His Curvy Gift

by Erin Havoc

  His Curvy Gift

  Curvy Holiday Series

  ERIN HAVOC

  01

  * * *

  HAILEE

  Curling my nose, I wait for the animation to end. The style has no flavor. It’s as bland as the food I cook. Dull. Insipid. The dialogue is sluggish and not funny at all. The characters lack soul.

  But Becca’s been so anxious about this episode coming out. So when she presses the Esc key on her computer and turns to me, an expectant smile on her face, I try to soften my features.

  From the way her smile fades, I haven’t been successful.

  “You hated it.” It’s not a question. She sighs, pressing her back against the chair. “And I thought it had so much potential.”

  Covering her wrist with a hand, I try to smile. “It’s not so bad, Becca. You know I have a specific sense of humor for this kind of thing. Maybe I’m just not their audience.” She shakes her head, “Your sense of humor is the very same as our boss’. So if you didn’t like it, he’s not going to like it either.”

  I press my lips together. Even though I’m in marketing, one of the things I do the most here in the Crimson Lotus Company is serving as the test-trial for new animation. The company buys independent and upcoming series so it can invest in them and put them out in streaming platforms and such.

  Because the company is putting a lot of money into these animations, they want to be sure of the inherent potentials. Becca, my friend, is one of the people responsible for finding new series out there. Since there are so many options, she can’t just take everything she likes to our boss.

  That’s why she usually passes it through me first. There’s a general belief I share the same sense of humor of the CEO, Mister Asher “Hot-as-Hell” Hunt.

  Which is not exactly a good thing. He’s usually seen as a cold bastard that is a little bit too honest for his health.

  “Becca,” I begin, rubbing a thumb on her skin. “Really, why don’t you show it to more people?”

  She shakes her head again, letting out a breath. “You may not believe in me, but if it doesn’t pass you, it won’t pass the boss. He will possibly curl his nose just like you did.” A side of her lip tilts up, “The difference is that he won’t try to comfort me. He’s just going to say it sucks.”

  I stick my tongue out at her, and she laughs. “You know, when you say the two of us have the same sense of humor, it sounds like an insult. You guys are always saying how much of a cold person he is.”

  “We say it because it’s the truth,” she nods, her red curls bouncing. “And you are like that too,” she stretches a grin that makes me chuckle. “But I like that about you. It’s funny because you can’t hide your emotions. You wear your heart on your sleeve.”

  “That’s possibly the reason I’m a disaster with poker.”

  “Definitely,” she giggles. “But you’re great with your job. Which reminds me… Don’t you have a meeting at ten?”

  I shoot a glance at the clock by the right corner of the computer screen. It’s five to ten, and she’s right. I do have a meeting with the aforementioned ice-hearted CEO.

  Uncrossing my legs, I stand and smooth the creases off my skirt. “You’re right. I’m off to his office.”

  “What are you going to discuss?” She goes on, her focus now on her screen as she scrolls through her e-mails.

  Walking around her desk to approach mine, I reach for my laptop, closing it and putting it under my arm. Patting my dark hair in place, I check myself out to make sure my clothes are on point. “I have found a new geek convention. I talked to the creators and they’re interested in screening some of our animations. I think that’d be great to get new eyes on the brand.”

  Becca nods, “Good job, Hailee. If you think it’s going to rock, I’m sure Mister Hunt will approve it.”

  Cocking my head, I tilt my lip up. She’s comparing me to him an awful lot today. “You know, I don’t have any kind of special treatment. He’s not going to accept something just because I am the one suggesting it.”

  Shaking her head, she flashes her eyes at me. “No, sorry, that’s not what I meant. It’s just that you two think alike. If you stop to think about it, he usually approves your projects based on the very same opinions you have.”

  My face warms up before I notice it. I have never thought about it that way. But it’s the truth. At first, I thought I liked to work here because Mister Hunt is so supportive of our ideas. But looking at Becca, and how hard she has to look for things that are going to catch his eye, I see it’s not like that completely.

