Charming Co-Worker: Holiday RomCom Standalone

by Lauren Runow

  “Cold?” he asks, and I nod.

  He puts his hand on my arm and pulls me closer to him. It’s comfortable here, in Hunter’s embrace. My body molds against his warm one, letting his heat seep into me. As the horse plods along the road and winds through the park, the bells from his reigns jingle in a merry melody. Above, the bare willow trees are dressed in puffs of white snow that have fallen on the branches.

  It’s quite romantic really.

  “Katie,” Hunter says into my hair, “I want to apologize.”

  I leave his warmth to turn my sight up at him. He instantly places his hand on my shoulder to make sure I don’t move too far. “For what?”

  “The kiss last night. I hope you don’t think I took advantage of you.”

  With a small smile, I let him know it’s okay. “I asked you for help.”

  He looks back at me with a deep exhale. “I don’t want you to think I’d ever do something to you that was dishonorable.”

  “Oh, Hunter, I already think everything you do is dishonorable,” I joke, but from the way his face falls, I see he doesn’t think I’m being funny. “I don’t mean it that way. You know what I mean. You flirt. That’s what I adore about you the most. And to be honest, I initiated it, and … well, I liked that kiss. A lot.”

  The air crackles with a newfound electricity as his body shifts to face me fully. “How much?”

  “Enough that I didn’t panic today when you whisked me into your arms. Your lips felt … familiar. There I was, standing in Branson’s office, and you ravaged me. I let you because it felt good.” I swallow as I tame the flutter in my belly that appears when I think about being that close to Hunter. “It should bother me, shouldn’t it?”

  Darkness grows over his gaze as he stares down at me. His eyes are black in the depth of the December evening, and yet they’re igniting a fire in me that’s bright and luminous. “You should be livid.”

  His tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip, and I find myself biting my own. Is it wrong that I want to kiss him again? My head knows my heart belongs to another man. But sitting here with Hunter, in the cocoon of his embrace, with his mouth so close and his hard body pressed up against my soft one, has me clenching at the core.

  “I’m incensed,” I breathe against his lips.

  “Enraged?” He inches closer.

  “Burning mad.”

  Maybe it’s the alcohol from dinner or the ultra-romantic New York setting, but I lean forward, closing the mere inches between us, and I press my mouth onto his. His lips are warm, and his tongue is slick as he meets my advances and kisses me back.

  When his hand moves to my face, it pulls me in deeper. I rest a hand on his leg for balance and feel the hardness of his thigh beneath his pants. Something flinches not too far away, and it doesn’t take a scientist to know it’s his cock, pushing against the fabric.

  It should embarrass me—frighten me even—that this man is being turned on from my kiss and the simple touch of my hand on his thigh.

  Instead of being turned off, I’m empowered by it. I never thought of myself as a sexual being, and just knowing I’m affecting this man makes me feel like a goddess, a temptress, a wanton woman in need of taking.

  And I take him.

  He slants his mouth down to mine and envelops me. I squeeze his thigh and lean further into the kiss. Our bodies are a tangle of lust and attraction, lips sucking and tongues dancing.

  His lips are soft, and I can taste the whiskey on them and feel the scrape of whiskers against my face. The arm he has around me moves me even closer until our chests are pressed against each other. We’re fully clothed and seated side by side, but from the way we’re clinging to each other, we might as well be naked under the sheets.

  “That’ll be a hundred bucks,” the driver says, taking our attention away from one another, and I notice that we’re back in front of the restaurant.

  I swallow as I settle back against the bench seat and compose myself. My lips are swollen and bruised. My body is full of tingles and built-up energy. Beside me, Hunter puts a hand under the blanket and shifts his weight. The action makes me shiver.

  I stand and hand the driver money.

  “I got this,” Hunter says, but I’m already climbing down the carriage and standing on the blacktop with my knees wobbly from the ride … and that kiss.

