Santa's Pet

by Rachelle Ayala

  This is a speech I’ve given many times before. Usually, my team simply nods and turns to their work. But tonight, they stare at me, their eyes shifting from one to another. Samantha opens and closes her mouth as if she wants to say something. The others fidget, their knees popping or tapping their fingers.

  “Okay, what’s up? Spit it out. We don’t have all night.”

  They look at each other, as if nominating a spokesperson, and finally, Samantha speaks out. “Are you sure Monkey-See is our first priority?”

  “Of course it is,” I reply. “Mrs. Jewell herself called and said the build was broken. She said the Mississippi CEO called her to complain.”

  “Oh, then you must not have read your email,” Samantha says, twirling her dark brown hair. “There’s a new marketing executive and she says Monkey-See might violate privacy and has to be opted in for each purchase.”

  “This might not be so easy if each and every purchase has to be opted in and checked.” My brain spins faster.

  “I think you better read your email or talk to Mrs. Jewell,” Samantha says. “Monkey-See is on hold. I mean, I’ll fix the code, but there’s rumors that TrophyShots is coming up with an app sharing platform. They’re already ahead of us with their browser add-on games and in-app purchases.”

  “I know about TrophyShots. They’re a bunch of crooks.” I seethe under my breath. “Get this thing fixed and we can all go home.”

  “Sure, cousin.” Samantha swivels her chair around. “Except the new Shopahol marketing VP came from TrophyShots.”

  “I knew that,” I lie and turn away from the bullpen.

  Why does nobody tell me these things?

  I wander to my office and unlock the door. I know I’m supposed to stay in the bullpen and monitor or supervise, but such overtly aggressive tactics would only make the engineers nervous and resentful. Lacy is right, calling everyone to work in the middle of a Saturday evening is punitive. But then, if they weren’t all together, the fix would take longer as each person would have to wait for an email or text from their teammate between each step, which would increase the turnaround time.

  Yawning, I wake up my laptop and check my email. There is a new VP of Marketing coming in, but Samantha has misinterpreted the email. Monkey-See is on hold until we can solve the security problems. There’s a report of a hacker exposing the sex-toy purchases of an actress to those beyond her social circles, and Mississippi has shut down the feature until a new encryption scheme is approved. This definitely is a shit storm in the making. I wonder what they’re saying on social media?

  My face turns up the heat when I search on the actress’s name, Amy Suzuki. Crap. People are calling her names and making fun of her. This is so unfair. Just because she bought a sex toy is no reason for people to call her a slut. I can see how this Monkey-See feature might be a bad. Wasn’t it Brandon’s idea? I bet Lacy suggested it. She’s the one into sharing all her personal details online.

  With everything going on, I haven’t had a chance to check out Ben Powers. He’s in more trouble than me because of the indecent exposure charge. Poor guy. His football career could be ruined.

  My jaw, stomach, and heart plummet to the center of the earth as soon as the search results return. Ben Powers’ hired gun is all over the internet calling me a loose woman and shaming me for wearing a provocative elf outfit. She’s even claiming I’m corrupting the morals of minors.

  “Why, that bastard.” I almost throw my laptop. Forget about feeling sorry for him. He’s destroying my good name.

  Tears rim my eyes as I read the comments. Everyone seems to be on his side, and the names they call me fry every hair on my head. The horrid pictures make me look worse than that singer who twerked at a music awards ceremony. But the most hurtful are the names I’m being called in the comments. Slut. Whore. Ho. Skank. Tramp. Heifer. Cow. Milkmaid. Gold digger.

  I can’t believe Grandpa Powers would let his grandson do this to me.

  ~ Ben ~

  “I have to speak to her,” Ben shouted over the phone at his grandfather. “Come on, you know her phone number.”

  “What do you want? A restraining order?” Grandpa’s voice is stern. “Leave this to the lawyers. You already told yours to leave off.”

  “The damage is done. You should read what they’re saying about her online.”

  “Pah, it’ll blow over. These things always do. Remember when everyone was upset about Cecil the Lion? Do you hear peep about it now?”

