Page 25 of Mistlefoe
“I love it.” My jaw drops but then she repeats, “No, I love that idea. It sounds super fun.”
“Like your ball pit gift idea.”
“Right.” The word comes out softly from her mouth, all her energy going to her brain that I can practically see whirring. “Those massive gingerbread men cookies. What if we have a bunch of those lined up and people have to throw something random at them? Again, winning a prize if you destroy the cookie.”
“Yes. A little violent and a lot de-stressing.” I rub my chin. “Okay, we’ve mentioned prizes twice. What kind?”
“I don’t know, especially if we’re really going for the ball pit idea. Individual prizes would compete with that.”
“But not if the booth prizes are points to be able to get more gifts from the ball pit.”
“Oh!” Sierra inhales sharply. “Yes, like an arcade. You earn tickets for every game you win, then the tickets translate into more time in the pit to fish for more gifts.”
A slow grin takes over my face. “So basically, we sell the idea of possibly infinite gifts.”
“Except of course, they’ll have a hard time wading through the ball pit because of obvious reasons, and also because they’ll be drunk off their minds.”
“Which also means they’ll have to cycle the booths several times, which will get harder the drunker they get.”
“And that sounds absolutely not boring at all!” She lifts her hand for a high five and I comply, but she latches onto my hand with surprising strength. “We’ve finally nailed the brief, Mahoney.”
I fixate on her smaller hand grabbing mine like it’s a lifeline, her fingers twined between mine. “Uhh.”
But she still doesn’t notice and even shakes my hand. “Thisis going to be the best Christmas partySPORTYhas ever had. Those bonus checks are in the bag.” Finally, she drops my hand and skips down the aisle.
I glance down at my hand, open and close it.
Well, I guess I’m glad we didn’t kiss under that mistletoe. If grabbing her hand twice in one day has me so damn tingly, I’m sure I’d embarrass myself if I kissed her.
CHAPTER 10
SIERRA
Conor doesn’t get nervous before presentations, probably because they’re nothing compared to playing in front of thousands of fans and haters. But for me, they’re a big stinking deal. He answers some emails while we wait, and I’m doing breathing exercises that actually make me progressively freak out even more.
I let out a particularly shaky breath that makes him lift his eyes. His glasses sit a bit low on the bridge of his nose, which means I get the full blast of his pretty eyes. Not my own words.
“Are you really Sierra Fernandez or five shaky rabbits in a trench coat?”
My mouth twitches but I refuse to smile. “It’s been five shaky rabbits all along. How are you so calm? If we don’t get Richard’s green light today, we can probably kiss the bonuses goodbye, forget the promotion.”
“Oh, I’m not calm at all,” he says in an even tone of voice, his hands deftly working the keyboard as he speaks. “I went to the barber and put on a legit dress shirt for this shit, what do you think?”
I blink slowly. To be honest, he usually dresses like such ajock for work—which is fine, this is a company of sports people. But somehow it hadn’t clicked with me that he’d made extra effort today until this moment. His hair’s a tad shorter and combed to perfection, with a nice little wave at the top and all. His beard’s trimmed and edged; I can actually make out the shape of his square jaw now. I’m pretty sure his pristine white shirt is tailor made because they don’t possibly make them for such wide shoulders and tiny waists.
I go as far as pulling away from the table and check out his legs. He’s in maroon trousers that match his socks and dress boots. Turns out Conor Mahoney knows how to match his clothes.
“Wow.”
“Right?” He smirks, attention still on his screen. “I figured if I look like a businessman, I can fool everyone into seeing me as one.”
“Dress for the job you have and not the college you went to, and all that,” I tease.
“Hey.” He lifts his face to give me grumpy expression.
It makes me chuckle but the tension returns to my shoulders once the amusement ebbs away.
“Hey,” Conor repeats in a different tone now. “Seriously, why are you like this? You’re always so self-assured.”