  It’s easy for me because we think alike.

  Though I know Becca hasn’t said it with that intention, I’m flustered. I’ve never harbored any feelings toward Mister Hunt, of course. I have both feet firmly planted on the ground, and that man is way out of my league.

  Yes, he’s handsome as hell, and it would take a blind person not to see it. But I pushed that small fact all the way to the back of my mind so I won’t fall into the trap of having a crush on him. Handsome, hot and rich are words that cannot describe any of my exes.

  I can’t say I’ve had luck with men. But dating won’t pay my bills, so who cares.

  Waving my hand dismissively, I try to hide the blush across my cheeks. “I’ll see you later,” I mutter before I turn to cross the room.

  The CEO’s office is the only walled one in our open-plan space. Striding to his assistant’s desk, I wait for Neil to look up at me.

  “Hey, Hailee. You have a meeting at ten, right?” He types away furiously at his computer, his brows permanently pressed over the bridge of his nose. “Mister Hunt told me to let you in as soon as you got here.”

  “Thanks, Neil,” I tell him before I walk around his desk to reach for the doorknob.

  I crack the door open and peek inside. Mister Hunt is sitting by his desk, his phone pressed against his ear. From the tone of his voice and the hand he’s pressing to his forehead, he’s not in a good mood.

  Expecting him to send me off and come back later, I wait. But when he looks up at me, his blue eyes glisten with something I cannot point out.

  “Her name is… Hailee.”

  I frown. Is he talking about me? To whom?

  He motions for me to go in, so I do, lifting a brow in doubt. I turn to close the door as silently as I can, and amble to the chair in front of him, putting my laptop down.

  His eyes are still on me as he says, “Yes, mom. Yeah, her name is Hailee.” He listens and then scoffs. “What the hell is wrong with that name? You’re now judging names.” Another beat and he barks in laughter. “Of course it’s not a regal name, mom, I’m not dating a duchess.”

  Dating? I steel my spine, sitting up. He’s telling his mother he’s dating me?

  He covers his eyes with a hand. “Yes, alright, mom, if that’ll make you leave me in peace on that matter. Alright, a fortnight from now, on Saturday. Okay. Bye.” He ends the call and presses both his hands over his face, grunting.

  I chuckle. “That was a fun call.”

  He chuckles back, his hands dropping. “Do you find my torture amusing, Hailee? That’s very sadistic.”

  Our eyes meet. His are a stark shade of blue that contrasts with his dark hair and dark suit. Mister Hunt wears his hair a little on the longer side, brushed back, curling around his ears. It’s a soft look for someone with such a sharp jaw and broad shoulders.

  I steer my mind from such observations. I’m not supposed to notice the beautiful angle of his nose and the small curve to the side of his lip.

  “Torture? Hardly. I just heard you talking to your mother,” I turn to my laptop and begin to open it, focused on dropping any personal subjects.

  He stops my action with a hand above the computer screen
. “Before we start the meeting, I need to ask you something.” His face twists in an apologetic look.

  I have never noticed how honeyed and velvety his voice is. Clearing my throat, I curse Becca mentally. Why did she have to point out we think so similarly? Now I’m reading too much between the lines. “Sure. Go ahead.”

  He doesn’t take his hand from my laptop. His gaze burns with how hard he’s looking at me.

  “I need your help.”

  Frowning, I watch him for a moment. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him asking for help. Even if I don’t agree with my colleagues when they say Mister Hunt has an icicle on the place of his heart, I know he’s usually clear about who’s the boss around here. He never asks. He orders.

  “Sure,” I nod him on, my voice coming out in a weak breath.

  “I may have told my mother we are dating.”

  02

  * * *

  ASHER

  Watching the cursor blinking on my screen, I squint at the words I have just written.

  Best regards.

