Page 5 of Noel
That’s definitely how I got my foot in the door.
“Well, Ambrose sure isn’t thrilled,” Darlene sing-songs.“He was convinced he’d get the promotion after how Molly handled the Kline wedding disaster.But now?You’re the golden girl.”
I sigh, leaning back in my chair.
“Ambrose can have the spotlight.I just want the event to go smoothly.”
Truth is, I hate tension.Always have.And Ambrose Pierce is the kind of man who carries a grudge like a designer briefcase—always visible, always ready to swing it at someone.
Darlene laughs, pats my shoulder, and grabs her purse.
“Yeah, well, too bad that’s not for him to decide.Anyway, I gotta run.You work too hard, Holly.Don’t stay too late, okay?I swear, if I come in tomorrow and find you asleep at your desk again?—”
“I’m just finishing up some vendor confirmations,” I protest, smiling.“Go.I’ll be right behind you.”
She gives me a skeptical look, then waves and disappears down the hall, her perfume lingering behind her.
And then it’s quiet.
Thank God.
Just me, the soft hum of the building’s heating system, and the glow of my monitor as I type out a few last emails to caterers and lighting techs.
The Drew’s House Gala is coming up fast, and every detail has to be perfect.
It’s the biggest event of my career—and the one I can least afford to mess up.
Still, as I close my laptop and reach for my coat, a shiver slides down my spine.
Lately, it’s been harder to shake that feeling of being watched.
It started small—unmarked envelopes on my windshield, calls that went dead when I answered, that uneasy sense of eyes on me when I locked up the office.
I’ve told myself it’s stress, paranoia.
But the truth?It feels personal.
I shut off the lights, making my way to the elevator.The building is empty except for the hum of fluorescent bulbs and the low murmur of Frank, the night guard, talking on his radio at the front desk.
“Night, Ms.Winters,” he calls as I pass.
“Night, Frank.Oh—here.”
I walk up to the desk and hand him a small white box tied with a gold ribbon.
“Anisette cookies.I made them last night.”
His eyes widen.
“Wow!These smell fantastic.You didn’t have to do that!”
“Oh, it’s no trouble,” I say, smiling.“I remember you telling me you hadn’t had any since you were a little boy, so I googled the recipe.”
He laughs, that deep, genuine kind of laugh that always makes me feel a little safer on my late nights here.“Well, I can’t wait to try them.Thank you, Ms.Winters.”
“Anytime, Frank.Have a good night.”
He gives me a friendly salute as I head toward the glass doors.
