I was paid to take off my clothes. I said that because I mean it.”

Our eyes lock, and his are brilliantly genuine. My breath hitches at the sight—liquid emeralds with flecks of amber—and I wouldn’t be surprised if theyactuallymelt panties off.

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