Page 8 of A Little Christmas 4: Teller
Chapter Four
Briggs
I was walking a fine line betweeninterested suitorandcrazy stalkerwhen it came to Teller Buchanan, but I wanted to know more about the man. He was Maizie’s best friend, and they worked together. Was he alittlelike Maizie, and did he already have a Daddy? That would be terribly sad.
Teller mesmerized me as no one else ever had. His eyes danced when I talked to him, and he had the energy of a little firecracker, which was something I wanted in my life. I was determined to continue the conversation to find out as much as he’d tell me about himself.
“Wow, you really meant that you’d wait for me, Mr. York. My rideshare should be here in a few minutes.” Teller walked over to my car and stared at me for a moment.
“I just wanted to be certain you were picked up by a credible service. As I said, I’d give you a ride if you want one.”
The adorably shy grin tugged my heart. “I appreciate it, Mr. York, but I’m fine.”
I touched his arm, gently turning Teller to face me. “Please, call me Briggs. I’m impressed with you, Teller, and I’d like to get to know you. I think we could be good friends.”That didn’t sound too stalkerish in the least.
A random Toyota pulled up and rolled down the passenger window. “Buchanan?”
“That’s my ride. Thanks for waiting with me, Mr. York…Briggs. I hope you’ll come into the bar again.”
“Oh, I will. Be safe, Teller,” I responded, biting my tongue to keep from giving him my number and asking him to text me when he got home.
The desire inside me was nearly overwhelming. I wanted the young man to give me time—his time—but I couldn’t force him. That was definitely stalkerish.
“Thanks again,” Teller called as he hopped into the Toyota and the car drove away.
Maybe I needed to find Shelton Arms to see exactly where Teller and Maizie lived. I was in the real estate business. Maybe I could make their living situation better?
My weekend was filled with making notes on new ideas of how to restructure York Properties, considering how my employees around the world would fare if I began liquidating or consolidating certain aspects of the business.
Being less involved in the company was a risk since it had been my brainchild from its inception during my junior year of college. I’d worked on building the damn thing for years, and I’d brought a lot of people on board who I cared about over the years. Now, however, was the time when things could continue with minimal input from me, and I was ready for it. How I’d manage it was unclear at the moment, but in my mind, it was time to try.
I walked into Bloomfield’s on Tuesday afternoon at four. If memory served me properly, Teller showed up for work at two, so his shift should be well underway. I walked across the floor until I found him in the men’s underwear section, and I stepped back to watch him work.
There was an older man standing with him in front of a Calvin Klein section. “These are men’s boxers, briefs, and the new guy on the rack, boxer briefs. They’re more supportive than boxers but not as binding as average briefs. Ninety-five percent cotton and five percent elastin, which is like spandex. They’re quite comfortable, and they keep things in place without being too constrictive. I wear this same brand.”
I couldn’t help chuckling as I listened to his spiel about men’s underwear. When he said he wore the same brand, my mind shifted into gear, trying to picture his slender form filling them out. He was quite convincing in his speech, and I was ready to buy out the whole damn department on his word alone—then I wanted to check if he was really wearing Calvin Klein boxer briefs.
After the older man picked up three different packages of underwear, Teller walked his customer to the register and checked them out. “Thank you.” When the man walked away with his bag, Teller went back to straightening the racks of underwear and undershirts.
I walked over to the racks, stopping behind him to touch his shoulder. “Hi. I’m looking for some boxer briefs.”
Teller spun around and gasped. “I… What are you…?”
“Why are you working in the men’s underwear department instead of men’s wear?”
“I, uh, got in trouble because you returned the jacket and ties. Mr. Kerry said it was my fault that the merchandise was returned because I must have complained to you about losing the commission, and I’m not a team player. He booted me to this department.”
Oh, that pissed me off. How dare that prick blame Teller for something I did of my own choosing because of him, not Teller. If anyone deserved the blame, it was that Kerry fellow.
I gazed into Teller’s beautiful eyes, trying to collect my thoughts. Finally, I was able to put words together. “I had the merchandise returned because your boss was an asshole and cheated you out of a hard-earned commission. I’d have never bought anything that tight ass suggested.”
Teller sighed, his expression unsure, which had me on alert. “He also said your wife returned the things because they weren’t authorized purchases, and he took the hit for the return fromthe store manager. I’m sorry your wife didn’t… If you returned the clothes, where did your jacket and tie come from on Friday night? Why didn’t you bring your wife with you to the bar?” The beautiful young man appeared to be quite upset, which wasn’t necessary at all.
I retrieved my phone from the breast pocket of my suit coat, scrolling to York Properties’ company website. I found Madeline’s picture and turned the device toward him so he could see the photo.
“This is Madeline Wicks, my executive assistant. She returned the clothes for me. I’m not married—never have been. I purchased the same merchandise from a sister store at another location, and they were delivered to me on Friday morning. I’m sorry I got you in trouble. I’ll be happy to explain the situation to someone other than Mr. Kerry.”
Getting Teller in trouble had never been my goal, but that asshole Mr. Kerry? He was a smug bastard. Yes, I returned over a thousand dollars’ worth of merchandise and paid more to buy it from another Bloomfield’s and have it shipped to me. Kerry deserved what he got.
