Page 1 of All I Want for Christmas is You

Chapter One

Avery

All of us in the office are nervous. It’s not the first time a statewide company’s been taken over by a big business recently, and none of us really expect to keep our jobs.

“And it always happens right around Christmas,” someone murmurs as we leave the cafeteria, the only place big enough for the district manager to address all employees of the takeover, which is effective immediately.

“As for what happens now,” he announced with a grim look, “I can’t really say. But I’d advise we prepare for the worst.”

I was about to put up the tree in one of the ground floor windows. A Christmas tradition I’m told the office has, putting it up a day before Christmas Eve, not in October like everyone seems to want to.

A tradition started by the original company founder in 1888, back when it was the biggest office building in the area.

“Hardly seems worth it now,” I muse out loud, wondering if maybe I should pack up my desk instead. Gulping as I realize I have no savings either.

This is my first job since college, practically earning me just enough to live hand to mouth each week as a basic secretary and dog’s body to a boss who has me do everything she couldn’t or doesn’t want to.

The last insurance office to be taken over in the city was emptied within the hour of being bought. The look on everyone’s faces says it all.

As we try to focus on getting some actual work done before the end of the day, the district manager comes onto our floor again, beaming a smile that grabs our attention.

Holding up a sheaf of papers, he begs us to check our work emails.

“Take a look, people. I think you’ll be happy to know we may just have a future here after all.”

The new president of the company has sent everyone a memo, apparently. Personalized with our own names on each one and featuring a large picture of himself by way of introduction.

Corny by any other standard, but skimming the first few lines I breathe a sigh of relief, sinking back into my chair and making a strange sound that makes three cubicle’s worth of co-workers pop their heads over.

“You alright?” someone asks, raising their brow and wincing as my chair creaks.

The message is fine, but it’s the messenger that has me weak in the knees.

The man is a god.

Most employees can be overheard gasping with relief, the certainty that we’ll all retain our jobs and that the new leadership has no plans to cut any staff or service.

The next guy over calls his wife, letting her know the rumors weren’t true. That he still has a job.

What rumors?

Me? I’m feeling like that confident mouth of his, on that chiseled jaw has leapt right out of my screen and down between my legs, which I feel myself starting to squeeze together as I get lost in his eyes.

Dark, powerful eyes that have authority, intellect, and kindness. The kind of eyes that also ask more questions than they let out answers from.

His huge shoulders fill a tailored suit, and his lean face tells me he does more than just look after himself.

I shiver another breath, trying to collect myself.

How can the sight of just one man, a total stranger reduce me to this?

I’ve never even… Well. Let’s just say I’m not one to touch myself apart from washing and trimming the hedges, but the sight of this man has me wanting to do more than just touch myself.

Gnawing my lip, I consider a quick or maybe even extended bathroom break. But I know it’s useless.

I don’t want my own clumsy efforts. I want the man himself, down there.

Those strong, expert hands I just know he has to have, to match the rest of his body and that brooding look.

His rich, deep voice, promising me and commanding me at the same time as he draws my pleasure from me, rasping my name, ‘Avery… Avery…’

His styled, full head of hair with just a hint of silver at the sides between my fingers, brushing against my thighs right before he-

“Avery! Jesus, are you deaf? Thought you’d stroked out. Been standing here for like twenty seconds calling your name.”

My boss, Angela Fitzner.

Not someone I’d miss if they did fire a few middle managers. Far from it.

She’s a weasel of a woman, not even a real woman. Ninety percent plastic, I’d say by the looks. Not that I’d wanna get close enough to find out.

She’s all hair and chest, with troweled on makeup, an orange spray tan glow, and what must be a corset underneath.

It’s the only way anyone could have that Malibu Barbie look without ever going out in the sun.

I can’t see the attraction, but every guy in the building falls over himself when she’s around. I’m pretty sure it’s how she got her job in the first place.

---