Page 8 of The Naughty List

“For taking me home. I know I didn’t make it easy, but I would have been really sad missing out on it.”

“You’re welcome.” I don’t know why but I reach over and grab her hand for a moment, giving it a small squeeze.

“What are you going to do though? Will you make it back in time to celebrate with your family?”

I don’t want to answer her question because I don’t want to explain that I don’t have a family to celebrate with.

“Uh, I’m staying with you and your family. I’m not doing four trips, Kate.”

“No, that is not happening. I’m sure there’s a hotel in the area.”

“Are you going to make this as difficult as you did this morning or can we just get that all out of the way now?” I ask her sternly.

“What are you going to do, Damon? Throw me out of the car this time?”

“Remember when you were a kid and your mom would say, ‘Don’t make me pull this car over or you’ll regret it?’” I give her a wink and she rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest with a huff.

“Don’t you see how weird this is going to be? Spending Christmas with my boss at my own family home? What am I supposed to tell them?”

“Well, what did you tell your mom in the text you sent her last night?”

“What?” She bolts upright, her eyes about to bug out of her skull.

“You said you texted your mom when we were sitting there at the bar and she was super excited you were bringing someone.” I can see the panic building on her face.

“I texted her?” she squeals as she frantically looks for her phone. She pulls it out of her purse and opens her messaging app. “Oh, gaaaaawd,” she says, smacking her hand against her forehead.

“What did you say about me?” I ask as I try leaning over to look at her phone.

“Keep your eyes on the road!” she says, pointing ahead as she scrolls through the messages. “Well, it’s not as bad as I thought. I just told her that my car broke down so a friend was bringing me home and that he’d be celebrating with us.”

“Why did you just do air quotes when you said friend?” I ask.

“Because that’s how I sent it to my mom; I put friend in quotation marks because you’re my boss, not my friend. Please don’t tell me this comes as a shock and your feelings are hurt?”

“No, I’m just trying to read it as your mom probably did and when you said a friend in quotes and then ‘he’ along with it, she thinks you’re bringing home a lover.” I wriggle my eyebrows up and down at her.

“A lover? Gross. Why’d you have to say it like that?” She wrinkles her nose at me.

“Fine, a boyfriend.”

“No. She wouldn’t just read into my texts and make something up like that. Besides she’d have asked me that in the text.” She shakes her head matter-of-factly.

“What was her response to your text then?”

She stares at her phone for a minute before closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Shit,” she mutters.

“She said, and I quote, ‘Ohhhhh, a friend? Tell him we’re excited to have him celebrate with us. Let me know if I should make up one of the guest rooms?’”

“And did you respond to that message?”

“Nope. I probably blacked out.” She pulls her foot up into the seat and rests her arm on it as she stares out the window.

“What’s our story going to be?” I finally ask after several minutes of silence.

“I guess just what I told her, that you’re a friend and my car broke down and I needed a ride.”

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