The Boss's Mistletoe Maneuvers

by Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

  “Facing this house has to be the first step,” she said aloud to set that objective in stone. “If I can do this, I can tackle anything.”

  She got to work. When she had finished cleaning the dining room, she moved to the living room. Dusting, vacuuming, plumping pillows, she worked up a sweat. Finally satisfied that she’d done all she could for the moment to make the place habitable, she saw to her dinner.

  Seated at the small table in the kitchen, she poured the wine. Without the talent to discern if it was good wine or not, she took a sip. “Not too bad, I guess, if alcohol is your thing.”

  Hell, if there was no one to talk to, she’d continue to talk to herself.

  Dishing up the roast took seconds. Digging in took a little longer. Without anyone real to talk to, the kitchen seemed way too quiet. The clock on the wall no longer worked. There had never been a radio in the kitchen for comforting background noise—which might have set a good atmosphere for dinnertime conversation, and had never really turned out that way.

  In contrast to the busy hallways and thin walls of her apartment building, the two-story house felt like a fortress of solitude, exemplified by the empty chair next to her. As Kim sat there with her uneaten dinner a pang of loneliness hit, accompanied by a wave of deep-seated sadness.

  She had the power to fix this. She had to fix it by looking back logically. Her mother’s decline was a lesson in how not to behave. Kim might have tossed some good guys with potential to the wayside because of a few deeply ingrained and very silly ideas about relationships.

  If she didn’t face her problems head-on, she’d never have anyone in her life. Being good at her job was one thing, and satisfying, but coming home to an empty house or an empty apartment night after night forever was a nightmare she had feared to confront.

  She pictured her mother here, cooking dinner for one and eating in the quiet. The image broke her heart. The guilt she’d harbored for growing up and being away, for leaving her mother for school and work, plagued her all over again. She just hadn’t been able to cope year after year with her mother’s mental illness.

  Kim lifted her chin. Raising her cup to the empty chair, she spoke with more confidence than she felt. “If things are going to change, we’re going to have to break the spell.”

  The cup was halfway to her lips when a bell rang. Startled by the sound, Kim jumped to her feet.

  Doorbell?

  Her city sensibilities kicked in. Single women didn’t answer the door unless they knew who stood on the other side. Buildings had doormen for that reason.

  Other than Brenda, no one knew she was here. But, she reminded herself, this wasn’t the city. This was a family neighborhood. Things were different here. Maybe the kid down the street had seen the lights and wanted payment in person for mowing the lawn.

  With a glance through the small glass panel in the front door, Kim flipped on the porch light. She saw no one on the steps. Cautiously, she opened the door. Nobody was there. Her gaze dropped to the large cardboard box on the doorstep.

  There had been a delivery, but it had to have been a mistake.

  Stepping outside, looking around, she again glanced at the box. Her name was written on it, but there was no return address.

  She took the box inside and carefully tore it open, then drew back after viewing the contents. The box contained several smaller boxes with see-through lids and big red bows. All of the boxes contained cookies. By the looks of things, every kind of cookie under the sun, including decorated Christmas trees.

  It took her a moment to remember to breathe. Forgetting her mother was no longer there, Kim waited for the rant against the holidays to begin. A Christmas gift had been delivered to a house that didn’t take kindly to such things. Who would dare to deliver such a thing? her mother would have shouted. Who would allow items like that in their house?

  Of course, no rants came. Her mother’s tirades were over. The walls hadn’t fallen down because of the box on the living room floor. Her mother hadn’t been raised from the grave by the pretty sugar-coated shapes.

  Kim let out a breath and went back to the door for a second look outside. Cars went by. Two kids rode skateboards down the middle of the road. There was no one else in sight.

  “Okay, then. It’s an anonymous gift. A surprise.”

  Leaving the box on the floor, she headed to the kitchen. At the table, she sat down and picked up her fork, though jumbled thoughts prevented her from taking a bite of the roast, which was getting cold. Brenda wouldn’t have delivered a package like that, thinking to help Kim’s vow along. Brenda probably would have presented the box in person if it was to be an offering to the House of Christmas Doom. Besides, Bren didn’t know about the secretly baked sugar cookies she’d dumped the night before.

  If not Brenda, who had sent them?

  She felt a chill on the back of her neck. Kim sat up straighter, not liking the idea that sprang to mind.

  Monroe?

  No. It couldn’t be him.

  She wasn’t sure why his name had come up with regard to this box. He had no idea where she’d gone. However, Monroe might do such a thing if he knew where she was. She wouldn’t put it past him to send his own version of a peace offering.

  The tingle at the base of her neck returned, along with a fair amount of heat that wasn’t in any way reasonable. The telltale flush creeping up her throat wasn’t reasonable, either.

  She couldn’t allow herself to go there, to think about him, when already her forehead felt damp, and her hands were shaking. But accepting his gift would amount to another step in the right direction in her plan to tackle each problem that came up, and deal.

  There wasn’t any reason to close the box back up and put it outside. Letting it remain there, on the floor, was okay, but it did press home the fact that she was no longer bothered by one objective, but by two: how to face the holiday positively, and what to do about her boss.

