Page 14 of A Cozy Kind of Christmas
What an ass. What an idiot. What an absolute Neanderthal.
She wasn’t sure what pissed her off more. The fact that he’d gone behind her back and interviewed for her job—a job he was wildly unqualified for? Or that he had the nerve to think she wouldn’t hear about it?
She dragged herself off the couch, tying her plush robe tighter and summoning every ounce of anger to harness as a weapon.
Ding, dong.
“Stop! I’m coming!” she yelled, stuffing her feet in her cozy faux-fur-lined slippers and shuffling to the door. She peeled back the little flap over the peephole and shut one eye.
Yep, sure enough, it was him.
“Open up. I brought you a surprise,” he whispered, pressing his face against the tiny round window in the doorframe.
Against her better judgment, she cracked the door enough just to let her voice slip through—but not him. “I swear to God, if you wake my neighbors, I will have something to say and trust me, you won’t like it.”
She kept her hand on the chain. He wasn’t getting in. Not tonight. Not ever.
He had betrayed her in the worst possible way.
Shame on her for thinking there was something real between them.
Shame on her for trusting him.
It would never happen again.
A bouquet of creamy white roses mixed with holly berries and clippings of evergreen boughs appeared like magic from behind his back. “For you, my lady.”
“Connor, what the hell are you doing here?” Johanna hissed. “I was asleep, and I have zero syllables to say to you. As innothing. Not a single word.”
“You weren’t sleeping.” His smile faltered as he tried to force the flowers into her hands. “And, technically, that was a lot ofwords, Jo.” He pretended to count on his fingers. “So maybe you should just let me in.”
She didn’t budge. She wasn’t falling for his usual tricks.
Not falling for it.
Not tonight.
He’d never brought her flowers before. Not once.
“You have no idea whether I was sleeping or not,” she snapped. “And it doesn’t matter anyway. I told you in no uncertain terms that last time was the last time. I’m done with you. With this. Done as in for good.”
“I know. I know. But look, let me explain,” he said, thrusting the flowers through the crack in the door like they were some kind of peace offering. His voice took on an unusual, almost pleading quality. “That’s why I brought you these. I’ve been an ass. I admit it. I thought you only wanted something casual, but I’m into you, Johanna, like seriously into you, and I’m sorry I haven’t done a better job of showing you that. This is a small token of my most sincere apology. I don’t want just to hook up, either. I want us to give this a try, like a real try.”
He gave her the same earnest act he used to win over viewers onSports Hour—the boyish, soulful stare that made middle-aged women swoon and post on social in all caps about how Connor Howard was making them question their life choices. How they were ready to abandon long-term marriages and their kids for one night with him.
“Is this a joke? You can’t be serious.” A half snort escaped her lips. “Are you kidding me?”
“Honestly. I’m just a guy, standing here in front of the legend Johanna King, asking for a chance,” he said in full rom-com mode, batting his enviably long lashes at her.
God, he was good.
No wonder their twenty-to-forty female demographics had skyrocketed once Connor took over anchoringSports Hour. Itwas because of his undeniable, affable charm that they’d had to reserve extra space in the basement for his fan mail and hire security for public events.
Focus, queen, focus.
Don’t let him in.
“You want a chance?” she said coolly. She was prepared for this. She’d practiced her takedown, and she was ready to end him. “You interviewed formyjob. The one I’ve spent ten years building toward. And, what? You didn’t think I’d find out? News flash: I know. You want to play games? Well, game on, Connor. Game on.”
