I Know What You Did Last Christmas

by Briggs, Laura

  I Know What You Did Last Christmas

  By Laura Briggs

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2011 Laura Briggs

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  "Don't talk to me ever again." Lisel Bishop's eyes held a warning that struck fear in the hearts of most grown men.

  Marc Romez, however, was not most grown men, which was why his dark eyes remained locked with her gaze. With a childish grin, he flipped the light switch to the conference room, bathing the interior in light.

  "Don't be such a prig," he answered. "The clients loved it. And I would have cleared it with you, except somebody spent the weekend at a spa."

  "It was my vacation, Marc! My vacation!" She practically shouted as she tossed her briefcase onto the table. "I scheduled it three weeks beforehand after the publishing house cleared our idea. Remember, the one we had together?" She glared at him to emphasize this statement.

  He sank down in a padded office chair and swiveled towards her. "Yeah, the idea that you forced on me after browbeating me for hours."

  "Well, wait and see what Downey has to say about that," she retorted, turning to face the windows.

  There were feuds at Holly Tree Publishing just like any other office -- and then there was Bishop and Romez. Three years of constant fighting had made them legend, from the rooftop smoking zone where the interns hung out to the underground parking garage.

  Lisel claimed the worst day of her life was the day the publishing firm made the two of them an author acquisitions team designed to woo new and existing authors to sign with Holly Tree, their cubicles separated by mere feet on the office floor. As for their work schedules? Almost never. Unless one of them slipped away and handled the client's wishes on their own, that is.

  "I think Downey will back me up on this one," Marc answered. He propped his feet on the table, despite the shiny walnut surface. "You'll see." He shrugged his shoulders as he perused their latest client's file.

  A snort of contempt escaped Lisel's nose. She was silent until the door to the conference room opened, admitting the editor in chief Ronald Downey and the rest of the editorial team. A secretary followed behind, with a tray of coffee and donuts.

  "Congratulations on the Wallace contract, you two," said Downey. "I can't tell you how much he raved about that release party. The disco ball, the band–he was still talking about it a week later." He seated himself at the head of the table. "The pen practically leaped into his hand when we put the contract before him."

  Lisel's jaw dropped open slightly. "But I thought you approved of the first idea we had. The dinner party at Tah's Palace." She referred to the new four-star Asian restaurant, considered the hottest cultural spot in the city.

  Downey nodded as she spoke. "I did. Until Marc ran with that last-minute concept you guys dreamed up for the 70's dance bash. Positive genius, Lisel."

  She forced a smile to her lips. "Yes, but Sam Wallace's major support for the Asian arts made the dinner a perfect choice–"

  "The dance club was perfect," another editor chimed in. "Those pivotal chapters in the story where Wallace discusses the music scene that inspired his first documentary film. Everybody knows that's what inspired him to write the memoir."

  "That's what we were thinking," said Marc. A wide grin had spread across his face, his eyes darting towards Lisel as he spoke. "So no problems with the change, right?"

  Downey shook his head. "Absolutely not. You went with your gut and now another successful author will be writing books for this company. No problems with that." He flipped open his business schedule. "Now, let's turn our attention to the rumors that Levitz and Stacy are finally collaborating ..."

  Her fingers crushed the sides of the styrofoam cup as Lisel stared at Marc with slit eyes. He was hiding a laugh, his gaze focused on something just underneath the edge of the table. No doubt a stupid internet video scrolling on his phone; or pictures of girls posed in bikinis. He wasn't even listening to the discussion of their potential clients' writing plans. Meaning it would be her job to fill him in on the details later.

  "So, any thoughts on what we can do to reel them in?" Downey's glance darted between Marc, who finally glanced up, and the attentive figure of Lisel.

  Her lips formed a tight smile. "Plenty," she answered.

  *****

  When they left the conference room, Lisel beat her partner to the elevator by a few seconds. Pressing the button, she calculated the odds that the door would slam in his face, forcing him to wait for another one or take the stairs.