  “What about Brittney’s grandfather? Have you spoken to him?”

  His grandfather was best buddies with Brittney’s grandfather, Bob Reed.

  “He’s on her side, of course. Believes you sexually harassed her. I hung up on him.”

  “Wait, so you’re going to lose your friendship over this?”

  “It’s better than you losing your entire future. Listen, bud. I know you want to be a gentleman and all that, but you have to fight fire with fire. I happen to know Brittney’s not at all the way she’s being portrayed, and yes, it’s unfair, but when she attacks your integrity and lies about you, I draw the line. Blood is thicker than water.”

  “I appreciate you having my back, but somehow I think it’s better if we focus on getting both of our charges dropped instead of blaming each other.” Ben wiped the sweat from his forehead. Every muscle in his body felt like soggy noodles from the workout, but his brain had never been clearer. If only he hadn’t let anger and fear overtake his good senses. “I’m sure if I speak to Brittney directly, we can work this out.”

  “Don’t go there. You’ll only weaken your case. Where are you, anyway?”

  “Driving around San Francisco.”

  “Don’t stay out too late. Come back and help me pack.”

  “Pack? Did you decide?”

  “Yes, I did. After Bob Reed called me to ream me out about you, I’ve decided I don’t particularly want to hang around this holiday season. Maybe you’re right. It’s time I got around to the ranch.”

  “I’m so glad, Grandpa. I know Dad misses you. I’ll be back in a bit, and then we can drive out tomorrow morning.” He hung up the phone after saying goodbye.

  Ben rubbed his tired eyes and huffed out a deep breath. His grandfather just lost his lifelong buddy over this thing with Brittney. Of course, she was making baseless accusations to get herself off the hook, but she was losing in the court of public opinion. Most commenters felt she deserved to be ogled because of her revealing outfit.

  What had made her dress that way? Ben scrolled through her publicity photos online. She was professional looking and wholesome. A real beauty, but not flaunting it. In fact, she stayed in the background and seemed to let others take the limelight.

  Ben searched for her company to find her email address. He had to reach out and make this right. Maybe he could talk her out of the lawsuit. If the arrest hadn’t happened, he would have asked her out. She was the first woman he’d met who hadn’t looked at him in an appraising manner—trying to figure out what she could get from him, whether a good time in the sack, an expensive dinner on the town, or to size up his future potential wealth.

  He slapped himself. What arrogance. Of course she could care less about his earning potential. She was sitting on a startup company that had the potential to make instant millionaires of all her employees.

  Ben groaned at his stupidity. He’d only looked at her dress and appearance and hadn’t considered the woman inside. And here he thought he was respectful of women—one of the good guys.

  There was no email address for her, but the company was located not far from the private club. Ben set the GPS on his cell phone and drove. Not that she’d be there at this hour, but somehow, knowing Brittney was a better person than he, drew him like a magnet to a lodestone.

  When he pulled into the parking lot of ScrapCloud, he found several cars in the parking lot. His heartbeat ratcheted up a notch. She could be in there working. Would she see him?

  He locked his truck and s
trode to the guest phone outside the door. Punching in her extension, he waited, barely able to breathe.

  The phone rang several times before she picked it up. “Hello? Who’s this?”

  “Brittney, it’s Ben. We need to talk.”

  Chapter Ten

  ~ Brittney ~

  I must be so out of it, I’m dreaming. Why would Ben call me at work in the middle of the night?

  “Who’s this again?” I wipe the tears from my eyes.

  “Ben Powers.”

  There’s no mistaking that deep voice which even now, scrapes tingles up my back and turns my legs to jelly.

  I slam down the phone. I have nothing to say to him. My grandfather has nothing to say to his grandfather. Not a single member of the Reed family will ever speak to one of theirs, ever. Pappy made sure of that. He’s already called or emailed all of his descendants, including my cousins to the second and third degree.

