This shit is getting to me. I’m man enough to admit when shit is bothering me, and as I push through the doors of the office that morning, more Christmas music blaring through the speakers, I speak the truth to myself before anyone else can.
“There needs to be a rule about holiday music before December 15th or something,” I grumble.
Suzette enters the office behind me and giggles in that way I find endearing throughout the rest of the year but annoying as shit right now.
“That’s only ten days before Christmas. How could we limit holiday music to just ten days out of the year? I love it that Mr. Townsend gave in to the wishes of his family and allowed for the early decorating and music,” she says wistfully.
The serene expression that takes over her face informs me of just how much she’s enjoying this time of the year.
I hate it.
“Ba humbug,” I gripe.
She laughs as I roll around to my desk and turn on my computer.
“Careful, my family’s starting to think I’m rubbing off on you.”
Glancing up, I see Aaron Townsend as he stands in front of my desk, glaring down at me.
Snorting, I respond, “Maybe you are.”
He lifts an eyebrow but something like admiration, or dare I say, laughter moves through his eyes. In the blink of an eye, though, it’s disappeared, replaced by the usual scowl.
“My office, fifteen minutes.”
I nod in acknowledgment before he moves down the hall, followed by Suzette, who’s carrying his cup of coffee.
It’s Tuesday morning, which means my usual morning meeting with Aaron to go over the Cypress merger. Tuesdays also mean another late afternoon meeting with Jackie, which—aside from my usual grumpiness during this season—is the source of my current ire.
Fifteen minutes later, Suzette is moving past me as she exits Aaron’s office.
“Shut the door behind you,” he tells her, which she does.
I move to the long, boardroom-sized table at the far end of Aaron’s office, since that’s where our usual meetings occur instead of his desk.
“Let’s start with the updates on Cypress,” he starts in immediately, which I expected.
I give him the rundown on everything I have to update him on concerning the merger.
“According to Ms. Hinkerson, the counselors at Cypress are overworked and underappreciated, but they’re a committed group.”
Aaron’s jaw clenches. “Why do they stay?” he questions.
Uncertain if he was just asking out loud or speaking to me directly, I launch into a response. “Many of them have been with the company for years. They’re committed to the cause of serving others.”
“How noble,” he responds, staring at the open files in front of him. “And Ms. Hinkerson?”
A ripple of some unnamed emotion moves through me. My eyebrows dip into a V. “Yes?”
“How committed is she?”
Swallowing, I look my boss in the eyes, trying to discern whether or not he’s picked up on the energy exchange between Jackie and me. It’s not hard to notice the hostility between us whenever she’s around. At least, the anger coming from me whenever she’s around. Jackie, herself, gives off an almost apologetic vibe, which pisses me off even more.
Yet, I can’t stop thinking about her even when she’s not in the damn office.
“She shows up,” I answer.
He angles his head to the right and peers down at me from his standing position. “Simply showing up is far from enough for this merger to work out the way I desire it to. If she’s not up to the task, I can give Jase a call now.”
“She’s up to it,” I say before I think better of it. “Ms. Hinkerson knows the numbers and the legal ins and outs almost as much as I do, which is impressive, considering she just started her job at Cypress a month and a half ago.” It burns in my chest how true those words are.
I hated to admit it, but I’m impressed with how well she performs in her role. However, I shouldn’t be surprised. Jackie has always been a performer of sorts.
“You’re meeting with her today, correct?”
“Yes. At four.”
He nods. “My afternoon meeting with the Lockhart Group will take me well into the afternoon. I’ll likely go home straight from the meeting to finish up the workday from my home office. You know how to reach me if anything comes up.”
I nod, knowing when I’ve been dismissed. I assort all the files back in their rightful place and move to exit when Aaron stops me.
“Mark?”
I turn to look at him. “Yes?”
“It’s the end of the year. The holidays are right around the corner. The tendency is to ease up on the gas, but this Cypress merger is important to the company, to me. It’s the reason I put you in charge of it and not someone else. Don’t let the temptation of the holidays, or Ms. Hinkerson, get you off track with this.”
Words stall in my throat. I have no response to what he just said. Though my brain shouts for me to tell him that there was absolutely no temptation on my end to slack off or of being distracted by Jackie fucking Hinkerson, that’s where those words died—my brain because my mouth refused to utter them.
What I say instead is, “The job will get done.”
Aaron nodded. “See that it does.”
Gritting my teeth, I silently exit his office, even more determined not to let any personal nonsense between Jackie and I get in the way of business.
“Did you see the report that I had Nolan email you this morning?” I question from across the table at Townsend Industries.
Mark nods, still peering at a file in front of him.
“What’d you—” I stop my question when he holds up a finger.
“Done. What was that?” He looks up at me, and for a second, without all the bitterness and anger in his eyes, I catch a glimpse of those shining hazel orbs that once held glimpses of laughter and a whole lot of cockiness.
The memory of the first time we ever spoke snakes its way into my memory. Tenth-grade biology class.
“This seat taken, gorgeous?” he asks while slinking up to the only available seat directly next to me.
“No.”
