Page 3 of A Holiday Lift
I’m attempting to convince myself that was exactly what we both agreed to and he’s just keeping his word, but . . . I hoped.
I came in the next day, smiling with a coffee for him. He walked right past me and hasn’t said a word about what happened since then.
It’s incomprehensible to me that I finally let myself feel something other than rage toward a man, only to be . . . ignored after sex.
“Of course.” He smiles and presses the call button.
“Hello?” A man on the other end replies.
“Hi, this is Dean Pritchard and we’re stuck, can you get us going please?”
“Yes, is everyone okay?”
Dean looks back at me. “Yes, Holly Brickman and I are in here, but we’re not moving and the emergency lights are on.”
The man clears his throat. “Yes, we’re aware. There was a power outage due to the heavy snow, and unfortunately, it looks like a transformer blew, leaving the whole block out of power. The generator is broken as well, found that out late last night when we tested it, but as soon as we can get you both out, we will. Okay?”
“How long?” I yell. “I need to know!”
Dean looks back at me since the button wasn’t down and the guy on the other line couldn’t exactly hear me. He then presses it and speaks. “How long do you think that could be?”
“Not sure, sir. I’ll get back to you when I can. We’re working on getting you guys out just as fast as we can.”
“Great,” I mutter. “Another thing to add to why I hate the damn holidays. And old buildings.”
Dean shakes his head, and his brows furrow. “Why the hell do you hate the holidays? No one hates this time of year.”
“Well, I have a ton of reasons. Snow. Santa. Stupid men. Power outages. Elevators being stuck. The list really goes on . . .”
He removes his suit jacket, revealing his tight shirt that hugs all the right places. I try not to remember how it felt to have him moving above me as I gripped those arms—I fail. The memories of that night flood me. The scotch, taste of his lips, and how amazing every moment we spent together was.
“Santa?” Dean asks. “You hate Santa?”
“Yeah, him and his stupid list, which apparently I landed on the naughty side of two years ago. My gift was to get dumped. It really changed my feelings on all things holiday related.”
“Ahh.” He nods. “Yes, now I get it.”
When it happened, it wasn’t something I was quiet about. Not that I could’ve been if I wanted to be. I sobbed all the time. I swear I should’ve carried around a sign that said: Caution Slippery When Wet. With the amount of tears I cried, I left a trail. Plus, half my company was invited to the wedding that would’ve been seven days from today. Sending out the I-just-got-dumped email was super fun.
“Not my favorite time of year thanks to a certain someone.”
“You mean that idiot of an ex you were engaged to?”
“Please . . . I don’t want to talk about him.” Especially not with him.
“Understood.” He nudges me. “I could help you forget him again.”
I roll my eyes. “No thanks. Besides, I don’t really think about him at all.”
I’m too busy thinking about you.
“I’m glad to hear that. He wasn’t good enough for you anyway.” He shrugs and folds his jacket in half and then sits on the floor beside it. He doesn’t speak as he extends his hand for me to sit there.
“Why is that?”
Dean cracks his neck, looking a little uncomfortable as he offers a simple, “Because.”
I laugh and cross my arms. “Well, that clears all that up.”
