Page 25 of His Christmas Wife

A loud sigh filled the room.“Again?”

“If you’d remember the name’s Frost, it wouldn’t be necessary.”

“Of course, Frosty.”

Jesus.The only thing saving the morning was the fact he’d be seeing Kaylee soon. “Make me a cup of coffee. Extra hot. Splash of heavy whipping cream.”

“Anything for you, dreamboat.”

On second thought, maybe being called Frosty wasn’t all that bad.

He dressed in his usual weekend wear: slacks, dress shirt with cuff links, running shoes—but definitely not the hideous ones that Bonds represented.

Today Evan added a pair of tight boxers. Keeping his reactions under control around Kaylee was difficult at best, and after last night, it might be impossible.

By the time he jogged down the stairs, the coffee was steaming and waiting. Which was part of the reason he put up with Jolly and Bonds.

“Jennings is scheduled for nine thirty.”

His chauffeur.

“The housekeeping service confirmed their ten o’clock arrival. And your grandmother’s Christmas bouquets will be delivered tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

After a few fortifying sips of the brew—which was perfect—Evan made himself a vile-tasting, but nutrient-packed, protein drink.

“Would you like me to have your grandmother’s Christmas present delivered to your office?”

He thought about it for a moment. “No.”

“Directly to her home?”

“I’ll pick it up.” Which meant a stop at the Maison Sterling sometime in the near future. “Actually call them back and order a second spa package for Kaylee Robbins.”

An electrical buzz hummed over the speakers. Jolly was still online but hadn’t yet responded. “Do I need to repeat the request?”

“Why are you giving your admin such a nice a gift?”

“None of your business.”

Was the question Bonds’s version of prying? The only person who enjoyed meddling more than Aviana was Bonds himself. Not bothering to tamp down his annoyance, he snapped back. “What was my last request?”

“To order a spa package for Ms. Robbins.”

The words sounded a bit petulant. Since that wasn’t really possible, maybe he was projecting. “Be sure Gran’s is wrapped in a nice box. With a bow.”

“Consider it done.”

Next up, as he sat at the head of the long, lonely dining room table drinking a second cup of coffee, his chief of staff read him the contents of two dozen emails, and he dictated his responses. “Anything else?”

“An email just arrived from Brigette.”

The chairperson of Christoff’s board.

“Shall I send it straight to the trash heap?”

“Tempting. But no. Read it.”

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