  Best regards. For the first time in my life, I wonder about these words. Am I telling this person I regard them highly? For that would be a lie, and I am many things, but a liar ain’t one.

  I have never even seen this person. It’s a possible client with a quirky animation I’m sure will be the next Steven Universe.

  Surely, if I land the next Steven Universe, this animator is going to become my new favorite person. The top on my Christmas list and everything.

  Nodding to myself, I decide to keep the “best regards” and hit send. A man in my position has to be careful about words and the meanings behind them. A man to keep my position when I’m relatively young for industry parameters — you don’t meet many CEOs younger than forty — need a number of factors in check.

  Presence. Strong branding. A great team under him. To know when to follow instincts.

  I do have them all, which is the reason I succeeded this early on and why I’ll keep on making it bigger. I’m not afraid of taking shots in the dark if my gut is telling me to do it.

  Changing the tabs on my Internet browser, I check my to-do list for the day. Neil, my assistant, always gets it done before I even sit on my chair in the morning. He’s a young man with big dreams and immense anxiety I’m constantly wishing not to trigger. Assistants as good as him are hard to find, and I need to keep my great team whole. He’s too young to have a heart attack though by the way his veins pulse on his temple, I’m constantly fearing that possibility.

  Ten o’clock nears and my next appointment for the day is a meeting. Though usually a dull activity, I’m always eager for this one.

  10 o’clock: Meeting with Hailee from Marketing.

  An involuntary smile stretches my lips. That’s my usual reaction to her. Hailee’s become a vital part of the Crimson Lotus Company, even when she’s been here for just over a year. And to think that the head of the HR wasn’t sure about hiring her for she was too young and inexperienced.

  Hailee’s been a surprise. She has good instincts for new and upcoming authors and animations, and somehow she always knows where to look to find ways to get the company’s name out there. She’s reliable and confident, and I’ve recently learned she also serves as a trial-tester for some of the other employees.

  Apparently, or so Neil has mentioned, since we share the same instincts for new animation, people go for her before they come to me. This is not her function but works like wonders. She’s like a filter.

  And she’s a breeze of fresh air.

  Maybe because she’s young. Maybe because of her instincts, but she never treated me with the fake respect some of my employees do. She’s tough as nails and I’m sure she’s the last person I’d see abandoning the company.

  Reaching for my landline, I smooth my tie in place as I wait for Neil to pick up my call. As always, it doesn’t take a second.

  “Yes, Mister Hunt?” I can hear him clicking furiously on the keyboard through the phone.

  “I have a meeting at ten…”

  “Yes, with Hailee from Marketing. Should I let her in as soon as she arrives?”

  I hold back a laugh. Neil’s becoming an expert in reading thoughts. “Exactly.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  I drop the phone back and turn to my computer. I may be able to squeeze in some more work before she gets here.

  My plan is frustrated by the buzz of my cell phone. Sliding a glance to its screen, I sigh upon reading “mother”.

  Her phone calls are never expected, never out of working time and never a delight to receive.

  I glare at the phone and let it ring two more times. Maybe she creates some sense and realizes I’m working, so she’ll just send a message and call me later.

  But no. It keeps on ringing, more and more irritated by the passing second. Finally, I accept the call and press the phone to my ear.

  “Hey, mom.”

  “Well?”

  I wait, but she doesn’t say anything for a moment. “Well, what?” I check the calendar, fearing I might have forgotten some important date. But no, both my parents’ birthdays are long gone.

  “Aren’t you going to apologize?”

  “What for?”

  She grunts in frustration, “For keeping me waiting.”

  I grip the phone. “Mom, I’ve already asked you, several times, to avoid calling me during working hours. No, I will not apologize. I’m busy.”

  She gasps exaggeratedly. “I thought you were the CEO of your company. You haven’t mentioned having become a lower employee out of nowhere.” “I haven’t, I’m still the CEO.”

