Page 58 of Under the Mistletoe
“This is not the end of this. You’ll be gone by the end of the month. I’ve already heard that you’re tipping off the media, and Donovan won’t like that. Not at all. He’ll leave you like he leaves all the other women he meets. You’re not special, Jay Jay.”
I ignore her as she spits out my name, pretending to work, tapping my keyboard as she strides out of my office, slamming the door on her way out.
When she’s gone, I blow out a breath and lean back in my chair, trying to release the tension.
I should tell Donovan, but he has enough to worry about. I don’t want to be going to him about all these little issues. Ashley will show her true colors eventually.
I shake my head to pull myself together and get on with the job I’m so good at. Because I know who Donovan is going home with tonight, and it isn’t his assistant.
24
Jessica
I wash the carrots, the kitchen looking like a bomb went off. Kind of like my life at the moment.
“They’re late,” I grit out. My parents, who are supposed to be here already, haven’t arrived.
“I’m sure they are just stuck in traffic,” Aunt Vivian says, but I can hear the frustration in her voice. Our usual Thanksgiving for three has expanded to six now that my parents and Donovan are all coming. I had hoped my parents would be on time and here before Donovan’s arrival so we can all get used to each other again before introducing him to them. They’ve been gone a long time, our calls less frequent than ever, almost like they’re strangers.
“They probably won’t even come.” I’m angry and now sulking. I’m not sure why I do this to myself. They never do what I think they’re going to do. While I had hoped that this time they would turn up when they said they would, they never have before. I shouldn’t be surprised. But with Aunt Vivian spending more on food to accommodate everyone and Uncle Bobby getting a larger table and more chairs to fit the six of us, I feel responsible for all the extra effort they’ve put in. All because of me. I’ve never given it too much thought before, but now that I'm older, I can see it. The toll it takes on my aunt and uncle to accommodate the people who continually let everyone down.
“They’ll be here.” Uncle Bob walks into the kitchen, watching us. But his tone holds none of the carefree energy he usually brings, and I see my aunt and uncle share a look.
“Oh, look at you,” my aunt admonishes her husband, walking over to him where he stands in the doorway, his shirt buttons mismatched, and I grin. She gets busy redoing his buttons as my uncle stands still, looking down at her adoringly. Their love for each other is so heartwarming. It’s a love that has stood the test of time, and I’ve always wanted a love like it.
I look at the clock, seeing it’s almost one, and I know Donovan will be here soon.
“Ooops…” my uncle says, and I look back at them and see him with a cheeky grin. My gaze moves upward to the artificial piece of mistletoe that hangs in the doorway that’s now right above their heads.
“Do you do that on purpose?” I ask, and he winks. It isn’t the first time my uncle meets his wife under the mistletoe. It’s been hanging there for years. They put it up when I was a kid, hanging it for Christmas one year when I was about twelve and never took it down. It’s been cute seeing them share a small kiss every now and then, every time they find themselves in that exact same spot. I used to dream that my Prince Charming would come one day and kiss me under the mistletoe.
I think about Donovan, knowing that my feelings for him are serious. I knew I had a crush on him the moment we met. But each and every day, whether we’re working together in the office, sitting near each other in meetings, or working the room at business events, my feelings have developed into something I’m scared to label.
“Maybe.” My aunt pecks a kiss onto his cheek and laughs.
“I can’t believe that’s still there.” She shakes her head, her grin wide, and I smile.
“I’m not taking it down either,” my uncle chuffs, and the doorbell rings.
“I’ll get it.” I wipe my hands, throw the cloth on the bench, and head to the door. Unsure of who will be on the other side, I steel myself.
“Hey, am I late?”
My smile is wide and instant as Donovan looks like he rolled straight out of a magazine, holding a bottle of wine, a large bouquet of flowers, and a box.
“You’re not late. Come in.” I step toward him, kissing him quickly, and open the door farther for him to step inside. As I do, I notice a few photographers on motorbikes pull up, yet there’s no sign of my parents, so I close the door.
“They must have followed me.” His frown is deep. He hates my privacy being invaded by the media.
“They were bound to find this place sooner or later.” I haven’t read too many articles, but I know they all say the same things. Donovan is hooked on a woman who isn’t anyone special. That I lack the looks of a model that’s usually on his arm. Some even discuss my position, me sleeping with the boss, but after the reports I’ve delivered to the board this month, I’m secure. The rest is just rumors. Any other women might feel upset or angry. But for some reason, I really don’t care. I have the man, I have the job, and right now, on Thanksgiving, I’m really thankful for both.
My aunt and uncle walk out to greet him, and Aunt Vivian's eyes widen a little.
“Donovan.” My uncle steps forward to shake his hand.
“Nice to see you again. I brought you some wine.” He passes the bottle to my uncle as they shake hands. This feels good. Feels normal. Feels like a meet-the-parents moment, even though my parents aren’t even here.
“So lovely that you could join us,” my aunt offers, looking over the handsome billionaire who stands tall and proud in their house.