“It is now. I’m Mark,” he introduces as if I didn’t know.
“Jackie.”
“Hinkerson,” he finishes. “Cheerleader extraordinaire.”
“Is that what I’m called amongst you wrestlers?” I’m a cheerleader, sure, but outside of the football and basketball team, I didn’t think other jocks pay attention to us.
“Nah, just me. Do you know anything about biology?”
“Uh, I think it’s the study of life. It said that in the introduction letter Mr. Markles sent out to us.”
He snorts. “You read those?” he asks, sounding affronted.
I dip my head. “Yeah.” My father, through my mother, always made sure my teachers gave me their rules, instructions, and any materials list, at least a week before classes start. I had to memorize them all.
“Good. It looks like I found the person I’m going to be copying all my assignments from for the year.”
The twinkle in his eye and the gorgeous smile on his face gave away the joke.
It didn’t take long for me to fall hard for Mark O’Brien after that initial meeting.
“What were you asking?” His tone is impatient, as if this isn’t the first time he’s asked the question since I’d been in my little trip down memory lane.
“Oh, uh, the report Nolan sent you. Did you get it?”
“I said yes the first time you asked me.”
“And?”
“What?”
I push out a frustrated breath. For a week, this is how any conversation between us has gone. I swore at times I searched the walls for my accreditation in dentistry because this was like pulling teeth.
“Are you ever going to drop the attitude?”
He gave a derisive snort. “Not likely.”
I roll my eyes, feeling sic
k of just about all of the men in my life, dead and alive. “What did you think of the suggestions in the report? Regarding the design additions to Cypress?”
He drops the pen, perching his elbows on the side of his chair, and stares at me. “About the ramps and making the building more accessible?”
I nod.
“Why’d you add it in?”
“Because it’s needed. Cypress’ building is older, out of date, and as much as it needs the technological update, it also needs an inclusivity update. More and more clients seeking mental health services and rehab are presenting with disabilities.”
“Yeah, I read that statistic from last week.” He runs his hand through his hair, the same way he did back then whenever he got frustrated.
I can’t help the smile that overtakes my face at seeing the familiar movement.
“It’ll bump up the cost for Townsend, all of these renovations.”
“It will, but,” I pull out the projections sheet from the report, “Nolan says he thinks it’ll add a ton of value in the long run given the revenue it’ll bring in from increased clientele.”
“That’s what it’s all about, right? Revenue?”
My head snaps backward at the accusation in his tone. “I thought that would’ve been a major selling point for you all here at Townsend because of the emphasis placed on the bottom line at every meeting.”
My voice is just as snappy as his. Hell, I’m getting kind of tired of being bullied by men in my life, and I’m just plain tired and hungry since I haven’t eaten since lunch. It’s going on six o’clock.
“You’re right,” he finally concedes. “My apologies,” he says just above a mumble, but I’ll take it.
“I’ll get with Nolan and the lawyers tomorrow to come up with two separate projections you can present to your boss.”
“Thanks.” He runs his hand through his hair again, and the same tiredness I’ve been feeling takes hold of his expression.
Right then, my stomach decides to interrupt the party and growls. Loudly.
“Do you want to pick up dinner at the vegan place down the block? I hear they remain open late during the week.” The question comes out of nowhere. It has to be driven by my hunger. Mark has not once even indicated that he’d be open to sharing a meal with me.
Mark wears a surprised expression. “Why?”
“Because I’m starving, and my stomach isn’t the only one growling in this room.” I stand, remove my long jacket from the stand in the corner of the room, and put it on.
“We’ve got work to do.”
“And Rome wasn’t built in a day,” I quickly respond. “Come on. I know you’re just as hungry as I am. Work isn’t going anywhere. We still have the rest of the week. Weekends, whatever, to get this job done. But nothing will get accomplished if we pass out from starvation.”
He frowns. “You’re being dramatic.”
“And you’re stubborn. My treat.”
“I don’t need you to treat me.”
I laugh. “Whatever. Let’s go.” After stuffing my files back into my work bag, I head out the door. Part of me is relieved when I see Mark exit behind me. For once, he doesn’t put up much of an argument. Hunger is a powerful motivator.
Chapter 7
Is this a date?
The strange question pops into my head, for the third time, after I’ve tried to push it away. However, this is the third night in a row that I find myself out to dinner with Mark after working long hours in the office together.
“Told you this place was better,” he says from across the circular table.
I nod my head, conceding. “Their sweet potato delight is delicious.” I fork another bite of the sweet potato topped with cashew butter, kale, pickled red cabbage, and sesame seeds. It’s a weird mix, but delicious nonetheless.
“That other place is for show. It’s why they opened in the downtown district near Townsend. All the corporate gym rats and vegans rush over to that place during lunch hours. This little place is so much better.”
“I have to agree. You still have great taste in food.” I take another bite into my mouth, unmindful that Mark has stopped chewing.
Only once I swallow do I catch him staring at me. My words rush back to me, and I mentally kick myself. I hadn’t meant to bring up the past.
