Page 41 of Mistlefoe
Conor’s eyebrows rise a notch. His lips part another notch—and I zero in on them. I wonder if they’d still taste of coffee.
Wait, he’s moving them.
“You’d do that?”
“I mean…” I clear my throat and wrap a hand around my elbow, squeezing hard enough to remind me that maybe kissing him again, ever, especially here, might not be such a bright idea. “At least about the event. I can’t promise I’ll convince him to keep the rink open forever.”
“Right. Of course.” Then one corner of those perfectly shaped lips of his rises. “Joke’s on him, though. With the bonus and the promotion money, I’ll save the rink.”
“Ah, so that’s why you’re doing this?” I shake my head. “It’s very sweet, but I have my own list of reasons for getting that promotion.”
“I know. But if there’s no venue, then there’s no event, and no one’s getting a promotion.”
“And that’s why I’m going to get your Gramps on board, nothing else.” I poke him in the chest.
I freeze as he wraps his hand around mine and grins down at me. “Thanks, partner.”
“Ah, yeah. Sure.”
I walk back to my desk on shaky legs. Someone should tell him that he has a lethal one-two combo between that smile and his touch.
*
Conrad Mahoney, or Gramps as he prefers to be called, is stunned to find my head popping in from his office door. He opens and closes his mouth, eyes squinting up at me like he thinks I’m a mirage.
“Is this the pretty miss I met at my grandson’s?”
Who can resist this charm?
Grinning, I straighten myself and stand by the door. “The one and only. How are you doing, Gramps?”
“Well, certainly much better now than a second ago. Please come in and pull up a chair.” He gets up from his with enviable agility I don’t even have now, and starts fussing about. “I’m just sorry the place is such a mess. I’d have tied it up if I knew you were coming.”
There’s a worn sofa pushed up against a wall, but every surface of it is covered in books, magazines—and I spot aSPORTYone with his grandson’s handsome face on the cover—and paper sheets of different sizes and shades of yellow. The actual chair across his desk has a stack of binders that he tries to pick up at once. His huffs tell me they’re heavy, so I rush over to help.
“Now, take a seat and tell me why you’re brightening my dinky office.”
I snort a laugh.
Gramps is funny. His voice has a harsh quality to it, as if he were permanently stuck in annoyed mode. But his eyes are bright and his wit is quick. I can see where Conor got his own sense of humor that he uses to diffuse every awkward situation with.
The chair creaks under my weight, which just serves to remind me of what Conor revealed earlier at the office. He’s doing all this to save this place, that’s how much he cares about it.
“I hated Conor for two years,” I say, realizing a second later how that would make no sense to Gramps. “Or, okay. I didn’thatehate him. I was just generally very annoyed by his presence and how our boss basically bent over backwards for him from the beginning. I was jealous.”
He lifts up his gray beanie and scratches the top of his head through a mass of white hair. “I’m not following, pretty miss.”
“But then,” I continue as if there hadn’t been a pause. “Our boss forced us to start working together to organize the Christmas party for the company. It’s only been what, like two weeks? And that’s literally how long it’s taken me to undo two years worth of resenting him for no reason.
“Your grandson’s a really good person.” I shrug. “I couldn’t imagine a better teacher for little kids and I haven’t even seen him in action.”
He grunts. “Did he send you over to give me this pitch?”
“No, that’s just a freebie for both of your sakes. Here’s my real pitch.” I smile. “We really need your help to make this company event happen. A nice bonus for each of us, and a promotion for one of us, is on the line.”
“How nice?”
“Nice enough that I’ll be able to fly my grandmother in from Venezuela for Christmas and maybe pay for some of hermedical treatments, too. She has hypertension and it’s been getting worse.”
