“Yeah, yeah, it’s cheap rum, don’t worry about it.” She laughs, waving off my concern. “Besides, I can never thank you enough for allowing me and Rich to take your spot in Rio last year. You made that man’s year, and between us”—she leans forward, holding her hand up to the side of her mouth—“it made our sex life ten times better since going on vacation.”
I giggle. “Glad I could be of service.”
“You heading home soon?” She plants her hands on her full hips. “It’s Friday night and almost Christmas. I thought you were going to be off for the holidays by now anyway.”
I sigh. “I was supposed to be.”
“What happened? You’re still going home to your family, right? Out in Yorkville?”
“Yeah.” I smile. “I’ll be spending the holidays with them as planned. You and Rich excited the kids are coming to town?”
She ignores my question for a moment, her eyes narrowing at me. “No Tim this year?”
“Uh, no. At least not right now.”
“What’s that mean?”
“We uh—he decided that we should take some time and space to thi—”
“That bastard dumped you at Christmas?” Her eye twitches. That’s Marsha, always ready to throw down with someone. This isn’t the first time she’s gone in on Tim, though.
“Not dumped. It’s just a break.”
She gives me the same look I know I’ll get from everyone once I finally tell them. The you-can’t-possibly-be-serious-you-know-a-break-means-he’s-out-hooking-up-with-someone-else look.
“Glad I gave you the rum then, sister. You’re going to need it.”
“Thanks.”
“Well, I’m going to head out. I’ll be gone till after New Year’s. Rich and I are very excited the kids are coming in, feels like it always takes forever for this time of year to get here, and then our time with them flies by.” She taps my desk and I look up at her from where my eyes had briefly drifted back to my computer. “If you need anything, you call me, okay?”
“Thanks, Marsh. Have a Merry Christmas. And tell Rich I said the same.”
“You too, baby girl.” She waves as she walks away from my desk, her giant purse swinging back and forth on her shoulder.
I groan and lean back in my chair, glancing over at the clock. It’s just after 4:30 and the sales floor is pretty much empty. I stare at the bottle of rum, tempted to open it and toss back a shot or two to get me through the last hour of work.
I don’t need to stay to catch up on anything, but I don’t have any plans, and I really loathe the idea of sitting alone on my couch while eating takeout or a frozen dinner while my mind plays a fun game of what did Mr. Snow mean by his comment the other day?
I put my AirPods in and start knocking out some end of year reports and other tasks that will make coming back from the holidays easier. By the time I’ve finished, it’s pushing six p.m. I decide to call it a day and grab my purse and the rum before trudging toward the elevator bank.
I press the button and glance around. It seems like I really am the last person here tonight. The elevator dings and the doors open. I step inside and hit the button for the lobby, but notice the elevator starts going up rather than down.
“What the?” I groan when I see the arrow pointing up. I guess I wasn’t paying attention when I stepped inside. I’d assumed it was the elevator I called to go down, but someone on a higher floor must have pushed it at the same time. I lean against the wall with a sigh. The lights flicker briefly as the elevator climbs higher.
Panic grips my chest when I realize I’m almost to the top floor. I know Beth isn’t working this week. I can’t imagine Mr. Snow would be staying this late, but then again, his entire life seems to revolve solely around work. Oh, maybe it’s Paul. I bet it’s Paul. He seems like the kind of guy who works round the clock, holiday or not, and will most likely never retire.
The doors open. Nope, not Paul.
“Sadie, what a lovely surprise.” Mr. Snow’s contagious grin spreads across his face, his eyes lighting up as he steps into the car. “Why are you here so late?”
“Just trying to make sure I got everything finished before the holidays. I hate trying to relax knowing there’s a mountain of reports waiting for me when I return from time off.”
He smirks. “So studious. Are you always such a good girl, Miss Emmert?”
The way my name—Miss Emmert—slides off his tongue like silk sheets off a bed makes my temperature skyrocket. The question takes me by surprise, not because of the subject matter but because of the look in his eyes when he asks it. His voice reminds me of the richest, most decadent chocolate, all tempting and sultry. It’s full of temptation and it does things to me. A bead of sweat drips down my back as he continues to look at me, my thighs squeezing together as I try to compose myself and answer in a way that seems professional instead of what’s really going through my head—Yes, but you make me want to be a naughty little slu—
I shake my head, redirecting my thoughts, and clear my throat before attempting to answer. “Uh—” My voice goes up about three octaves when the lights flicker again, only this time they go out completely and the elevator car comes to a jolting stop.