Page 30 of Working with the Scrooge

Grabbing my phone, I see the notification is an email from my boss. I’m supposed to have today off, but maybe going into the office isn’t such a bad idea. At least it will distract me from my personal life.

Ms. Clarkson,

Congrats on a successful event last night!

I know it’s supposed to be your day off, but it seems the contract with the venue states we need to do a final walkthrough once everything is cleaned up and get the event planner’s signature to sign off on everything.

Hopefully, this errand won’t take long, and you’ll be able to enjoy the rest of your day off. You deserve it.

Great. Going back to the scene of the crime. Not exactly the work assignment I was hoping for, but it needs to be done. I guess I should be thankful I can handle everything from the venue and not stop by the King’s Holdings building. I don’t think I can face him right now. Or ever.

I reply to my boss’s email and somehow find the will to pull the covers off and start the day. My grandma knew I hated mornings, so when I got down to the breakfast table before school, she would smile and tell me I managed to get out of bed, which meant the hardest part of the day was over.

Granted, some days held much harder things than waking up, but she was right about eighty-five percent of the time. That’s pretty good when it comes to grandmotherly advice.

I smile at the bittersweet memory and go through the motions of getting ready for the day. I’m glad I’m not on a schedule, seeing as it’s taking me three times as long to get anything done. Everything feels heavy and overwhelming.

Finally, I’m dressed, my hair is decent enough, and I have everything I need to cover with the employees at the venue in my purse. Taking one last look around my apartment, which looks even more depressing after spending time in Kingsley’s penthouse, I shake my head and step outside.

Two of my neighbors are hanging around in the parking lot, and I tighten my hold on my purse while walking briskly toward the subway. I knew this place wasn’t exactly the Ritz when I signed the lease, but Kingsley was right. It’s not safe here.

Not sure what the hell I’m supposed to do about that. I guess I’ll add that anxiety to the growing pile of problems in my life.

By the time I climb the steps to the venue, I’m already regretting this venture. I should have told my boss I was sick or, at the very least, ignored his email for a few hours and slept in a bit.

Instead, I’m hauling a giant purse up a freaking mountain of stairs. I swear there weren’t this many stairs yesterday. Plus, my head is pounding, and my cute ballerina flats are scuffed from someone stepping on my foot while I was getting off the subway. And to top it all off, my hair tie broke, which is rude as hell. If I have to keep my shit together, so should my hair tie.

I press my hip against one of the glass doors, nudging it open enough to slip inside. The building is mostly empty since it’s used primarily for huge events, so I shuffle my way unnoticed to the East Ballroom, where the King’s Holdings party was last night.

Taking a grounding breath, I open the door, unprepared for what’s inside.

The tables have all been put away, the tablecloths are folded in one corner, and the chairs are stacked against the back wall. Most of the garland, lights, and woodsy decor have been taken down, and the floors look recently swept and mopped.

That’s not what has my attention, however.

In the center of the nearly empty ballroom is a giant Christmas tree, different from the others set up last night. This one is real, and it’s decorated with a string of popcorn, red garland, and what appear to be hand-cut snowflake ornaments from holiday-themed scrapbook paper.

Next to the tree, a portable electric fireplace is set up with two hanging stockings hanging. The warm yellow and orange flames cast a golden glow over the entire scene that looks like it’s ripped straight from a Norman Rockwell painting. A gorgeous area rug frames the space, and a deep red velvet couch is positioned in front of the fireplace. A small coffee table holds two mugs and a plate of cookies. It’s so cozy and familiar, I feel like crying.

Who did this? And why? And do I have to take it down?

I look around the room, not seeing any employees yet. Maybe I can examine the cute Christmas setup a little closer while I wait. Then we’ll discuss tearing it down so I can get the deposit back.

Walking up to the tree, I notice it’s a blue spruce, like the one Kinglsey and I picked out for his office. I trace the edges of one of the paper snowflakes, wondering who put in all that effort.

“Clementine?”

My heart stills at the sound of his voice.What is Kingsley doing here?

He’s behind me, but I don’t have the strength to turn and face him.

“I’m doing the final walkthrough, and then we’ll be all done here,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice detached. I hope he understands that I’m not only talking about the party. Kingsley and I are done, which he made very clear last night.

“Please give me five minutes,” he begs.

The emotion in his tone makes my heart ache, even though I’m angry and hurt because of his actions. I still don’t like that he’s in pain.

“One of the employees will be here soon,” I inform Kingsley, my back still facing him. This tree has never been more interesting. If he refuses to leave, I’ll have to start counting pine needles until he gets the hint.

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