I squirm in my seat. “Jase was delighted that Mr. Townsend approved of the recommendations from Nolan’s report.”
Mark’s gaze lowers. For a minute, I don’t think he’s going to respond, but he says, “Those were your recommendations, weren’t they?”
I lift an eyebrow. “It was a team effort.”
“My ass it was. Jase’s team never mentioned anything about those types of updates or those statistics before you came around.” He folds his arms and plants them on the table. “It was your idea, wasn’t it?”
“I saw where there were some pitfalls in the design and brought it up to Jase. It worked well over at McKenna Rehab.”
“You worked at McKenna Rehab?”
I nod.
“In Washington state or elsewhere?”
“Washington.”
He pulls back from the table a little. “So, that’s where you were all these years? The West Coast.”
I glance down at my empty plate before looking back up at him. “For most of them.”
Growing uncomfortable under his scrutinous gaze, I adjust in my chair and pull out the tin of cookies in my purse.
“I thought some of these for dessert might be good.” Opening the tin, I slide it into the middle of the table then look up at Mark.
He eyes the cookies before his gaze moves to meet mine. That instant zap that occurs whenever our eyes connect happens again. I briefly wonder if that’ll ever not be my body’s reaction to him. It was always like that in high school and even now.
“What are these?”
“It isn’t obvious?” I pick up one of the cookies and hold it out to him. “They’re all delicious, but these pumpkin spice latte ones are a must try during this time of year.”
“A pumpkin spice latte cookie?” His face takes on a quizzical expression that is a mixture of boyish cuteness and adult male hotness.
He reaches to take the cookie, causing our fingers to brush against one another. I have to reach for my glass of water to take a sip and tell my body to freaking relax.
“These are delicious.”
Laughing, I say, “You sound surprised. Like I was lying or something.”
He shrugs as he stares at the cookie in amazement. “You never know. Not everyone has good taste in food.”
“Tuh. I may not be able to cook, but I know when food is good.”
He chuckles as he takes his last bite. “You bought these around here? I thought I knew all the good local bakeries.”
“No.” I shake my head. “My best friend, Desiree, makes them. She has a website named Sweet Seduction, where she sells them online. The holidays are her busiest time of year.”
“I can imagine. I’d pay double for these.”
I push the tin closer to him. “Try the oatmeal raisins ones. Those are pretty good, too. And from what I remember, you liked oatmeal raisin cookies.”
Again, our eyes connect, and for a heartbeat, it feels as if he’s going to call me out for bringing up the past again or revert into his ire-filled shell, but he doesn’t.
“You’re right. Those are still one of my favorites.” He bites into them.
“Right?” I exclaim, laughing as his eyes roll to the back of his head.
“I think these might be the best cookies I’ve ever had.”
“I’ll tell Desiree you said so. I’ve been trying to encourage her to open the bakery she’s dreamt of for years. I believe it’ll happen sooner rather than later.”
I recall the conversation I had with her the other night. She didn’t let on as much, but I could hear it in her voice when she spoke of Neil and her cookie business. Things are changing for Desiree. My only sadness is that Dierdre i
sn’t around to see it.
“I ate the only two vanilla bean cookies she included in this tin, or else I’d tell you to try those. They’re so freakin’ good. The other tin she sent had more, but I left those at home for Mama.”
“I think you should take these before I eat the entire thing.”
“Take them. I’ve had more than my fair share. Trust me. Desiree sent two of these tins, and Mama barely touched hers. I’m planning on making a holiday order in the next couple of days to have them here by Thanksgiving.”
Mark nods. “Your mom, huh?”
Unease begins to spread in my chest. I got carried away in what I divulged in this conversation. That was always the problem with Mark. I could so easily get caught up in talking with him and accidentally tell him more than I meant to.
I nod without looking directly at him before covering the tin can with its silver and white lid. “Here. Take ’em. Really.” I shove the cookies so far across the table they nearly fall into his lap.
“I’ll take ’em if you promise not to tell my sister-in-law I said these were the best cookies I’ve ever tasted.”
We both laughed. “She’s a good cook, huh?”
“Resha’s great. Connor lucked out.”
“Your brother. How’s he doing?” I lean into the table, expecting him to open up about the older brother he revered.
For a moment, he looks as if he’s planning to do precisely that. His eyes widen, and that light that used to invade his pupils whenever he spoke of Connor appears. But then his gaze moves to me, and the light dims. I see it all happen in a flash, a flicker of a memory. As if he remembers who he’s talking to.
The girl that broke him.
Mark clears his throat. “It’s late, and we both should get going.”
Reluctantly, I nod, knowing this is for the best. Truthfully, it’s dangerous for me to be this close to Mark outside of work. As long as we’re in the walls of Townsend Industries, I can keep up the myth that any interactions between us are due to us by our employment obligations. However, in the confines of this restaurant, we haven’t talked much about work.
The lie I was telling myself slips away.
I want to know Mark outside of the Townsend and Cypress merger. Selfishly, I want to find out all about what his life is like today. How he’s changed as a result of the accident, and how he’s remained the same.
A Holiday Temptation: A Holiday Novella Page 5