  It’s too bad for Lacy because she’s friends with Marcia Powers, Ben’s cousin, but that’s the way things work in my neck of the woods. Hatfields and McCoys have nothing on us! Humpf.

  The phone rings again, as I expect. I stare at it but don’t pick it up. The voice mail light changes color and it starts ringing again.

  I’m going to have to call Security.

  I stalk to a conference room and peek out from behind the vertical blinds. Sure enough, he’s there, standing at the entry at the guest phone.

  His shoulders are hunched and he keeps running his hand through his hair. There he goes, punching in my number again.

  I don’t want to sic the police on him. But he’s not giving up. That kind of man is used to getting his way. Aggressive guy who pushes his way around for a living.

  Well, I’m not afraid of him. I stomp back to my office and pick up the phone.

  “Please leave before I call the police.”

  “Call them. I’m prepared to go back to jail.”

  “What? Are you nuts?”

  “I’ll do anything if you’ll speak to me.”

  “If you’re trying to scare me, forget it. I don’t scare easily, so take that attitude and shove it.” I slam the phone again, cringing because the new desk phones are more dainty than sturdy.

  It’s obviously not broken because it starts ringing again.

  He’s asking for it. I pick up my cell phone to call the cops when it rings. It’s Lacy.

  “Brittney, Grandpa Powers has had another heart attack.”

  “He has? Where is he?”

  “He’s all alone. Ben left, so he called Pappy.”

  “Oh, shit. Ben’s outside my company banging on the door. I was just about to call the police.”

  “We called 9-1-1 already and they’re on their way. Can you tell Ben?”

  “Of course.” My heart sinks and I swallow hard. “Is it bad?”

  “We don’t know. He was barely speaking when Pappy picked up the phone.”

  I drop my cell phone and run through the lobby to the front door, but Ben’s not there.

  I dash to the parking lot in time to see the taillights of his truck headed for the exit.

  “Ben! Ben!” I yell at the top of my lungs. I can’t catch him, so I pick up a rock and throw it as hard as I can.

  Crack! His driver’s side window crumbles.

  The truck jerks to a stop and Ben jumps out.

  “What the hell?” He stares at the window, and then spies me running toward him. “What did you do that for? You’re a crazy woman.”

  “Your … your …” I’m so out of breath I throw myself at him. “He-heart at-at.”

  He grabs me as I bounce off his rock hard chest, gasping for breath.

  “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” His large hands steady me.

  I shake my head. “Grandpa had a heart attack.”

  He stares at me a moment. “Is he okay? Do you want me to call my grandfather?”

  “No, I mean, it’s your grandpa.” I cover my face and burst into tears.

  The next thing I know, he’s brushing the crumbled glass from the driver’s seat and pushing me onto the bench of his truck. By reflex, I strap on my seatbelt, but I can’t stop the tears from flowing.

  If Grandpa Powers dies, it’ll be my fault. If I hadn’t started the family feud by allowing Owen to threaten to sue Ben for sexual harassment, Grandpa Powers would have been at our house having dinner and watching the game instead of by himself.

  Ben guns his engine and takes off at a high speed. The wind whips the cab of the truck, so I open the passenger side window to balance it out. Fog has descended over the San Francisco Bay and I left my jacket at work.

  Shuddering, I bend over and hold myself together, but the tears won’t stop. Pappy and Grandpa Powers were best buddies since they came back from the Korean War.

  There’s a lull in the traffic noise before I realize Ben is pulling to the side of the road.

  “What happened?” I wipe my eyes.

  He unstraps his seat belt and shrugs out of his leather jacket. “Here, you’re cold.”

  “No, don’t mind me. I’m the enemy.”

  “You’re not.” He takes my left hand, threading it through the sleeve. “I told my lawyer to retract the slurs, or I’m firing her. It wasn’t my idea to drag your name through social media.”

  “I can’t believe all the horrible things people are saying about me.” I jerk my hand from him. “Don’t touch me.”

  He raises both hands and huffs. “I suppose you’re going to say I assaulted you because I touched your hand?”

  “I’m not a liar.” I fix my glare at him.