  Her stomach tightened, but not in a bad way.

  Leaving her dinner untouched in the kitchen, Kim stood up. There was only one way Monroe could have found her, if in fact, he had.

  “I’ll get you for this, Bren,” she muttered, heading upstairs for her cell phone.

  But she didn’t call Brenda. Instead, she dialed the number of the VP’s office, wondering if she’d hang up if someone answered this late, and what she planned to say if he picked up the phone.

  He did.

  “Monroe,” he said in the way he had of making the simplest words sound provocative.

  Kim didn’t speak. She hadn’t been prepared for her reaction to the deep richness of his voice. Her finger hovered over the button that would disconnect her from him even as her mind registered this kind of reaction as being silly. All she had to do was ask him if he’d sent the box, and the mystery would be over.

  “You got the package?” he asked, somehow knowing she was on the line, obviously confident she’d respond positively to his gift.

  For the first time in her life, Kim felt at a loss.

  Hang up now, she told herself. I don’t need this.

  “I found your mother’s address and wanted to send you something,” he said, as if they weren’t having a one-sided conversation. “Everybody likes cookies. And I’m still hoping that you’ll be staying on at the agency.”

  “So you sent a bribe?” she managed to say, realizing only then that he’d have access to her files and her old address, and that Brenda might not have been a traitor.

  “You do know they’re Christmas cookies?” she added.

  “I had them delivered to you by courier because I thought returning to your former home with your mother gone might make you sad, and that you might need cheering up.”

  That made Kim hesitate. He might or might not have known about the depth of her aversion to this holiday, but he d
id know about her mother’s passing. He hadn’t sent this package to distress her further, but with hopes of making her happy. The gift was kind of personal. He had chosen it himself.

  Kim wasn’t sure how to take that. She did feel a ridiculous amount of anxiety—or maybe it was excitement—over the thought of Monroe taking the time to buy her a gift and get that gift to her not long after their conversation in the elevator.

  Uncertain, she said, slightly breathlessly, “Thank you.”

  It was his turn to hesitate. She heard him breathing, and she also fought for each breath taken. The electricity in their connection felt like tiny jabs of lightning piercing her skin. Their chemistry was palpable, even this far apart.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, sounding concerned.

  “I’m fine,” she lied.

  “The gift didn’t offend you, I hope? I swear that wasn’t my intention.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Good.” Relief lowered his voice. “The red bows made me think of you in the red dress. You caused quite a stir in that dress, you know.”

  “Are you going to talk dirty to me on the phone?” she asked, at a loss for keeping the conversation on a serious track.

  He laughed, and the sound rippled through her like a warm, sunny breeze. She loved that laugh. It made her feel lighter and not so alone. It made her want to laugh with him, and at herself for being so serious.

  Maybe Monroe wasn’t so full of himself after all.

  Maybe she was.

  Chances were that they could at least be friends if she allowed it.

  “Actually,” he said, “it’s not late, and I wondered if you’d invite me over to eat some of the cookies.”

  “I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  She was positive that having him over wouldn’t be a good idea. With a connection this strong, being in the same room with Monroe might lead to another situation she’d regret. This was her mother’s home. A man of interest had no place here until she got her act together and banished the multiple years of gloom.

  “I can bring dinner,” he said. “No strings, just dinner.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve made dinner.”

  “Made dinner?” he repeated. “You cook?”

  The astonishment in his sexy voice ruffled her ego.

  “As a matter of fact, I do a lot of things you don’t know about, and rather well, I might add,” she said.

  “I don’t get much home cooking these days. Of course, you’ve probably already eaten, and you’re busy getting a start on that vacation. So, all right. I didn’t mean to pry any further into your affairs.”

  “Of course you did,” she said.

  “Well, yes, I guess I did...though I respect your right to turn my company down.”

  “Not your company, necessarily. Just you.”

  “Ouch. Well then, enjoy your time off. I hope those cookies bring you some happiness, too. I’d like to think they could, anyway.”

  Not knowing how to respond to the attention, Kim muttered “Thank you” again, and let it go at that. After reluctantly disconnecting, she immediately wished she hadn’t. Monroe’s voice and the interruption caused by the arrival of his gift had made the empty house almost seem livable for a change.

  She felt excited—for no reason at all.

  The phone remained in her hand for several more seconds before she made an SOS call to Brenda.

  “Help,” she said when her friend answered. “He’s at it again, and I’m afraid I might be weakening.”

  Twelve

  “Just to be clear,” Brenda said, “when you say you’re weakening, are we talking about the jolly guy in the red suit, or our gorgeous, if rather nosy, new boss?”

  “Both,” Kim said, her skin prickling with a new kind of anxiousness.

  “Shall I come over?”

  “No.”

  “You know, it isn’t always a bad thing to have temporary insanity, and for you that might mean letting go of preconceived notions about liking a man.”

  “He sent me a gift.”

  “Who did?”

  “Monroe sent a package. Here. Tonight.”