  A muscular arm, however, slid between the doors in the nick of time. They parted to allow his lean figure to slide inside and join her. He glanced at her as if trying to gauge her mood; she turned her face the opposite direction to hide the angry flush in her cheeks.

  "Don't be mad, Lisel." That little teasing note in his voice only made her more angry. "He loved the idea. I couldn't resist going with it if we had a chance to snag this client."

  "Yeah, I know." Her tone was frosty. "You can't ever resist doing these things, can you? Treating my opinion like–"

  "Whoa, wait a minute," he interrupted. "This from the person who once rewrote my entire presentation to Downey without my consent–"

  "Only because you compared wooing authors to learning to rap!" she answered. "Stupid analogies, rambling thoughts, a music track? Get real, Marc. We're grownups in a grownup business."

  "Maybe being a grownup gets in the way of our success sometimes. Ever think about that?" He raised his eyebrows to emphasize this statement, as the elevator doors opened on their floor. She brushed past him and made her way out first, skirting a group of public relations agents and in-house cover designers busy stringing tinsel garland around the office.

  Sliding behind her desk, she scowled. For a moment, she actually hoped Downey would scold them for a job well done only because it was a job she didn't want to do. Creating crazy publicity stunts to snag authors seemed, well, cheap. And tacky. Definitely tacky compared to dinner at a four-star restaurant. Holly Tree is a respectable publishing house, not a house zoo for frat boys.

  She typed the password into her computer and opened her online calendar, a black and white page covered with tiny notations for business and personal appointments. "Dentist's appointment at two-thirty" appeared on the day below the reminder to "rotate tires/add snow chains." Today's meeting was erased with a few keystrokes, a new one scheduled for the following week.

  A perfect example of Lisel's cubicle as a whole. Neat containers filled with paper clips and rubber bands, a matching silver stapler and hole punch. Photographs perfectly spaced on the walls, with a decorative cover hiding the outlet that powered her phone's battery charger and her desk lamp.

  "What's up, girl?" Debbie, one of the firm's copy editors, leaned in the cubicle doorway, sporting a bright red Christmas sweater. "You look like somebody just stole the last cookie from the jar."

  "I'm just steamed from the meeting," Lisel answered. "My brilliant partner behaving himself, as usual. Do you know he actually–"

  Debbie rolled her eyes. "Yeah, so what's new?" she said. "Forget him for now and take one of these," she continued, holding out a handful of candy canes. "There's about a billion in the coffee room right now."

  Lisel pulled the plastic off one of the canes and bit a piece off
. "Don't you think it's a little early for all this?" she asked. "I mean, Christmas is over two weeks away."

  "Apparently, an agency with a name like Holly Tree has to live up to people's expectations for the holiday season," Debbie answered. "So I better see that mistletoe sweater of yours before the office holiday party."

  "Like I have a reason for mistletoe," Lisel scoffed. "Around here, I spend all my time trying to rescue my career from the gutter of juvenile reason." She pulled open a drawer and fished through the neatly-divided sections for a pair of scissors.

  "Maybe you should try kissing and making up for the holidays." Debbie's suggestion snapped Lisel's attention away from her task almost instantly.

  "You think I'm the one who should play nice?" she answered. "What about him? He cancels all my reservations for clients; he sneaks around reversing all the decisions we made together about pursuing clients. He even ate my lunch one day even though it was clearly labeled with my name in the company fridge!" She slammed the drawer shut in her anger.

  Debbie held up her hands defensively. "Hey, I'm not trying to start World War Three," she said. "It was just a joke. Although, you have to admit, it has its upside." With a meaningful glance towards Marc's cubicle, where he was visible at his computer working.

  Dark hair and bronzed skin. A slight stubble that suggested he hadn't shaved that morning. A lean, muscular frame evident beneath his suit. And as for his smile–if you weren't immune to its charms the way Lisel was, it had the potential to stir sparks in a girl's heart.

