by S Doyle
Santa Baby Maybe
S. Doyle
Copyright © 2020 by S. Doyle
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
My Fake Christmas Fiance
How My Brother’s Best Friend Stole Christmas
Also by S. Doyle
Prologue
Kane Co. Holiday Party
Christmas Eve
Denver
Joy
“Are you okay?” Sophie asked me as we rode up in the elevator to the fifth floor of the building where we worked together. I say worked together, but Sophie was the boss’s sister. She really was Kane Co. Tonight was Christmas Eve and Kane Co., a Christmas ornament company, was about to have its very first blowout holiday party.
As the company’s head ornament designer, I’d been so excited for tonight. Excited enough to agree to Sophie’s plan to get all dolled up and break out of normal routines.
Sophie headed up the warehouse and shipping departments. As such, she was a jeans and boots girl all the way. Me, I was loose tops and skirts that hid things.
Tonight, neither of us were hiding anything. Tonight, we were sexpots.
Maybe if I hadn’t done it. Maybe if I hadn’t bought the strapless black cocktail dress, I wouldn’t have grabbed my black clutch bag to go with it. Maybe if I hadn’t reminded Sophie to pack lipsticks and condoms, because I was pretty sure Sophie had an agenda for the night that involved a special someone, I wouldn’t have thought to check my own clutch for essentials.
Lipstick. Mirror. Emergency tampon.
In case I got my period. Which was when it dawned on me—I should have already had my period last week. This meant I was officially late.
I was never late.
I was NEVER late.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Certainly don’t think about him!
“I’m fine. Just nervous, I guess. I’ve never worn anything like this before.”
“You look amazing. We both do. We just need to own it. Remember, we got this,” Sophie said, even as she grabbed my hand and squeezed it.
The elevator doors dinged.
“Yep,” I muttered. “We’ve got something.”
The doors opened, and Sophie and I stepped out into the party that was obviously in full swing. Tonight the space was filled with fairy lights and poinsettias and looked like something out of a Hallmark movie.
Employees with their spouses, all dressed in their very best, filled the room chatting and partaking of the hors d’oeuvres and free booze. There was an open bar that took up one side of the room and a band playing in the corner. There was even a chocolate fountain where people lined up to dip stuff in it.
Sophie and I split up and I started to wander through the crowds of people looking for members of my team. The key was going to be to keep my cool with everyone even while I was losing my shit on the inside.
“There she is! Our company savior!”
I jumped at the words said directly behind me and then settled down. It wasn’t him. I turned with a rueful smile for Wes Kane, Kane Co.’s fearless leader.
This was perfect, I thought. Now that I’d seen Wes, maybe I could make my excuses and leave. In a crowd like this, it was doubtful I’d even be missed. Maybe I wouldn’t have to run into him at all.
“I would hardly say that,” I said in answer to his proclamation, but I stepped into his open arms for a hug. Wes was that kind of boss.
“The Golden Rings was your brainchild and you executed it. We wouldn’t be in the kind of shape we are today if you hadn’t had the idea and the talent to pull it off. I’m serious, Joy. I owe you. Everyone in this room owes you. Hell, I’ll even fire W.B. if you want me to. You’ve asked me to do it enough times.” Wes laughed.
“No! You can’t do that. You know he’s responsible for the success, too. Just because we don’t get along…”
Wes held his hands up. “Joy, relax. I was only teasing. There is no way in hell I’m firing my CFO who managed to miraculously turn a dying company into a thriving one. But if it will give you a thrill to watch me, I’ll do it. Right before I hire him back.”
I smiled. Because it would be fun for five seconds to see the look on his face. Then I shook my head. “I’m good.”
“Can I get you drink?” Wes pointed to the large bar over his shoulder.
“No!” I screeched, then realize how ridiculous I sounded. “I mean, no. I really just wanted to come and say thank you for the opportunity. I know you took a risk on my idea.”
“A risk that paid off,” Wes said. “I’m the one who owes you my thanks.”
I smiled and tucked my hair behind my ear. I’d always had a problem with compliments like that. “Anyway, Merry Christmas. Happy Holidays and I’ll see you in the New Year.”
Maybe. Or maybe not, depending on what happened when I got home.
“Wait. You’re not staying to enjoy the party? I’ve got the best caterer in Denver. Your whole team is here. And besides, you missed the big announcement. I’m officially married!”
“What?” I said, my jaw dropping in true shock. I’d known he was engaged. Everyone knew about the engagement, even if they hadn’t really known who Penny Gold was. Still, the marriage came as surprise.
“Yep. We just decided to make it official. Today.”
“That’s great. I’m happy for you. Congratulations. I mean that. You deserve to be happy, Wes.”