  Brenda’s pause amounted to a dead line. “Please tell me there were diamonds involved, as in a bracelet or necklace, because otherwise what would constitute a proper apology for behaving like a cad in your apartment last night, and leading you astray about the job?”

  “Cookies. He sent a box of cookies,” Kim said.

  “Doesn’t work for me, Kim. That’s much too benign for a sincere apology. Do you want me to come over there and help you break those cookies into tiny pieces?”

  “I’d like your idea on what to do about him.”

  “I’m honored by your confidence in my advice, Kim, but honestly, I’m not sure about this.”

  “Brenda!”

  “Well, okay. In this case, I’d probably note that Monroe sent you his version of an earnest apology.”

  “He said he hoped they made me happy.”

  “You talked to him?”

  “I thanked him on the phone.”

  “I see. Well, it’s probably okay, I’m thinking. Cookies, though delicious, aren’t truly personal. They’re not like lingerie, so you can probably ignore this and move on if you choose to.”

  “Thing is...” Kim didn’t finish the sentence. She really felt confused.

  “Thing is, a box from Monroe might actually help you in this self-imposed crisis?” Brenda observed, picking up on Kim’s thought pattern.

  “Yes.” Kim silently applauded Brenda for understanding the pros and pitfalls of the situation.

  “Then it’s a win-win, Kim,” Brenda concluded. “He was being nice, and you’ve thanked him. Now you can eat those things and make more progress on your objective behind going home. Did you actually open the box?”

  “I did.”

  “How did that make you feel?”

  “Scared.”

  “I do kind of get that, but will ask this question, anyway. Why? Why were you scared?”

  “It’s my mother’s house, Bren. Feeling good here seems strange. Holiday gifts were taboo, sacrilege.”

  “Were taboo, but not anymore. That stuff happened when your mom was alive, but she’s gone, and you’ve gone home to change and rearrange your attitude about things. There’s not one person on the planet to stop you from accomplishing that goal, except yourself.”

  “Right.” Kim sighed. “Except for me.”

  After an audible breath, Brenda asked, “Are they from a decent bakery?”

  “Becons, by the park.”

  “Well, you can be thankful he has good taste. Take them out of the box. Have some for dinner. Sweets always make us feel good, right?”

  This was good advice and another necessary push along a new path. She wasn’t a child in need of a lesson, though Kim felt like one every time she entered this house. In her own world, she took charge. In her own world, she was successful and happy enough...if there was such a thing as being happy enough.

  “I’m flawed, Bren, and I don’t want other people to find out. One in particular.”

  “Because you care what he thinks?”

  “I think I do.”

  “So what’s stopping you from dropping the I think part of that?”

  Brenda spoke again over Kim’s thoughtful pause. “I was heading to the bar with the art guys to catch up on gossip, but I can grab the next train if you need me. Say the word and I’ll be on that train.”

  “No. I’m okay. Thanks for the pep talk.”

  “No problem. Sending you hugs over the ether. Good luck with the caloric fallout, Kimmy.”

  “Have an appletini for me, Bren.”

  “Heck, it has
been a very long day, so I might have two.”

  Disconnecting, Kim glanced around, inwardly reciting the words Brenda had offered. There was no one to stop her from attaining her objective for coming here, but herself.

  Time to get on with things.

  The old bathroom in the hallway seemed big and drafty after the tiny one in her apartment, but the shower still worked, and she had brought along clean towels. She took her time under the spray of water, trying not to think about how Monroe had nearly succeeded in getting her naked.

  She scrubbed her back hard, sloughing off the sensation of his hands on her skin, erasing the memory of his fingers exploring with a blistering heat...but not quite ridding herself of those sensations.

  In her determination not to think of him, she was doing a lousy job. In fact, she failed miserably. In Monroe’s strong arms, and for a few brief, sizzling moments, she had been someone else. She had let him in. For the first time, she hadn’t allowed her past to influence her actions.

  She did like Chaz Monroe.

  She’d been hot and bothered since that first glimpse of him in his office. Her body responded favorably each time he neared, as if her nervous system needed to bypass her damaged, overworked brain, and get to the good part.

  Fact was, she had the hots for her boss and wished he was in the shower with her, working his magic right that minute. Heck, if she was that far gone, was she so severely damaged that she’d refuse to accept his offer of a truce?

  Yes. Because liking him and pursuing a liaison would surely mean professional suicide eventually, as she had told him. And she had nothing without her job.

  In her bedroom, she removed clothes from her bag and shook them out. She pulled on a pair of well-worn sweatpants and fingered a silky blue camisole as she drew it over her head, knowing Monroe would also have liked its texture and color. Covering that with a loose wool cardigan sweater, gathering her hair into a ponytail, she headed downstairs in her bare feet.

  The house had warmed up considerably now that the old heater hummed. She turned on all the lights, hesitating at each switch to think about how Monroe seemed to like her, too. Not all had to be lost in this situation, if she looked on the bright side. He was willing to overlook the clause in her contract if she stayed in her cubicle. He just couldn’t promote her or send her any more gifts if she remained an employee.