Page 42 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
It’s warm, smells faintly of mulled spice and pine—and then I spot her.
Miranda.
Up a ladder in the living room, half-balanced on the third step, stretching up to pin fairy lights along the curtain rail. She’s got one knee slightly bent, arms reaching, and her jumper has ridden up just enough to reveal a thin strip of pale skin and the faint curve of her waist.
She’s wearing a pencil skirt. Black. High-waisted. The sort of thing most people don’t wear for putting up Christmas decorations, but if it were for me, this is the only thing she would ever wear. It hugs her hips, the shape of her arse carved out in perfect silhouette. Unapologetic. Classic.
My brain stalls for a second.
I look away.
Then immediately look back.
It’s like being hit by something you didn’t see coming—except you did, and you walked right into it anyway.
She mutters something to herself, wrangling a tangled section of wire with an expression of fierce concentration.
I clear my throat. “Need a hand or are you winning?”
She startles slightly, glancing down. Her eyes widen just a fraction. “Jasper. God. You’re very... quiet.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Her voice is casual, but her hand misses the next loop of lights completely. She fumbles, then overcorrects, and the cable knocks against the window frame with a faint clatter. Her face flushes. Not full crimson, but enough to notice.
Before either of us can say something ill-advised, Stella saunters in, holding a mug in each hand and wearing that expression that says she’s just a little too observant for anyone’s comfort.
“Well,” she says, grinning, “you remember where the office is, don’t you? Or were you hoping to supervise the lighting?”
I keep my tone neutral. “Just making sure Christmas decorations are in the job spec.”
Stella’s smirk doesn’t budge. “I don’t think Miranda needs you to fight her battles.”
“Definitely not,” Miranda says quickly. Too quickly.
I glance up—she’s trying for cool and snarky, but her cheeks are still pink. Her fingers twitch as she reaches to anchor the lights again.
I raise both hands and take a deliberate step back. “Fair enough. No interfering.”
Stella leans against the doorframe, clearly enjoying herself. “Go down the corridor, back of the building—”
I catch myself glancing again then shut it down. Fast, before I show some physical signs on how much Miranda gets under my skin.
“Right,” I say. “Office.”
I turn on my heel and head down the corridor before I can embarrass myself or say something even more revealing.
Callum’s waiting when I walk in. Arms folded, grinning because he can add one and one together to work out why there was a delay between the doorbell going and me sauntering into his office.
He doesn’t even bother with a hello.
“You know we didn’t need this meeting today.”
I head for the chair nearest the desk and sit down with more indifference than I feel. “I thought we said we’d firm up the investor notes before you send them back.”
“We firmed them up on Monday.” He tilts his glass. “And again on Wednesday.”
I shrug. “No harm in a third pass.”
