Page 35 of Craving Her Christmas Boss

‘Oh, yes,’ she lied. ‘I’m having dinner with some friends.’

‘Did my parcel arrive?’

‘Yes, and I promise I haven’t opened it yet.’ Although given her mother had dutifully named every item on the customs sticker on the outside of the box she knew exactly what it contained.

As she listened to her mother talk about their plans, she remembered the previous Christmas, and the shame she’d felt. Her parents had rallied around her, but all she’d done was get out of there as fast as possible. She’d let the nightmare of George make her feel as if she and her family weren’t good enough—not even for a creep like him. She’d turned her back and run away. How could she have been so disloyal to them? Her parents worked hard and loved harder. She should be proud of them, and proud of where she’d come from. And she’d been even more stupid in laying George’s failings on to Ryan. Ryan was more of a man than George could ever be—and he was honest. His accusation had been right—she’d been childish. She needed to grow up and grow some courage.

She got to work later than usual the next day. She had frittered away time trying to think of a way she could fix things with Ryan. She had been so scathing, so insulting, and he hadn’t deserved it. She wanted to take a chance on him—but would he still want to give her one?

His office was empty and dark. She tried to relax, but was anxious all morning. Still he didn’t arrive. At last she could take the agony no more.

‘Shona, what time is Ryan getting in?’

‘Oh, pet.’ Shona looked up from her desk. ‘He’s gone back to the States for Christmas with his family. Left last night. Didn’t you know?’

‘Oh.’ Imogen felt as if she was on a plane that had suddenly plunged two thousand feet. ‘Of course.’ Her stomach had been left up at cruising altitude while her body was hurtling to the ground.

‘That reminds me.’ Shona opened her drawer and pulled something from the top. ‘He left everyone one of these.’ She handed Imogen an envelope. ‘Christmas card, I think. Who knows? Maybe it’ll have a nice bonus in it.’

Imogen didn’t want to bonus. She didn’t want card. She wanted to see him, and more than anything she wanted to touch him.

She waited for her somersaulting stomach to rejoin the rest of her before sliding a finger beneath the seal and pulling out the card. As she opened it, a red heart—scarlet and red—fluttered to her desk. She picked it up, using the loop of gold thread at the top. In the centre of the heart another heart-shaped been cut out—a smaller heart, hung by a gold thread in the space. A heart enclosed in another heart. As she hung it on her finger the heart swung and the smaller heart spun inside the larger one. Down near the bottom on one side he’d scrawled his name and the year.

He had made a neat job of it, but it was undeniably, heartbreakingly home-made.

Imogen didn’t think she’d ever received anything so precious in all her life. Now her stomach had tied itself into more kinds of knots than a round-the-world sailor could master.

‘I don’t think anyone else got one of those,’ Shona said quietly, slyly.

Shona was no full, but Imogen couldn’t bear to talk to her about him. ‘Do you mind if I go for a walk?’

‘No. Take as long as you like.’

Imogen stood, determined to get out of there before she bawled—or threw up.

‘He’ll be back in the New Year,’ said Shona. ‘It’s only a few days.’

But that’s about like eons, and she needed to talk to himnow—because she was more of a fool than the emperor with no clothes.Shewas the one not able to see what was right under her nose—until it was gone.

She walked along the busy streets, barely noticing the Christmas crush and the cold of the winter through her shirt. She walked and walked, wanting to believe that there was so much more to his gesture than a simple Christmas decoration.

She got to the bridge where they’d kissed that first time. Even now she felt the passion of that moment burn. She should have taken him then and held on tight. Why had she let one idiot ruin what was the most emotional experience of her life? Hadn’t she let George do enough damage already?

She’d tried to bury it, to pretend that emotion didn’t exist. Denied herself in the hope it would disappear. The stupid thing was that it hadn’t worked anyway. That emotion was too strong, and now it threatened to overwhelm her.

She still had his Christmas card in her hand. She stopped halfway across the bridge and read it. It was a brief message in bold, black handwriting, wishing her a Merry Christmas. But it was the scrawl at the bottom—seemingly added in a rush at the end—that caught her attention.

‘Call me.’ There was a number alongside.

She got out her phone, dialled the number—and pressed the phone to her ear before she had the chance to think, chicken out or press the end button on the phone instead.

It rang and rang and rang. Then she heard his voice.

‘Hi, it’s…’

‘Ryan, it’s me. Imogen.’

‘…can’t take your call right now. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you when I can.’

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