* * *
Kim tumbled into her chair and laid her head down on her desk. She turned just far enough to eye the golden plaque perched next to her pencil sharpener that had been a gift from her friend Brenda.
Kim McKinley, VP of Advertising.
“Some joke.” She backhanded the plaque, sending it sailing. Who had she been kidding, anyway? Vice president? A twenty-four-year-old woman?
There would be no big office with floor-to-ceiling windows in her immediate future. No maple shelving for potted plants, and no opportunity to implement her plans and ideas for the company. So didn’t she feel exactly like that jettisoned plaque—shot into space, only to land with a dismal thud right back in her own six-by-six cubicle?
Could the moisture welling up in her eyes be tears? As in about to cry tears?
Unacceptable.
Twenty-four-year-old professionals didn’t blubber away when they were royally disappointed, or when they were overlooked and underappreciated at the office.
No tears. No way. No how.
She was mad, that’s all, with no way to express how sad she was going to be if she had to leave this building and everything she had built here in the past five years.
“Why does everyone want to push me about the damn contract?” she grumbled, figuring that Brenda, in the next cubicle, would be listening. “Haven’t I worked extremely hard on every other blasted campaign all year long? I’ve all but slept in this cubicle. I keep clothes in my desk drawers. Would it be fair to dock me over one single previously negotiated item?”
Inhaling damp desk blotter and the odor of evergreen that now pervaded the building, Kim reviewed the proverbial question on the table.
Was there another person on earth who could say that Christmas had been their downfall?
Plunking her head again on the desk, she muttered a weak “ouch.” Rustling up some anger didn’t seem to be working at the moment. It was obvious that she needed more work on self-defense.
“You okay?” a voice queried from somewhere behind her. “I heard a squeak.”
Kim blinked.
“Kim? Are you, or are you not okay?”
“Nope. Not okay.” She didn’t bother to sit up.
“Are you in need of medical attention?”
Moving her mouth with difficulty because it was stuck to some paper, Kim said, “Intravenous Success Serum would be helpful. Got any?”
“No, but I’ve got something even better.”
“Valium? Hemlock? A place with cheap rent?”
“An invitation to have drinks with the new boss tonight in the bar just arrived by email.”
Kim muffled a scream. What had Brenda just said? They were both to have drinks with Monroe? The bastard had invited a crowd to witness her third degree and possible dismissal?
“Now’s not a good time, Bren,” she said. Having a coworker for her best friend sometimes had its drawbacks. Like their close proximity when she wanted to pout by herself.
“I think now would be a good time, actually,” Brenda countered. “We can find out what the new guy is like, en masse.”
“I’ll tell you what he’s like in one word. Brutus!”
Brenda stuck her head over the partition separating their cubicles. “I’m guessing your meeting didn’t go well?”
Kim pried her cheek from the desk, narrowed her eyes and turned to face Brenda.
“So not afraid of that look,” Brenda said.
“That’s the problem. Neither was he.”
“Yes, well, didn’t you just know that the damn Christmas clause was going to jump up and bite you again someday? I mean how could they understand when they don’t know....”
Kim held up a hand that suggested if Brenda said one more word along those lines, she might regret it.
“I’ve probably just lost my dream job, Bren. For all intents and purposes, this agency considers me an ancestor of old mister Scrooge. And by the way, aren’t best friends supposed to offer sympathy in times of crisis, without lengthy lectures tacked on?”
Not much taller than the five foot partition in her bare feet, Brenda, who went shoeless in her space, was barely visible. All that showed was a perfectly straight center part halving a swath of shiny black hair, and a pair of kohl-lined, almond-shaped eyes. The eyes were shining merrily. There might have been a piece of tinsel entwined in a few ebony strands near Brenda’s forehead.
What Brenda lacked in stature, however, she made up for in persistence. “I might suggest that nobody will believe that anyone actually hates Christmas, Kim. Not for real.”
Brenda didn’t stop there. “That’s what the new guy will be thinking. So maybe you can come up with an alternate reason for holding back on the holiday stuff that he will buy into. Like...religious reasons.”
“Seriously?” Sarcasm returned to Kim’s tone as she offered Brenda what she thought was a decent rendition of a go-away-and-leave-me-alone-or-else look.
Brenda performed a glossy hair flip. “Still not afraid,” she said. “Or discouraged.”
Kim got to her feet and smoothed her skirt over her hips. “I think it’s already too late for help of any kind.”
“Tell me about it,” Brenda said. “But first you have to dish about whether Monroe really does have a nice ass.”
Kim kneaded the space between her eyes with shaky fingers, trying to pinpoint the ache building there.
“You didn’t think he was hot?” Brenda continued. “That’s the word going around. H-o-t, as in fan yourself.”
“Yeah? Did you hear anything about the man being an arrogant idiot?” Kim asked.
“No. My sources might have left that part out.”
“I don’t actually care about the nice ass part, Bren. I prefer not to notice an area that I won’t be kissing.”
“Don’t be absurd, Kim. No one expects you to kiss anyone’s backside. It isn’t professional. What happened?”
