Page 91 of His Christmas Wife

As he pulled out the mug of coffee and took a sip, he told Jolly to brew a second. He was going to need a gallon of caffeine to clear the cobwebs from his brain.

After cup number one was finished, the fog started to lift.

But maybe that wasn’t a good thing.

He recalled Kaylee sharing the space, laughing at Jolly’s antics as she made cocoa.

Restless, he prowled to the sunroom, hoping the bite of morning air would banish memories of her.

It didn’t.

Instead he pictured her there, leaning forward interestedly in his conversation, relaxed and for once not at odds with him.

Goddamn it. Was there one place in his house that wasn’t haunted by remembrances of her?

Now that he was fully awake, he knew he had to get the hell out of here. He couldn’t spend the entire day being moody and morose, thinking of Kaylee and the things he’d still like to do with her—to her—in his dungeon and bed.

Returning to the kitchen, he grabbed the fresh coffee and downed it in a couple of gulps. “Jolly, turn on the shower.”

When there was no response, he forced out a vexed sigh. “Please.”

“Certainly, dreamboat.”

He rolled his eyes, wishing Kaylee had never indulged the computer’s ridiculous antics. “Is there a way to bypass you?”

“You could try doing everything yourself,”Jolly suggested helpfully.“In which case, you’ll need to call the caterers, check the guest list, tell the housekeepers which days and times you’d like them to come, stock your pantry—good luck knowing what you need—find your car in the parking lot as well as—”

“Enough.” Why had he thought that buying a car and condo preinstalled with a Bonds chief of staff was a good idea?

In under sixty minutes, he’d cleaned up, taken a couple of ibuprofen, and dressed in work clothes. With the state of his insides, food wouldn’t be happening for another couple of hours, he’d bet. And exercise could wait for the afternoon.

When he reached the parking garage, his car was waiting, instrumental music playing at a low volume. Should have been soothing, but it was annoying. “Jolly, play Nirvana. And crank up the volume.”

Not that it would help.

In the office suite, the smashed ornament had been cleaned up, and the top branch of the tree pointed skyward. He’d swear that Kaylee’s scent lingered in the air.

Impossible.

But he knew he wasn’t making it up.

He entered his office and saw an envelope in the middle of his desk.

Gritting his teeth, he snatched it up and read the contents.

Dear Mr. Frost:

Thank you for the opportunity to work with Christoff Investments. I’ve appreciated my time here.

This is to inform you I’ve decided to pursue other professional opportunities. Please consider this my formal resignation as of today, December 27th…

He stopped reading and immediately glanced at the bottom for her signature. It was her neat handwriting in blue ink.

Cold fury consuming him, he dropped the letter and envelope into the trash before striding to her office.

The door was closed, and he yanked on the knob without knocking. Maybe she was still here.

Her office stood empty, but here, the scent of her was even more prevalent. That was the only trace of her that remained. The space was devoid of her personal effects—no pictures, coffee cups, or silly souvenirs.

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