  “Already taken care of.” I start to walk out of the park and toward Sixty-Seventh Street, where taxis are driving down Columbus Avenue. “You paid for dinner tonight and drinks last night. Besides, my dad always told me to keep a hundred tucked away in my wallet for emergencies.”

  Okay, so it’s not an emergency, but it certainly seems like money well spent. Especially since I need to get away from Hunter and his intoxicating mouth.

  I stand on the corner and raise a hand to hail a cab.

  “Katie,” Hunter says, walking up to me.

  I don’t turn around. I just look for a taxi with its lights on, signaling it doesn’t have a passenger.

  “Katie,” he says again, placing a hand on my waist and swinging me around to face him.

  When he does, I’m staring at his chest. It’s safer to look here because when I stare too deeply into his eyes, I do foolish things, like kiss him.

  “I know. I shouldn’t have done that back there—again.”

  “Pay for the ride?” His confused tone makes me glance up into his unfairly handsome face, and I see he’s not annoyed by me at all.

  “Kiss you,” I explain. “It was out of line. I just got carried away. I’m a starry-eyed romantic, as you know. And the Christmas spirit makes me do crazy things.”

  “I liked our kiss.” He takes a step forward and grabs my face by my cheeks, making me focus on him. “I love all of our kisses.”

  And there it is. Those caramel eyes that become an abyss to me. I want to turn away, but when I’m standing this close to him, I fall into the magic and wonderment that is Hunter Johnstone.

  “Do you regret kissing me?” he asks, his lips just a touch away from mine.

  “Yes,” I breathe, begging for his regret. “Don’t you?”

  His brows curve as he explores my eyes. His pupils dilate as they take in my face, looking for something, searching for any hidden meaning laced in my words.

  “I don’t do anything unless it’s with intention.” His head is still, and his eyes are wide, making sure there’s no misunderstanding.

  “You can’t say things like that.” I try to move out of his embrace.

  “Why not?” He pulls me in closer.

  “That’s how girls fall in love,” I whisper.

  His hands fall from my face like a star from the sky. I scared him, and it’s not surprising.

  “It’s okay, Hunter. I won’t fall in love with you.”

  He tucks his hands in his pockets, trying his best not to touch me the way he was only moments ago. “That would be a horrible thing.”

  I give him a reassuring smile. “The worst.”

  I turn and see a taxi down the block with its lights on. I eagerly wave my hand. As it draws near, it pulls to the curb. I place a hand on the door and open it.

  “Hey, Katie McGee,” he calls to me as I climb in.

  I stop and turn around, my body on the inside of the door, his on the other.

  He walks up and steps around to where I’m standing. He leans in and gives me a kiss on my jaw that runs a shiver down to my toes.

  “Sweet dreams,” he says rather swoon worthy.

  He steps back onto the curb and slides his hands back into the pockets of his overcoat.

  I take a deep breath and sit down in the backseat. When the door closes, I tell the driver where to take me. As we head down Columbus, I look out the back window, at Hunter standing on the corner, watching me drive away.

  I close my eyes and feel his lips against my skin.

  If Hunter Johnstone doesn’t stop kissing me like that, I’m going to be in trouble.

  Chapter Six

&nb
sp; “I am going to miss you terribly this year. Are you sure you don’t want me to send you a plane ticket?”

  I hold the phone to my ear as I talk to my mother. “Thank you, Mom, but I’m fine. It cost close to a thousand dollars to fly home last year, and we all agreed it was too much. You and Dad should go to Aunt Karen’s house. Say hello to Grandma for me, and I’ll be home in two weeks to have a real celebration.”

  She grumbles as if she just doesn’t like the sound of it. “Okay. If you’re sure. I’d rather spend the money than have you all alone.”

  As I walk down the hallway of my office building, I explain to my mom, “I’m really good. Honest. I made plans for Christmas Eve and I’m going to watch holiday movies all day on the twenty-fifth. Plus, I won’t be alone. Mittens will keep me company.”

  “Just know, you and your brother are getting extra presents under the tree this year.”

  “Stop it. I don’t want you buying me a single gift until the after-holiday sales go on. That’s the bonus to this plan.”