“I’ll have to start over somewhere else, that’s what. Monroe won’t let me off the hook. He expects me to explain everything. He’ll expect me to cave.” She waved both hands in the air. “I can’t tell him about my background. I can barely talk about it to myself.”
“You told me.”
“That’s different. Best friends are best friends. How I grew up isn’t any of his business.”
“What about the fact that you’ve been wanting to forget about this issue with your family for some time now, anyway?” Brenda asked. “Maybe it’s the right time to take that next step.”
Kim couldn’t find the words to address Brenda’s remark. She wondered if anyone really knew how bad guilt trips felt and how deep some family issues went, if they hadn’t experienced it.
She had a hole inside her that hadn’t completely closed over and was filled with heartaches that had had plenty of time to fester at a cellular level. Her mother had constantly reminded her of how they’d been wronged by a man, and about the dishonest things all men do for utterly selfish reasons.
Her mom wouldn’t listen to advice about getting help in order to emerge from under the dark clouds surrounding her traumatic marital disappointment. Instead, she had spread those dark clouds over Kim.
The guilt about wanting to be rid of the deep-seated feelings of abandonment was sharp-edged, and nearly as painful now as the old heartaches. The warnings her mother had given her had calloused several times over.
Kim had thought long and hard about this since her mother’s death. What she had needed was a little more leeway to get used to the fact that with her mother gone, she could embrace change without angering or hurting anyone else. Still, did that entail capitulating on the Christmas issue so soon? Was she ready for that, when this particular holiday had played such a negative role in her life?
Brenda hurried on. “If
you don’t want to tell Monroe the truth, you have about an hour to formulate a reason he’ll accept in lieu of the truth. Fabricating illusions is what we do on a daily basis, right? We make people want to buy things.”
After letting a beat of time go by for that to sink in, Brenda spoke again. “Call me selfish, Kim, but I’d like to keep you here and happy, and so would a whole host of other people. I doubt if the new guy would actually fire you, anyway. He’d have no real reason to. You can work this out. Also, you could try the truth. Talking about it might be cathartic.”
Kim shook her head. Brenda hadn’t witnessed Monroe’s show of personalized aggression in his office doorway. Monroe had used the physical card to get her to back down, intending to intimidate her with his stockpile of charisma. And it had worked. There was no way she’d talk to a complete stranger about complicated and painful personal details and have him laugh them off as childish. Or worse, have him wave them away as being inconsequential.
“If the truth is still too painful, maybe you can spin the issue another way.” Brenda snorted delicately. “You could tell Monroe that you have a Santa fetish.”
Kim gave her a look.
“You can tell him a therapist explained that your Santa fetish means that you’re looking for a father figure to replace yours, and you’ve attached yourself to a fantasy ideal. So much so, that it’s embarrassing to discuss or work with.”
Kim knew a ploy to lighten the mood when she heard one.
“Bren, you are usually so much better than that.”
“The source of the idea wouldn’t matter, Kim. Mention the word therapist, and Monroe would be afraid of a lawsuit if he were to ever fire you for mental health reasons.”
Brenda had the audacity to giggle, despite the seriousness of the subject matter, because she was on a ludicrous roll. “You secretly long for the person who is supposed to possess magical powers that he uses for good, and this longing makes you crazy at this time of year.”
“Bren, listen to yourself. You’re suggesting that I tell my boss I have a secret hard-on for the guy whose belly shakes like a bowlful of jelly, and reindeer with dorky names.”
“Humor aside, isn’t that what you’re actually waiting for? Haven’t you been searching for a man with the ability to override your background issues by making dull things seem shiny and bright? You’d like to find an honest man who could disprove your mother’s ideas about relationships.”
Kim rubbed her forehead harder. Brenda was right. She did want a man with those quasi-magical qualities. Someone caring, understanding, strong and above all, loyal. She got breathless just thinking about it, and about separating herself from the dark spell her mother had woven.
The problem was, she seemed to only date men who had none of those things to offer. Every one of her companions so far had come up short of ideal. Maybe she’d made her poor choices to subconsciously confirm her mother’s philosophy of relationship instability and injustice. She could see this. It made sense. Honestly though, she did not want to end up alone, and like her mother.
She sagged against the wall. “There’s a fatal flaw in your reasoning, Bren. If I had a desire for Santa Claus and his magic, why would I be opposed to working on Christmas? I’d love Christmas. But you are partly right.”
Kim pressed the hair back from her face and continued. “Secretly, I’ve always wanted to dump the darkness and embrace the holiday celebrations. I’ve wanted that for as long as I can remember. It’s been my secret heartache.”
More to the point, she couldn’t stand anger and blame and insidious hatred, and had missed a good portion of her childhood fantasies because of her mother’s take on those things. The idea of a real Santa Claus had been her one ongoing illicit passion from early on. A dream. A ray of light in the dark world she’d grown up in.
She had never disclosed this secret longing to anyone. What good would it do? What child didn’t want to lighten the load and share celebrations with her friends, in spite of the fact that some things were forbidden?