“Thank you. And please stay. Enjoy the celebration,” Wes encouraged me.
I nodded and smiled, and that seemed to assure Wes. He turned away then and started chatting with other employees. Making them feel like they too were saviors of the company. Because, really, it had been a group effort.
I glanced around the crowded room hoping I could find Cheryl quickly. Maybe I was overthinking this. After all, I had barely seen W.B. in the last month. Did I even know for sure if he would come to an event like this? W.B. was so rigid about everything else in his life. A party seemed out of character. I imagined if he had come, he’d get a drink—just one, he would never do anything as crass as get drunk at the company holiday party—and stand against a wall, brooding, while he watched everyone else relax and have fun.
That was, unless he’d brought a date. Oh my God, what if he was here with a date?
As I turned around, searching the room for Cheryl, my eyes locked on a person who was holding a single drink, standing in a corner of the room, and watching me.
Broodingly. Broodingly watching me.
Shit!
I hated that I’d been right. Hated that now that I’d seen him, made eye contact with him, I was probably obliged to say something to him. At the very least, say Happy Holidays.
Because that’s what we’d agreed to. Or he’d agreed to. He was the CFO and I was the head ornament designer, and that’s all we were to each other now. And had been since Thanksgiving. Which meant, as colleagues, it was entirely appropriate to say hello and wish him a good New Year.
Except I didn’t think I could do it. I didn’t think I could say
anything to him without blurting out the very real possibility that I was…
No. Don’t think it. If you don’t think it, it can’t be true.
I realized there was a level of delusional denial in that statement, but it was the only thing holding me together.
Then I realized he was still watching me, his blue eyes drilling into my head like he could find all the answers there. Know all my secrets.
I couldn’t let him. My secrets were too life changing.
It was cowardice, but it didn’t matter. I had to get out of there. I would send Cheryl an email. I would send my whole team an email apologizing for my absence. Letting them know I was under the weather.
That’s if I made the decision to come back to Kane Co., which right now was in doubt, because just knowing W.B. was here and watching me didn’t make me feel professional or mature.
Instead he made me feel flustered and entirely unprofessional.
Shit.
Now he was walking toward me, a determined expression on his face that might signal he had something important to say to me, or it was just his normal expression. Because W.B. always looked like he was on the verge of saying something important.
I called it his Resting Serious Face. Because his expressions didn’t often stray from that.
Except that one time.
Don’t think about it. Don’t remember. If you don’t remember it, it didn’t happen.
Hokay, delusional denial was at an all-time high. But I didn’t care. I was rattled. I had a very good reason to be, and if that made me chickenshit of the universe, I didn’t care. I was out of there.
The press of people between him and me was making it difficult for him to reach me. I took advantage of the clusters of people, weaving my way through those with drinks in their hands, all seemingly having an enjoyable evening.
It had been a mistake coming here. Before I knew. Before I was certain. Before I had a plan.
Everything had been so badly timed. Three hours ago my only goal had been to march into the party in the sexiest dress I’d ever bought myself. I was more of an artsy-chick than a sexy-chick type. But my friend Sophie, who ran the shipping department, and I had decided to get seriously dolled up. Each with our own reasons, I suspected.
I’d gone with sex on a hanger for this event, and the plan had been to flirt with Greg in accounting. Because Greg flirted with everyone and W.B. would see how completely unaffected I was by him.
Even if it was a lie.
I smiled and waved as I ducked and moved around people who were coming into the party even as I made my way out into the lobby.
The elevator doors dinged and a group of people got off. I smiled and nodded as people moved past me, until finally the elevator was empty and I stepped inside. I hit the button to go down, but at the last second a suit-covered arm moved in between the closing doors. The arm was followed by the man, and of course, of course, it was him!
“Joy, please, we need to talk,” W.B. said seriously.
Lifting my chin I struggled for composure. “Do you have ideas for a new ornament?”
“This isn’t about Christmas ornaments.”
“Or issues with my next quarterly budget?”
He scowled at me.
“Because I said…”
“I know what you said,” he clipped. “I know what I said. I just think…maybe I was wrong to agree to your terms.”
I considered what he’d said. My eyebrows lifted. “Wait. Are you admitting to me you were wrong about something? Who are you? And what have you done with W.B.?”
Another scowl. “Look, I think we should talk.”
I shook my head. I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t. Because I wasn’t calm, cool, or collected. I couldn’t pull my shit together because there were about a thousand thoughts rattling in my head right now. I couldn’t have a conversation about what had happened. Either about what happened on Thanksgiving or before what happened on Thanksgiving. And I couldn’t be in an elevator with W.B. Darling right now. I didn’t have that kind of verbal self-control.
“How about tomorrow?” I suggested.