  “Then tell me, Miss Reed, do you believe I sexually harassed you? Did I make you uncomfortable? Did I come on to you? Proposition you?”

  “I’m not answering that.” I push my other hand through the other sleeve so I’m wearing the jacket backwards. “Why are we stopped at the side of the road? Should I be worried?”

  “I’m the one who should be worried.”

  “You? Ha. I’m not exactly capable of fighting you off.”

  “You won’t have to.” He grasps the steering wheel with both hands. “The problem with beautiful women—you think every guy wants a piece of you.”

  My mouth drops into a long ‘O.’ “Me? It’s you athletes who think every woman wants you. Maybe you’re used to them pawing all over you, but that’s not me. I had absolutely no interest other than helping you, and for that, I’m the one who’s being called a slut.”

  “You were dressed inappropriately for a family event where children were present.” He fixes me with a stern glare.

  “That’s not for you to judge.” I cross my arms over my chest and jut out my jaw. “Are we going to the hospital or not?”

  He blinks at me for a long second, then sighs. “Let’s not fight about it right now. The fog is slowing me down, and I don’t want to get into an accident. Will you pray for my grandfather while I drive?”

  His calm words shame me. Grandpa Powers is more important than whether Ben thinks I was dressed appropriately or not.

  I bite my lips and swallow a lump. “I will. If anything happens to him, it’ll be my fault.”

  “I’m the one who upset him,” Ben says and puts the truck in gear. “Right before I showed up at your work, I told him I was looking for you. I wanted to let you know how bad I felt about what my lawyer did.”

  “It was a low blow turning public opinion against me to save your neck.”

  But then, Owen’s false accusations of sexual harassment were just as low, except they would be done in court, and not over social media.

  “I should have stopped her, I mean, my lawyer,” Ben continues to explain. “But I was so upset, I didn’t pay full attention to her. I just knew my career would be ruined with a conviction of indecent exposure.”

  “I don’t want to ruin your career.” I snuggle into Ben’s soft, heated jacket. His scent is faint, but sensual and stimulating—like heated amber and musk.

  The truck sp
eeds up and even though the wind buffets the cab, I’m warm and protected. I say a prayer for Ben’s grandfather and my lips tremble when I add one for Ben—that he’ll make the draft and that his dreams will come true.

  Despite the gossip online, I don’t want to trip him up, and I’m definitely not after his potential earnings. He shouldn’t look down on me—as if having large breasts were an invitation to getting harassed.

  I take a peek at him, but he catches me, so I look away. Ordinarily, I don’t let a man affect me, especially not a jock who swaggers around and expects everyone to cater to him. But Ben seems different. Most young men wouldn’t spend their vacation looking after an ailing grandfather and being substitute Santa for him.

  I can’t help but look at him again. This time, he keeps his eyes on the road, although from the tightening of his jaw, he’s aware of me peeking. Fog drapes all around us, and it feels like we’re in a misty cocoon together. Except I’m warm and he’s cold, his skin tight with goosebumps.

  “Do you want the jacket back?” I barely move, because it feels so good to be covered.

  “No, Brittney. It’s the least I can do after dragging you into the truck. I didn’t mean to kidnap you.”

  “It’s okay. Better you drive than me trying to follow in Lacy’s Mustang.”

  “You would have come along?” His eyebrows form a question and the grin that crosses his face is surprisingly sweet.

  “He’s like a grandfather to me. Did you know I believed in Santa Claus until I was fifteen and finally figured out Santa wasn’t Grandpa Powers?”

  Ben knocks his head back and laughs. “Seriously? You thought Grandpa was the Santa?”

  “Yep, and we were the most special kids because we got to know him all year round. I used to tell my schoolmates that Santa didn’t really live in the North Pole. He lives in Sebastopol behind our tree farm.”

  “I wish I got to hang around more growing up. But after my dad remarried, we were forced to live in Wyoming. Dad doesn’t really speak to Grandpa.”

  “What happened?” I reach out and touch his shoulder.