Guilt was a desperate emotion. Its tentacles ran deep and clung hard. Nevertheless, contrary to her mother’s feelings, she had never wanted to commit her father to the fires of Hades for making her mother’s life miserable. For Kim, there had only been sadness, emptiness. Little girls needed their fathers.
She had grown up desiring the ability to absorb pain, table it and move on. She wished to fill the emptiness inside her with something better than loss. Creativity had done that for her. This job had done it. She made other peoples’ fantasies come true on a regular basis. Just not hers.
Not that one specific fantasy, anyway.
“I want to participate in the holiday festivities and be really truly happy,” she confessed. “I just don’t know how to go about it, or where to start. I’m afraid my mother might roll over in her grave if I did.”
As for the theory of cheating men, wrong men...that image seemed to fit the new boss, Chaz Monroe. Although she’d had tingly feelings in his presence, and her heart rate had skyrocketed, all that proved was that her pattern of choosing inappropriate males hadn’t ended. She was attracted to flighty men caught up in their own needs. If she went down that particular path, led by Chaz Monroe, she’d regret it.
“I’m considering shock treatment,” she said. “I don’t rule it out.”
“To my way of thinking, a little therapy now might save you a load of trouble in the long run,” Brenda agreed. “Please don’t be mad that I’m telling you this. Friends have obligations.”
Way too much time had been spent on this. Kim could hear her watch ticking.
Brenda sighed. “There is always plan B. If you don’t want to discuss this tonight, you could distract him. Throw Monroe a curveball. A sexy new outfit and some killer shoes worn as a talisman against unwanted negativity might work. At least it might give you another day or two to decide what to do.”
“I didn’t know shoes could repel negativity.”
“They can if they’re the red stilettos in the window of the shop next door.”
“Those shoes cost more than my rent.”
“Won’t they be worth it if they work?” Brenda pointed out.
“If they don’t, will you pay my bills?”
“I have a little cash saved up,” Brenda admitted.
Kim tried not to choke on the Tree In A Can spray coming from Brenda’s cubicle. She didn’t want to bring Brenda down with her. The fact was that this new boss was likely going to create some havoc, and she’d have to wiggle her way out of the situation in order to prolong her employment. Chaz Monroe hadn’t seemed like the kind of guy who was used to compromises.
Was Monroe a jerk? Maybe. He’d wanted to make her uncomfortable with all that forbidden closeness, and his method had scored. Worse yet, he had seen her squirm. If he got close to her again, though, she’d cry foul, in public, where she’d have witnesses to his behavior.
Oh yes, Chaz Monroe, playboy, would be trouble, all right.
“He has big blue eyes,” she said wistfully, then looked to Brenda, hoping she hadn’t just announced that out loud.
“Then there’s nothing to worry about,” Brenda concluded. “Because real demons have red eyes. And tails.”
A chill trickled down Kim’s spine, messing with the heat left over from her meeting with Monroe. Misplaced heat waves aside, the real question was whether she wanted to keep this job, and the answer was yes. No one wanted to find out how long the unemployment lines would be in December. Plus, she truly liked most of the people she worked with.
So...could she afford to allow Christmas to be a deal breaker, or was she willing to fight for what she wanted?
“A sexy dress and some shoes, huh?” she said.
Brenda nodded. “It’s a bit aggressive, but it’s been done for ages. Think Mata Hari.”
Kim tilted her head in thought.
“Uh-oh,” Brenda said, disappearing from behind the partition and appearing in the entrance to Kim’s cubicle. “I don’t think I like what I see in your eyes.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You wouldn’t do anything stupid, right, like trying to seduce Monroe out of his title?” Brenda advanced. “You wouldn’t play the harassment card, if it came to that? Seduce him and then blow the whistle to get him out of the way? That would be a terrible plan, Kim. It would be desperate, and unlike you.”
Kim nodded. “In any case, I’m thinking I might have to get plastered before that meeting in the bar.”
“You don’t drink. You never drink.”
“Exactly.”
“Fine,” Brenda said doubtfully. “But if it goes all haywire, please leave me the red shoes in your will for when this is all over, and the comfy chair by the window in your apartment.”
Kim grabbed her purse and headed for the door. Brenda was right. Revenge wasn’t like her. Not even remotely. However, if Chaz Monroe continued to play the intimidation card, and if he proved himself to be another unreliable male adversary, she’d have to find the strength to enact Plan C. Char his ass.
“Cover for me, Bren,” she called over her shoulder. “I’m going shopping.”
“May the force of Mata Hari be with you,” Brenda called out conspiratorially as Kim headed for the door.
Three
Chaz had pegged the bar scene perfectly. Young people were expensively turned out. Women in chic attire carried neon martinis and threw air kisses. At thirty-two and in a sports coat, he felt like their slightly out-of-it older brother, though women eyed him up and down with avid interest and unspoken invitations in their eyes.
Half of these people probably worked for him in some capacity or another and didn’t yet recognize him by sight. By the end of the month, he would know each and every name on his payroll, and all ten of the building’s janitors. Just now, however, he needed to remain incognito and observe the scene while he waited. For her.
The Boss's Mistletoe Maneuvers Page 3