“I don’t want to let this linger,” he said, stuffing his hands into pockets, his eyes now firmly on the tips of his shoes. I couldn’t help remembering how thick his dark blond hair was, how it felt when I’d run my fingers through it.
“I can’t,” I said.
Utterly frustrated, I knew I had to get off this elevator now. Like, right now. Instead of hitting the lobby button again, I hit the Door Open button. Only again nothing happened. Or had that been the Door Close button? I always struggled with what those arrows were telling me.
“Hold on,” he said. “Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?” I asked and then listened. Yes, it was like a collective muffled groan. Like everyone in the lobby outside the party entrance was suddenly disappointed at once.
Then a voice cut over the groaning. “Don’t worry, everyone it’s probably just a temporary outage because of the snow. We should have the power back on shortly.”
No power. No power to make the elevator go down or the doors open. I glanced up, realizing that the light inside had changed, and instead of the normal overhead light fixture illumination there was the dull red of an emergency light shining down on us.
I closed my eyes. “This can’t be happening,” I whispered. Saying the mantra over and over like a prayer.
“It appears we’re stuck,” W.B. said, stating the obvious. “I know it’s not ideal but at least this gives us a chance to talk.”
I looked over at him, at his serious expression, his chiseled jaw, his freak-of-nature blue eyes, and did the thing I promised myself I couldn’t do. Not until I was sure. But I was me and holding back just wasn’t in my nature.
“I might be pregnant!”
1
Kane Co.
Six Months Ago
W.B.
“I called you both together so you can see how I want to approach this,” Wes Kane said, sitting behind his desk with an expansive view of LoDo Denver behind him in the windows. Coors Field was so close, I thought if I reached out I could touch it.
“The way I see it,” he continued. “The merger is going to happen, and if our people are going to make it through unscathed then we, as a company, need to be in better shape. So it has to be a two-pronged attack. Yes, we have to shore up the financials, but we’re going to need more than that. We’re going to need new ideas, maybe a new direction…”
“Something besides Christmas ornaments?” The woman in the chair adjacent to mine asked. She’d been introduced as Joy Knews. An artist and Christmas ornament designer who’d recently been hired to head up the design department. Just as I’d been hired to take over the financial planning.
She looked like an artist, I thought. Long, wavy brown hair, little to no makeup, flowing blouse and loose skirt as opposed to more traditional professional business attire. She was even wearing sandals. Sandals that revealed her toe rings.
I almost snorted when I saw them. Who attended a meeting with the president of the company wearing toe rings and her toenails painted a soft pink? It was unseemly. Unprofessional. And distracting.
I shouldn’t know what this woman’s toes looked like. Trying to focus on the man in front of me, I adjusted my tie and considered the idea.
“We could move away from Christmas ornaments entirely and focus on other uses for our glass products,” I said. The truth was, I wasn’t entirely thrilled to be working for a Christmas ornament company. I thought it sounded silly. As if Christmas ornaments should be left to the efforts of elves and such.
At my last job, the company made tractors. Tractors were solid. They were real. Substantial. But my upward mobility had been limited because of the family nature of the company and so Wes’s offer of CFO of Kane Co. was too good to turn down. Not to mention the challenge of saving a company on the brink of financial disaster right before a major merger.
If I pulled this off,
my reputation in Denver would be solidified and I could have my pick of jobs. Perhaps even be a contender for a CEO position.
Money, power, success. Stability, safety, security.
All of it could be mine. I just had to get over the fact that the business I was going to save right now was in the Christmas ornament industry.
“No, we’re sticking with what we know best,” Wes said, and I could see his words offered relief to Ms. Knews.
Figured. She probably loved Christmas and ornaments and decorations and all things bright and shiny.
It was hard to explain, but people like her really annoyed me. They just drifted through life without a care in the world, their only goals were to make things prettier and nicer. Never seeing the ugly underbelly of what it took to sustain art. You needed money to buy art. Money to make art. Did she even understand that? Or did she just care about her silly oval glass designs?
“But I want new ideas,” Wes continued. “Business as usual won’t get us back to recovery. We need to shake it up, separate ourselves from other companies out there producing the same product. W.B., I need you to figure out how to make money out of air, and Joy I need you to come up with the most spectacular Christmas ornament that every buyer must have. Are you both up to the challenge?”
“I am, Mr. Kane. Sorry, Wes. Yes, sir,” she said. And then began clapping for some unknown reason. Like she couldn’t quite help herself. Ridiculous woman.
I simply nodded once. That was all that needed to be said.
“Okay. Good luck. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my ten o’clock is waiting.”
I took that as my cue to leave and nearly butted heads with Ms. Knews as I bent to pick up my briefcase—yes, I still carried a briefcase—while she was also bending down to pick up her…satchel I suppose you would call it.