Page 67 of His Christmas Wife

“And still…”

“You—and the rest of the company—see me as an ogre. But have you, even once, talked to the people who’ve left?” He’d fucking had enough of her judgment. “Do you have any idea as to the size of their severance packages?”

Her lips parted. In other circumstances, he might have found that charming. But her shock didn’t soothe his savage beast.

“Or our outplacement services? We’ve helped employees find new employment opportunities.”

“You…?”

“I’m not fucking with your head for my own amusement, Ms. Robbins.”

“I didn’t mean to imply—”

“You most certainly did.” He wanted to drag her to her feet, yank her against him, and kiss her senseless until she begged for his touch. “Turning around a company takes a lot of damn work… But if you are against the idea of us closing for a week, we’ll simply move on. Work until five on Christmas Eve and take off Christmas Day. See everyone before eight a.m. on Thursday morning.”

“No.” Frantically she shook her head. “I think your plan is more than generous.”

“Do you?” And the fact he hadn’t just handed out pink slips and said “fuck it” to the people he’d laid off? “Handle the details.” He shoved the checks across the desk to her.

“I…” She leaned forward to snatch them up, then stood and pivoted, striding toward the exit.

Then, at the doorway, she stopped and looked back. “Thank you, on behalf of all employees who will enjoy time with their loved ones.”

Frost offered a curt nod.

With his palms pressed together, he watched her go.

Where the hell had the ridiculous idea to shut down come from? The board would say he’d lost his mind. Of course they’d do it from their holidays on their yachts and private islands.

In the adjoining room, her fingers clacked against a keyboard. And he couldn’t deny the truth. He’d made the decision because he was besotted enough to want to make her happy.

But since he was already making ridiculous financial decisions, he called the office manager of his own business and told her that he was closing that business as well.

Her reaction was similar to Kaylee’s.

Maybe part of him really was a scrooge—much as he hated that realization.

Less than five minutes later, an email notification from Kaylee slid across the bottom of his computer screen.

He tapped the icon to open it.

Changes required?

She’d drafted a holiday greeting from him to all company employees. The note expressed sincere appreciation for everyone’s extraordinary efforts over the preceding few months. She concluded with an optimistic outlook for the upcoming year and wished everyone a merry Christmas.

No doubt the sentiment was warmer than anything he’d have penned, but it was close enough to his style to be believable—even if it was a bit of a stretch.

Before he could type his response, she reappeared in his office.

“The email is fine,” he told her.

She nodded. “I called the head of HR. She suggests we contact the VPs and have them notify their teams about your decision. Then you can follow with the email blast.”

“Agreed.”

“Let me put together something for the VPs.”

That took much longer as she needed to explain some of the logistics—including the fact overtime would be authorized the following week for anyone working on year-end systems.

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