Page 2 of Holiday Temptation

I arch an eyebrow, offering her a wry smile. "Yes, working."

She gasps dramatically, placing a hand over her heart. "Working? On Christmas? Say it isn't so!"

"Business doesn't take a holiday," I respond with a shrug, though a hint of amusement sneaks into my voice.

She chuckles, shaking her head. "You really are Mr. Scrooge, aren't you? Well, I hope you find some time for a little joy this season. Everyone deserves that."

For a moment, I'm tempted to ask her what she's doing for the holidays, but I catch myself. We're practically strangers, after all. Still, her infectious spirit and genuine warmth make it hard to maintain my usual barriers. The elevator dings, indicating our floor.

As the doors part, she gives me a wink and a cheerful wave. "Happy working, Mr. Scrooge! Make sure you hold onto your coffee tight this time."

Caught off guard, I can only offer a nod in response, watching as she strides ahead with purpose. This holiday season, it seems, won't be as predictable as I'd hoped.

Chapter 2

Emily

Steppingontothepolishedfloor of the expansive office, I can't help but drink in the ambiance. The space exudes a cold professionalism—stark white walls, sleek furniture, and a sprawling view of Heathcliff's snow-draped skyline. But beneath that exterior, I can sense a rhythm, a cadence of industry that gets my heart racing.

In one hand, I balance the stack of papers I got from HR, and in the other, I clutch my peppermint-infused drink, its frothy whipped cream threatening to spill over with every step. It starkly contrasts the somber environment, and I can't help but smile at the thought.

I adjust the stack of papers under my arm and square my shoulders. First-day jitters mix with an eagerness to dive in. After losing my last job due to a company-wide downsizing, I opted to work temp roles over the holiday season. It offered flexibility and, if I'm honest, a chance to escape the loneliness that sometimes crept in this time of year. I've always thrived in new environments, finding joy in the challenge of adapting and proving my worth.

And while the sophisticated austerity of the Grange Corporation is a far cry from the festive cheer of the café downstairs, I'm determined to bring a touch of warmth to these chilly halls.

My first task is to locate my new boss's office. As I meander through the maze of desks and glass-partitioned cubicles, snippets of conversation reach my ears—murmurs about quarterly projections and whispers of upcoming meetings. The hum of productivity is comforting in its own right.

Turning a corner, I stumble upon a set of large wooden doors adorned with an elegant gold plaque: "Dominic Grange, CEO." The reality of my new role dawns on me, and I take a deep breath to steady my nerves. This isn't just any position; it's the CEO's assistant. The weight of the responsibility both excites and terrifies me.

Swiping my newly minted access card, I push the door open and step inside. The room is vast, its high ceilings and expansive windows making it feel even grander. At the far end sits a broad desk, behind which a familiar figure is engrossed in his work. My breath catches as recognition dawns.

Dominic Grange.

The very same man from the coffee shop, the one I'd cheekily dubbed “Mr. Scrooge.” Taking him in, I'm struck again by his undeniable attractiveness. The strong line of his jaw and his impeccably tailored suit showcasing a lean, athletic frame is a package of sophistication and raw masculinity.

Clearing my throat to announce my presence, I watch as he looks up, his sharp gaze locking onto mine. For a brief second, I see a flicker of amusement dance across his features, but a mask of professionalism quickly replaces it.

"Miss...?" he prompts.

"Emily Hart," I supply, setting down the papers on a nearby table and extending a hand. "Your new temporary assistant. It seems we've already met."

He takes my hand, his grip firm yet not overbearing. "Indeed, we have. I must admit, I didn't expect to see you again so soon, let alone in this capacity."

I chuckle, feeling a tad bolder. "Life has a funny way of surprising us, Mr. Grange."

He releases my hand and leans back in his chair. "Very well, Miss Hart. There’s a meeting scheduled shortly with the Head of HR, Mrs. Pearson. Come, you’ll need to take notes."

I nod, quickly fetching my notepad and pen from the small bag I’ve placed by the door. Following him, we enter a larger room adjacent to his office. A giant screen dominates one wall, and a long mahogany table occupies the center. Already seated is a stern-looking woman, her posture ramrod straight and a no-nonsense air about her.

“Mrs. Pearson,” Dominic greets her with a nod, then gestures toward me. “This is Emily Hart, my temporary assistant. She’ll document our discussion and is available to handle any assignments.”

Mrs. Pearson assesses me briefly, her expression unreadable. “Very well.”

My attention sharpens as the projector hums to life, illuminating a detailed spreadsheet. Line after line lists the expenses associated with the annual holiday party. From the cost of venue hire and catering to decorations and entertainment, it quickly becomes apparent this is no modest affair.

Dominic pinches the bridge of his nose, scrutinizing each figure. “These expenses,” he begins, his tone even, “have they increased from last year?”

Mrs. Pearson stiffens slightly. “Marginally, yes. But as you’re aware, the company has grown, and with that comes the expectation of a grander event.”

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