  “So if you’re the CEO, you make the calls, Asher.” She clicks her tongue as if I’m a silly child, “You decide your hours.”

  It’s not entirely a lie but doesn’t change the fact I’d rather be completely focused on my job. “Did you need something, mom?”

  My relationship with my family is not the best. Ever since my father made his name creating one of the biggest book publishing companies in the country, my mom developed royal delusions. My father is distant, my mother thinks we’re the lost royalty of America, and my brother has grown so irritated by such that he’s moved to the mountains to isolate himself. I can’t blame him.

  “Well, I don’t know if you’ve been too busy to check the calendar but we’re in the first week of December.”

  “Yes…?” I stretch the last letter, confused about where she’s trying to get.

  “It’s time to plan our Christmas dinner, Asher.” I can basically feel the roll of her eyes.

  “Oh. I see. Do you need my help with anything?” My mother never asks my help for this kind of thing. I’m just expected to show up in an expensive suit on whichever five-stars restaurant she chooses, so she can take pictures and show to her socialite friends. Even if the four of us usually spend the night on our phones, without talking to each other, she likes to make a grand celebration to post on her social media.

  I’ve already asked her if she wouldn’t rather celebrate it at home, more Christmas-y, cozier. I still remember how insulted she got over the suggestion. As if she was above that.

  “Of course not. I just want to know who you’re going to take this year. If she is lactose intolerant or anything. So I can plan the dishes, you see.”

  I blink, confusion rising for a moment. I’ve never taken a girl to Christmas dinner. Truly I’ve never dated someone seriously enough to make her suffer through Christmas dinner with my family.

  But I see exactly where this is going. My mother is baiting me to know if I’m dating someone. She used to be more direct on her approach, telling me I needed a wife to take care of me and bear me children. She’s given up on my brother some time ago, after he moved into the mountains and started to wisely avoid humans of any gender.

  “Mom.” There’s caution in my voice and I don’t want to be rude, so I take a deep breath before going on. “We’ve been through this before. If I ever get married, it’s
because I love the person, not because I need someone to take care of me and bear me children. We’re not royalty and we’re not in the fifteenth century.”

  She scoffs, “Every man needs a woman to care for him, Asher. Royalty or not.”

  “No, mom, I don’t need that, and surely I don’t want a woman whose only purpose in life is caring for me.” I cut my own plea in. This can go on forever. I’ll tell my mother she’s being sexist, she’ll deny and list a number of empty points, and she’ll go on and on and I’ll be late for my meeting and irritated. An idea, sordid and rotten, slowly sticks its neck in my mind. If she can’t accept the truth, maybe, maybe? Well, it’s just a white lie. I’ve never been a liar, but it’s just so I can get back to work. “Yeah, I think I’ll be taking someone this year.”

  She’s stricken to silence for a minute. I eye the clock, approaching ten steadily.

  “You’re dating someone, Asher?” She whispers, as if she could break this illusion.

  Already feeling guilty, I press my fingers over my eyes. “Yeah. I think she won’t mind going. But I’m not sure about the lactose intolerant thing, I’ll have to ask.”

  “This doesn’t matter, I’ll just ask for options enough so she’ll have choices. Who is she? Oh, I hope it’s some heir, maybe from one of the hotel complexes downtown?”

  “No, mom,” I sigh. I’m afraid I’m digging my own grave. “No heir. No royalty.”

  She tuts, “Well. What’s her name?”

  “Her name?” I’m suddenly hating the fact I’ve never been a liar. The category of female names disappears from my mind. The door creeks open at that very moment and Hailee peeks in, cocking a pretty brow. “Hailee,” I burst out. Before I can regret it, I repeat myself. “Her name is Hailee.”

  “Hailee?”

  “Yes, mom. Yeah, her name is Hailee.”

  “What kind of name is that?” She cackles, and my blood fizzles. I’m so regretting this.

  “What the hell is wrong with that name? You’re now judging names.”