  I hear the loving sigh she releases. “You know I love you,” she says sweetly, and it melts my heart.

  “I love you too, Mom. And tell Dad I said the same. I have to get back to work.” I hold the phone in one hand and my files in the other. “Talk to you soon.”

  She gives me air kisses through the line before we hang up. I hit End and then open the folder in my hand as I walk toward the copy room.

  “There really is no comparison,” I hear Iris from Sales talking with Janice from Accounting inside the room.

  “Well, you’re just biased because you hooked up with one of them,” Janice says as she flips her blonde hair over her shoulder.

  I walk over to the copy machine and slide in a form to be duplicated. The icon on the screen says there’s no paper left. I open the nearby cabinet, where we keep supplies. We need to order more, so I have to get on my knees and reach all the way to the back to grab a ream.

  I’m half inside the deep cabinet when Janice asks from behind me, “Katie, you be the deciding factor. Who’s hotter—Branson Ford or Hunter Johnstone?”

  I hit my head on the inside of the cabinet.

  “Are you okay?” Iris asks as I sit back on my heels and rub the top of my head.

  “Yeah,” I reply. “You had a question?”

  Iris folds her arms over her chest. “Branson or Hunter?”

  I swallow as I consider her question. Well, one looks like a prince, and the other kisses like a villain. I can’t exactly tell them that though.

  “That’s not an appropriate question for me to answer,” I say, grabbing the ream of paper and standing.

  On my way up, I notice the clothing Iris has on—a long-sleeved hot-pink dress with a rather short hemline, showing off the fishnet stockings underneath. Yes, she wears fishnets to work. It’s risqué, yet everything is covered, so it complies with office policy.

  I look down at my modest outfit. A dark purple cardigan over a white camisole, paired with navy-blue pants. It’s a smart look, and yet seeing her more salacious outfit makes me wonder if my wardrobe is a tad understated.

  “Katie,” Janice says my name like I’m a child, “you can’t say you’ve never fantasized about kissing one of them?”

  I nearly keel over at her comment. My eyes are wide as I shake my head. “Can’t say that I have.” I pull the paper to my chest and walk it over to the copy machine. As I load it into the drawer, I ask over my shoulder, “Do, um, either of you have experience with one of them?”

  My eyes clench, as if I were waiting to be hit with a sharp object, because, as foolish as it is, the news that either of them hooked up with either man would be a blow to my system.

  Janice laughs. “Iris has!”

  “Hush!” she says. “I told you that in confidence, and that’s the second time you’ve brought it up in the last five minutes.”

  “So, um … which one was it?” I ask casually.

  Iris doesn’t answer right away. The silence has my shoulders tensing and my fingers tapping rather harshly as I select the amount of copies I need of the document I brought in here.

  I don’t know why I’m nervous. Probably because if she says she hooked up with Branson, I’ll be crushed. He doesn’t pay attention to me, and yet he might have hooked up with Iris, who’s played tonsil hockey with half the staff.

  And if she says she was with Hunter, I’d be devastated because … well, I’d be lying if I said our kisses didn’t have passion behind them that I wanted all for myself.

  It’s selfish really.

  I turn around and look at her. She’s shaking her shoulders and staring at the floor, as if she has the biggest secret.

  “Come on, Iris. Just spill the beans!” Janice says.

  Iris looks up at me and grins. “The hot one,” she says slowly.

  Hunter.

  His name pops into my head, and I’m surprised by that. All this time, I’ve found Branson to be the quintessentially handsome one, the first in my thoughts on a daily basis, yet here I am, and Hunter is the first one to come to mind.

  Janice crumples up a piece of paper and throws it at Iris. “You are so biased!”

  The two laugh, and I realize it’s best if I get out of here before I hear any more of their conversation. My thoughts are already scrambled about Branson and Hunter; I don’t need them manipulated by jealousy.

  Down the hall, I walk into my office space and place my printouts on the desk. I’m stapling them together for Branson’s afternoon presentation when he walks out from his office and stops in the doorway.

