Page 22 of Santa Baby Maybe
“Walker Bob.”
“Are you done?”
She beamed. “Not even close. Wentworth Barry.”
“I have work I have to get back to,” I said impatiently. “And so do you. Making money doesn’t just happen.”
She took the hint and stood up. “Walter Bartholomew?”
“Goodbye, Joy.”
She stopped at my office door. “Are you going to tell me if I get at least one of the names correct?”
“Nope.”
“Spoilsport,” she grumbled. “And get a tree!”
“Not happening,” I called out to her. In fact, I put her ugly blind date ornament in one of my desk drawers and I didn’t think about it or her for the rest of the day.
Much.
* * *
Joy
“Tellme again why we’re doing this,” Sophie said as we both waddled down the hallway with the planter filled with a small Christmas tree between us. We’d finished up another Sunday ornament event and I’d asked Sophie to stay behind and help me with the tree.
I wanted it to be a surprise for W.B.
“Because we’re bringing the Christmas spirit to W.B. whether he wants it or not.”
We wrestled the forty-pound load into his office and set it in the corner with a thump. Stepping back and rubbing my hands together, I was pleased with our efforts. A few more W.B. ornaments and he would love it. I just had to make sure he never found out he was actually the only executive who had a tree in his office. I might have exaggerated—outright lied—about everyone having a tree.
“Joy, you don’t…I mean, you’re not…” Sophie stopped herself.
“What?”
“You’re not into him are you?”
I laughed. “Uh, no. He isnotmy type. And I am one thousand percent not his type.”
“Sometimes types really don’t mean anything,” she said.
That was the thing I liked about Sophie. She was always so practical.
“I’m not into him. I just…I don’t know. I feel like he needs a friend. He’s so laser focused on meeting these goals he has set out for himself. I don’t know that he’s thinking about what he needs. Or even what he really wants.”
Sophie looked at me hard and then said, “You’re into him. Sorry I made the comment about the stick so far up his ass he couldn’t…”
“Sophie!” I stopped her. “I’m not into him! I’m not. Men and women can be work acquaintances without there being anything romantic about it.”
She snorted. “Not that I’ve seen around here.”
We both looked at the tree.
“It needs ornaments,” I said.
“Porn ornaments,” Sophie snickered. And I smiled, thinking about a few more of the ones I’d made. Beautiful Georgia O’Keeffe inspired vaginas. I didn’t think covering his tree with pussies was very work appropriate.
