Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 58211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
The best part? I know this isn’t going to go anywhere. It’s innocent. It’s fun.
Me: I’m a woman, but that’s all you’ll get out of me.
My Secret Santa: I can’t believe you broke a rule, Miss Goody Two-shoes. I’m shocked.
Me: It’s the last one I’ll break, Grinch.
My Secret Santa: I’ll try to find you some scented candles worthy of such a seemingly angelic person.
My smile widens when I read his last text.
CHAPTER 4
ASHER
Idrum my fingers on the desk.
Who is this woman?
Texting her feels uncomplicated, easier than talking to any woman ever has. The effortless banter makes me smile far more than anything with Mia did. That was a complicated mess. The other Mia—on my team—has been looking at me today, sneaking glances. Yet, I’m not attracted to her.
What if she’s the woman I’m texting? It’ll just mean that I find talking to her fun, but nothing could ever happen. I don’t even know why I’m thinking like this. After last Christmas, I decided I was done with trying to date.
That’s what it always felt like—trying.
My Secret Santa: What should I get you then? Something manly? Cigars? Gym gear? A big truck with “I’m a Big Powerful Man Who’s not Overcompensating” as the license plate?
Me: I think that might be a bit too long for a plate, I reply, grinning. This is more fun than I’ve had in a long time. If you’re that stressed about the gift, feel free to get me a voucher.
My Secret Santa: No way. No vouchers. That spoils the fun. I don’t want you to tell me outright, anyway. I want you to hint so there’s some mystery in it.
Me: So many conditions … Anybody would think you’re trying to get me to answer questions about myself so you can find out who I am.
My Secret Santa: Nope, you’re wrong, she replies. I just want to keep the Christmas spirit alive.
Me: That makes us opposites, then. I’m happy to let it die.
My Secret Santa: Wow. Morbid.
Me: Can’t you accept that not everybody is as into Christmas as you are?
I put the phone in the drawer and decide not to check it again today. It’s eating up too much of my workday, but that’s not exactly why I hide it. The real reason is that I don’t want to let any feelings grow.
Circulating the office floor, I notice Mia looking at me again. I suppress a groan. I hope she isn’t developing a workplace crush. It’s the last thing I need.
When I walk by Derek’s desk, I pause. He quickly changes the screen when he sees me looking, but I’m almost sure he was on Holly’s social media page.
I walk over. Why am I so bothered?
It’s annoying. He should be working, not stalking Holly’s page, going through her photos, thinking about her curviness, her silky, gorgeous hair, her combination of sassiness and capability when she ties it up. He should be concentrating.
“Everything okay, boss?” he says.
“Fine,” I tell him. “Are you planning to work with the marketing team?”
“Excuse me?”
I should drop this. My voice has gotten low and angry. Almost savage. Protective. Is it my place to care? Nope. “You were looking at Holly Harper’s profile.”
“Oh,” he laughs uncomfortably. “Yeah. I was, uh, well, I’m writing Christmas cards. I couldn’t remember how she spelled it. My cousin spells it with an ‘ie’ instead of a ‘y.’ I’m sorry, Mr. Mitchell. I’ll get on with my work.”
I take a step back. I need to chill. “It’s fine. You’re doing a good job.”
What is wrong with me? There was a reasonable explanation, but I’m standing here with my fists clenched like I’m about to go full Krampus on him. Damn. My Secret Santa must be getting to me. I’m even thinking in Christmas metaphors.
Later, I use Dan’s home gym and do what I always do when I work out—go overboard. There isn’t anything else in life that obliterates my thoughts more than the gym. I love the feeling of my muscles burning and my lungs aching during cardio, pushing it until I can’t dwell, obsess, or think about anything.
To finish my workout, I hit the running machine. When I finish, I turn to find Holly walking across the room toward the pink weights in the corner.
“Sorry,” she mumbles. “Didn’t want to disturb you.”
I step off the treadmill, dripping with sweat, feeling lightheaded and in a good mood from the endorphin rush. “You aren’t disturbing me,” I tell her. “I’m done now, anyway. Just need to mop up.”
She laughs. It’s an endearing, sweet sound. She’s wearing shorts that show the unmistakable, tempting shape of her thick, curvy thighs. Her tank top shows the outline of her bra underneath it, bringing my attention to her chest. Her breasts are as voluptuous as the rest of her. Her hair is tied up, and she’s not wearing makeup, highlighting her natural beauty. For some reason, her cheeks are flushed red.