  His jacket is off, showcasing his lean form in a pair of trousers, a button-down, and suspenders. The portfolio in his hands is open as he stares down, reading it and walking at the same time.

  “Katherine,” he says rather loudly.

  “Yes, Branson,” I say in a normal voice.

  He blinks up at me, not realizing I was standing so close. His gaze hits my face and then my long hair hanging over my shoulders.

  “You wore your hair down again,” he says, a look of interest in his expression.

  My cheeks redden at the fact that he noticed.

  As I run my hand over my tresses, I point to the papers on the desk to hide my blush. “I printed out the metrics for you. They’re categorized by time slots and demographics.”

  “Fantastic.” While his body is facing toward the door, he seems to be rethinking what he was going to do and then thumbs toward his office. “Do you have a moment to go over them? You have a massive presentation coming up, and I want to make sure you’re tip-top.”

  A huge smile breaks out on my face. “That would be a godsend. I’ve been really nervous about the presentation, and I would love your input.”

  I follow him into his office, where he puts down the portfolio and runs a thumb over his lips as he appears to be confused.

  I go to sit in one of the seats, but he halts me. “Take my chair, please. Pretend you’re the one in charge and I’m here for your brilliance.”

  With a playful shove, he moves me to his large leather chair and then pulls the guest seat to the side of the desk, so he’s closer to me. I clamp my lips together and feel my face redden as he looks over at me with a grin.

  “Okay, well”—I sit up straight and speak to Branson as if he were someone I’d never met—“my name is Katie McGee, assistant to Branson Ford, CEO of Empire Media.”

  “Charming—CEO. I think it’s important you add that,” he kids, and I have to look away as I laugh.

  “Very charming.”

  “Continue, please.” He sits back and crosses his foot over his knee, giving me his rapt attention.

  I take a deep breath and continue, “Every day, Nielsen Media Research provides a ratings report on every show that aired the day before. I have been tasked with analyzing the data and reporting my findings.”

  Branson’s face is now void of amusement as he has gone into boss mode and is actually listening to what I’m about to say.
This close, I notice he smells like the aftershave I adore. It has a hint of cinnamon, reminding me of my favorite holiday.

  He looks up at me and raises his brows.

  Realizing I should be speaking instead of staring at him, I fumble with the binder and open it up to my color-coded categories. “Last night, for example, four Empire Media–produced programs aired on various networks. Three were on cable networks, and one was on a basic cable channel. As you can see, all programs are performing well within their targeted demographics, except for one.” I point to a show about socialites living in the Midwest for a summer.

  “It’s performing very well.” Branson looks at the graph that has a line in an upswing.

  “It is, and it’s bringing in a profit. But based on production costs and the underreach of the modest-sized cable network it airs on, I think you should consider halting production and putting the money into creating another show, like On the Sidelines.”

  “Hunter’s show?” Branson sits up and looks at the graphs.

  “Its performance is doing incredible in the market it’s in, keeping a consistent audience after commercial breaks, and it’s holding the audience for back-to-back episodes. Viewers enjoy watching the grit and determination of athletes off the field. They want something to believe in. That’s why, I think, Empire Media shouldn’t renew the contract with its distribution channel and instead shop it around for a bigger deal.”

  “Frio TV pays us a hefty sum to air this show. When the deal was made, we thought we’d oversold it.”

  “You undersold it. Give them the reruns since the audience is there, but sell the new episodes to a basic television channel with ad potential.”

  He shakes his head in disagreement. “They’ll never buy it without rerun rights.”

  “They will when you give them the spin-offs. Branch out into female competitive sports or even the obscure. Watching the underdog become a champion is exactly what viewers need right now.”

  He touches his hand to his cheek as he looks back at me and smiles. “Your goal shouldn’t be research, Katherine. You should be in sales.” With a slap of his knee, he leans forward and grins. “It’s fascinating, what you’re suggesting. I’ll talk it through with the shareholders. Or better yet, you’ll be presenting this to them next week, right?”