Page 6 of Under the Mistletoe
“Oooh, just what every young woman wants to talk about on a Saturday. Sprinkler sales in Florida…” Aunty Vivian rolls her eyes as she walks in, carrying what smells like lunch.
Standing slowly, my back protests after hours of bending over. Hard labor was never my forte, but I help them out most weekends. I have nothing else to do, and I like to give back to the people who’ve given me everything.
“How was work this week, honey?”
I follow her into the small kitchen at the back of the shop, my mouth watering at the deli sandwiches she plates up for us. Work. I’ve thought of nothing else but Donovan York since I left his office yesterday. The way he looked at me. The way he smelled. I’ve never smelled a man like him. All forest and rain as he stood near me in a way that almost had me wanting to lean into him. Just a little. Then I saw him push back his hair, and I was a goner. How can a hair flick look sexy? I needed to get out of that office before I did something stupid, like launch myself at him. So I did the only thing I could—decline his offer and walk out. A move I’m starting to regret.
As I grab a sandwich, carbs really my only friend, I shake my head to dislodge his face from my brain, then I see the newspaper and freeze. Like the universe is deliberately teasing me today, I spot Donovan York's handsome face staring back at me in full color from the front page.
He has a commanding presence, a strong allure. But I saw the look in his eyes. I felt the tension between us. I have no idea how it happened, but Donovan York and I have a spark. An instant flame that felt like it could burn down all of New York. My heart thudded so loudly standing in front of him, I was sure he could hear it.
He has kind eyes. Aunt Vivian always told me a person's eyes are the window to their soul. Given mine are always covered with my glasses, I try to make an effort to look into other people’s. Donovan’s are… beautiful. I’m pretty sure I went to sleep dreaming of how they looked at me last night. He was confident, maybe a little arrogant, but… unexpectedly bashful too. I watched him stumble the moment he saw me. People often assume I’m a man because of my nickname, so I don’t fault him for that. But it was strangely disarming watching him, the famously unflappable CEO, momentarily thrown. It made me feel more grounded.
I skim the news article, a puff piece about the city’s powerful elite at a Broadway opening. There he stands, on the red carpet, paparazzi flashing, sleek black suit, hair perfectly styled, looking like he owns Manhattan. Which, honestly, he kind of does. In contrast, while he was out dazzling the cameras with a gorgeous model on his arm, I was at home with a face mask on, eating instant ramen and watching the news.
“Well, Shelley delivered the report to management.” I look away from the newspaper and concentrate on my sandwich, shoving it into my mouth to try and shift my mind onto something else. Aunt Vivian pauses, her eyes on me.
“And?” my aunt prompts.
“They liked it.”
She smiles. “Of course they would. What company wouldn’t want to save millions each year.” Uncle Bob comes in and takes a seat, starting to eat.
“The CEO actually offered me a permanent job.”
They both pause and look at me.
“Congratulations, honey!” Aunt Vivian beams with pride, something Uncle Bob mirrors.
I shake my head before they get too excited. “I declined. I’m not sure it's for me.”
Her smile fades, and Uncle Bob cocks an eyebrow.
“What do you mean? You've wanted something permanent for a long time now.” It’s true, I have. Working full time as Donovan’s advisor is actually a dream job. But meeting him yesterday, experiencing the way his gaze hardly left me. How could I work so closely with a man who has my pussy clenching at every meeting?
“I know, but… I mean, look at me!” I glance down at my outfit and then back at them like they’ve missed something obvious. At work, I scrape together enough to appear semiprofessional, but in the fashion world, I stick out like a sore thumb.
I do love clothes. Specifically, the classics. Which is why I’m always dressed in vintage attire. Some of it’s designer, some of it’s not. But I’m not a fashionista. All my clothes come from Mabel, the kind lady who runs a thrift shop in the city who, for some reason, always seems to have the perfect thing for me, and I always walk out with an outfit of her choosing. I can’t say no to her. She’s delightful and one of my best friends, even though she’s triple my age. Today’s outfit is one of her finds. I’m in old denim overalls and a cute little peach-colored long-sleeve, both extremely comfortable, considering the work I’m doing. With my hair tied up haphazardly in a messy topknot, no makeup, and wearing boots better suited to a bricklayer, chic is something I’m not.
“You’re beautiful. I always tell you that. Both inside and out,” Uncle Bob says gently.
“Thanks, Uncle Bobby. I’ll make you an extra big batch of Christmas cookies this year.”
“Besides, who wouldn’t want to hire you? After all the work you did, Shelley said that you made a huge difference.”
“What did I say now?” Shelley walks into the kitchen, right on time, with two coffees in hand, sunglasses on, even though it’s overcast outside.
“That for me?” I look at her, hopeful. I skipped my morning caffeine hit to get here early. My sleep last night was interrupted by thoughts of Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome, the very man making women all over the city weak at the knees, and the same man who’s completely off-limits. Because he’s my boss.
“Yes, although I shouldn’t reward someone who ghosted me last night.”
I wince. “Yeah, but… you knew I would.”
She sighs and takes a seat. Shelley’s known Bob and Vivian for years and stops by the shop sometimes when she’s in town visiting her own parents who live around the corner.
“You should go out more, honey.” Aunt Vivian nudges. “When was the last time you met a nice man?”
Yesterday, I think, biting my lip to stop the image of Donovan York from flooding back. Stupid brain, I can’t develop a crush, that’s ridiculous.
