Page 2 of Working with the Scrooge

“Uh, yeah,” I mumble.

“I know. Plus, I wouldn’t trust anything you planned, anyway.” I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me over the phone. “You won’t need to worry about anything. We’ve already vetted an event planning company here in the city, and they’ll take care of all the details. They just need your input on a few things here and there.”

I groan internally at the annoyance, but I’ll take working with a company over planning a party myself any day of the week.

“Fine. I’ll talk to my assistant and have him move some appointments around. I might have some free time next week–”

“That won’t be necessary,” Dan says, surprising me.

“And why is that?”

Just then, someone knocks on my door.

“That’s probably her now,” he answers in a rush.

“You’ve got to be kidding–”

“Have fun, and remember, spare no expense!”

“Dan, you motherfu–” He hangs up before I can finish my insult.

Another knock on my office door, and then the thing swings wide open, revealing a goddamn sugar plum fairy come to life.

The curvy little woman with blonde hair and sparkling green eyes smiles at me, and God, even her teeth are bright and shiny. The five-foot-nothing woman is wearing knee-high brown leather boots, a red plaid skirt, a cream cable-knit sweater, and a green stocking cap with a giant red ball of fluff on top, like the cherry on top of the most decadent, Christmas-themed dessert.

“Are you lost?” I ask, unsure what to do with this bundle of holiday spirit. Surely this isn’t the event planner. She’s far too young. Barely out of college, if I had to guess.

“Nope, I’m exactly where I need to be,” she says, her voice floating through the air like whispers of jingle bells.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Why can’t I stop staring at her?

The woman nibbles on her bottom lip, then releases it from her teeth before hitting me with her smile. Something lurches in my chest, pulling and tugging loose until I have to gasp for air. My heart thuds painfully against my ribcage, and for a moment, I worry I’m having a heart attack.

Then she steps closer and holds out her hand for me to shake. Everything in me stills, from my racing heart to my shallow breaths.

“I’m Clementine Clarkson, and I’m here to plan a company party for you and your employees!” she exclaims, the genuine excitement in her voice as confusing as it is addictive.

What the hell is wrong with me today?

When I don’t take her hand, Clementine drops it and shoves both hands into her skirt pockets. I shouldn’t feel like an ass. I don’t do small talk or chit-chat chat or introductions, and I’ve never apologized for that fact.

Tell that to the brand-new conscience I just grew.

“So, what’s your favorite part of the holiday season?” she asks, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “It’s good to get a feel for what the client likes and work my magic to bring it to life.” Her smile is fixed in place as she waits for my response.

I don’t know what it is about this woman, but she’s… too much. Too cheerful. Too colorful. Too damn young for me to be having the kinds of thoughts I’m having about her full, pouty lips and generous curves.

“Everything from October to March is highly overrated. Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s, Valentine’s… Just excuses to spend money and numb the feeling of being alive for a few months.”

I’m unsure why I said that out loud, but the curvy little planner never loses her smile. In fact, she tilts her head and scrutinizes me, her smile never fading, as if she’s truly happy to be here in this moment with me.

I don’t like it. I can’t get away from it. What is she doing to me? Am I finally losing it? Is the stress of running this company catching up to me?

“You can go now,” I clip out, dismissing her.

She doesn’t break eye contact or drop her curious little smile as she continues to examine me piece by piece.

“Next time, make an appointment with my assistant. I’m a busy man,” I inform her.

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