  "I see what you mean," Lisel admitted– begrudgingly. "But that's not the problem, Deb. The problem is his whole attitude. It's–"

  "Fun?" suggested her friend. "Casual, easygoing? All things you avoid like the plague." As Lisel shot her an incredulous glance, she added, "Remember the last dvd that excited you? Yoga Plus Workout. And the color-coded salad containers in your fridge?"

  "All right, all right. Point taken." She scowled again. "But work isn't supposed to be fun. Maybe if Marc tried being responsible here, he wouldn't be such a jerk."

  With that, she swiveled her chair to face away from the sight of Marc on the phone, a slow grin crawling across his face as he talked. Anyone but Debbie might suspect she was avoiding the sight of him for other reasons. But her coworkers knew better than to think there was anything between them other than a world-class feud.

  *****

  "So, what about Thursday's basketball game?" Ed, the house accountant, leaned over the top of Marc's cubicle.

  "No can do," Marc answered. "I got a thing with a client on Thursday. Dinner and a show at that Mongolian Barbecue place." He pulled a fast food bag from a filing cabinet drawer, where it was stuffed next to a pair of sneakers and a box of Wheat Thins.

  "I'm gonna guess Lisel scheduled this event," said Ed. "Tell her you've got other plans and take the client out on Wednesday instead."

  Marc popped a few fries in his mouth. "Can't do that, either," he said, opening a packet of ketchup. "She's already fuming over a couple of changes I made to our last client meeting." With a wry grin as he glanced at one of the photos from the club concert, pinned on an untidy wall of personal photos and snapshots from office parties.

  "You mean the disco thing? I heard that was awesome, man." Ed's voice was filled with envy. "How did you ever find a Beegees cover band that fast?"

  "Hey, lower your voice," Marc answered, hiding a half-grin. "My by-the-book partner wasn't so thrilled by it." He glanced over his shoulder, but there was no sound from Lisel's cubicle.

  "Anyway, it was a last-minute change that I figured would pay off, so I went with it," he said. "Lisel thinks plans are carved in stone, so I sort of didn't mention it until the day before." It had earned him a week of stony silence punctuated by cold remarks from his partner.

  "It could be worse," Ed reminded him, "You could be partnered with Trevor instead. I heard he hit his last partner with a car." He referred to an obnoxious acquisitions employee known for abusing his business charge account and circulating office gossip emails.

  "That's true." Marc answered slowly, his eyes traveling towards Lisel's cubicle. A half-smile crept across his face as he watched her wind a strand of blond hair around her fingers absently, her blue eyes trained on a file open on her desk. Her flawless blue-grey suit a perfect match for her porcelain skin.

  Definitely more attractive than Trevor's beer belly. Although the sight of her office made him cringe. Nothing but straight lines and feng-shui spaces, everything in its place at every second.

  This was a woman who organized her coffee by days of the week. And threw his blended brew in the garbage because it "didn't have a valid expiration date."

  That was supposed to be okay, but not making a few harmless changes to their business strategy?

  Debbie leaned inside his cubicle and tossed him a candy cane. "Merry Christmas from the office cheer brigade," she said. Marc offered her a grin as he reached for one.

  "Thanks," he answered. He stuck it in his pencil holder, home to stray sunglasses and half-sharpened pencils of all shades and sizes. "So, you spending Christmas with anybody?"

  "My new boyfriend," Deb answered. "We're going to meet his parents for a holiday dinner. I'm actually kind of nervous about this one."

  "My wife's dragging me to a cabin in the mountains," Ed groaned. "My sister-in-law and her family rented it so we could spend the holidays together. We're talking temperatures at twenty below and roads iced over for a week."

  He caught the candy cane Deb tossed to him from the doorway. "Believe me, you're lucky that you're still in charge of your holidays, Marc. Cruises in the Caribbean, California beaches ... whatever you want."

  Marc shrugged. "I don't know. Sometimes I wish for something different. Something a little more like home, you know?" His fingers played with the remaining French fries, twisting them into shapes.

  Ed snorted. "Didn't you spend last Christmas at a ski resort?" he asked. "That sounds lucky to me."

  "It was nice," Marc answered vaguely. "But it makes you think about stuff you wish you had." With that, he crumpled the fast food bag into a ball and tossed it towards the trash can. Where it bounced off the edge and landed beside a crumpled soda can and empty juice box.

  "Whatever," said Debbie. "I just wish I spent the holidays on vacation somewhere nice." With that, she moved on to the next cubicle.

  "Well, if you want a cure for the home Christmas blues, come to the cabin with us," offered Ed. "Unless Lisel had found a way for you guys to pursue clients over the holidays."

  "Believe me, she hasn't," Marc answered. "I'm pretty sure she likes her holidays far away from the office." His gaze lingered for a moment on his partner as she stapled together perfectly-stacked business forms. "And from certain people in it."

  *****

  Over a cup of cocoa, Lisel reviewed her latest strategy for luring Levitz and Stacy to sign with Holly Tree Publishing. Right now it was only a rumor that the two roller derby celebrities were interested in switching publishers for their second book about the adventures in their viral videos. But if there was any truth to the rumor, Lisel would be first in line to offer a contract.

  She pulled the sofa throw over her knees and gazed at the snow falling outside her living room windows. Flames danced over the fireplace logs, creating a cozy atmosphere for two. But only Lisel was there to enjoy it.

  In a couple of days, her neighbors would be stapling lights along the eaves and windows of their homes and hanging wreaths of greenery and sleigh bells. The local Girl Scout troupe formed a caroling group that serenaded homes the week before Christmas.

  As usual, her home would be bare except for a fake green garland around the door and the same lighted door wreath as the year before. Struggling with the lights and ornaments while shoveling snow and salting steps–who needs it? Certainly not someone who devoted so many hours to her job. Certainly not someone who lived alone and didn't expect to share the holidays with anyone special.

  This
year she was planning to spend Christmas sleeping in and going through receipts for her taxes; maybe she would catch a rerun of "Miracle on 34th Street" on television. This year, she wasn't taking a chance that something would ruin her holiday by enjoying it from the safety of her home, with a lighted Christmas tree and box of chocolates.

  "Stop saying I'm cranky about the holidays," she complained, trudging through the snow behind Deb at a local tree lot. Her friend raised her eyebrows.

  "You know, normally you love this kind of stuff. I wouldn't have asked you if I knew you were such a grinch about Christmas this year." She was strolling ahead of Lisel by several feet, zeroing in on potential trees for the office Christmas party.

  "I'm not anti-Christmas," she argued back, "just anti-hype. Holidays are blown out of proportion these days. All the parties, the mistletoe, the expensive gifts ..." She let her voice trail off, annoyed by the way her argument was unraveling.

  "You mean like little boxes of jewelry that only engaged girls receive?" asked Deb. She inspected the branches of a large fir tree. "I think you're just a humbug this year. You usually love the holidays."

  Lisel kicked at a pile of snow, wishing she'd had a meeting or a similar excuse to get out of this assignment. To her, the Christmas party boiled down to a Secret Santa gift exchange and a bowl of spiked punch.

  "I love the holidays, really," she answered, defensively. "I just need a little break from them, that's all. I mean the Christmas cruise, the whole sleigh ride in Vermont experience...you know what I mean."

  "Wasn't that Vermont thing last year?" Deb check the price tag on an extra-large tree.

  "No, last year was the skiing trip to Elk Run Resort," Lisel answered. "Not exactly Colorado, but nice." She pulled her phone out of her pocket, half-hoping to see a message from work.

  Deb let go of the price tag. "You went skiing last Christmas? Seriously?"