All I Want For Christmas Is a Reaper

by Liana Brooks

  “We’ll clean it up,” Sydney said in a distant voice. “Would you like to file a report?”

  Seth was watching the interplay like it was a Wimbledon match.

  “No.” I shook my head, more for Seth than for Sydney. “It’s fine. Mop it up and call it a day.”

  “Yes, miss.” Sydney yawned again.

  “Have a good morning,” I said, pivoting and heading for the elevator as fast as I could.

  Seth caught up in a few long strides. And then stepped back when he saw my expression. “Should I wait for the next one?”

  Yes, otherwise I’ll be tempted to flirt with you.

  “No. I don’t mind sharing,” I lied sweetly.

  Seth stepped in and ran his tongue across his lips. “Want to share breakfast?”

  Yes. I sighed. And lunch. And dinner. Definitely dessert. “No. I don’t go home with people on the first date.” And I should pretend I was going to go home and catch up on my missing sleep.

  He winced playfully and pulled out his phone.

  “Counting your rejections for the week?” I asked as the doors opened.

  “Making a note to talk to Ellen.” He slid his phone back into the pocket of his hoodie. “You don’t know what a date is and that’s something the Cozy crew should fix before you’re done with your audit.”

  He did not... My eyes went wide as lighting cracked the sky, followed by rolling thunder. The storm had arrived. “You did not tell Ellen to set me up.”

  Seth shrugged as the elevator doors closed. “Got to do right by our favorite accountant.” He winked at me. “Professional courtesy and all.”

  “This is revenge!” I pointed at him. “You’re trying to get me sucked into the Cozy Curse! Saddle me with some third-rate actor who wants to settle in the sticks and raise cows.”

  “I do write horror,” Seth said, as if that was any sort of explanation. “I know how this works. If I sacrifice you to the curse, I might be able to save myself.”

  “That decision will haunt you,” I warned as the doors slid open again, revealing the beige-and-gold ground floor and a side exit near the bike racks.

  Thunder roared ominously as rain pounded the ground.

  Seth pulled car keys out of his pocket and pointed at the stairs. “You park downstairs or outside?”

  “I jogged here.”

  He looked at the cold deluge outside. “You going to jog home?”

  “I might wait in the lobby until the buses start running,” I admitted with a grimace as I touched my hair.

  “Worried about not being ready for your photoshoot?” The question should have been teasing, but it sounded serious. He was trying to figure me out.

  Thinking.

  That could be dangerous.

  I wasn’t sure Seth would like what he found when he peeled away the colorful candy shell of my armor.

  With a smile, I shrugged his question away. “I like controlling what people see. This isn’t my usual daywear.” I gestured to my running outfit. “It’s fine for a midnight workout but...” I wrinkled my nose. Maybe he got it. Maybe it didn’t matter. My other options were letting a strange man drive me home—which was about as likely as me signing up for a lunar mission—or walking home in the rain. I wouldn’t risk riding the city bikes in this weather.

  “Like my hoodie?” Seth asked.

  “Sure.” I was focusing on the lobby and wondering where I could hide. “It’d look great on my floor.”

  Seth chuckled, and pulled his jacket off. He had a faded black t-shirt that clung to his biceps like a heart-sick fan.

  I kind of envied the shirt.

  He tossed me his hoodie.

  I caught it on reflex and held it up.

  “To wear, until you get back to... being comfortable or whatever.”

  “Thanks.” Awkward. “Are you sure you can spare it?”

  “I have more at home.” He patted his pants pocket and grinned apologetically. “I do need my keys though. And my phone.” He closed the distance between us and fished everything out of the pocket. “Feel free to toss this on your bedroom floor if you want.” The whisper brushed my ear as he pulled away.

  My cheeks warmed at the realization that I’d said that aloud. I shook my head, pretending it didn’t happen. “It’s good thing you’re not famous enough to be followed by the paparazzi anymore. Early morning. A hotel.”

  “A mysterious, beautiful stranger?” Seth waggled his eyebrows at me. “Could be great publicity.”

  Danger! Danger! High levels of attraction detected!

  “Shoo!”

  Seth winked at me as he walked backward. “See ya later, Killer.”

  I rolled my eyes rather than dignifying that with a response. Ridiculous flirt.

  I loved it. Not him, I promised myself, but I was always a fan of attention. And, Seth’s hoodie? Soft, warm, and it smelled like clean soap and temptation.

  Yeeaahhh... Seth wasn’t getting this hoodie back.

  It was oversized on him, but he was half a foot taller than me. The hoodie covered more of me than most of my dresses. I was going to spend the next hour curled up in a portable tent, enjoying whatever the hotel lobby had that passed for hot cocoa.

  Maybe I wasn’t the girl of anyone’s dreams. And I wasn’t holding on to some ephemeral hope for love from someone who understood me. But, every now and then, even the Grim Reaper of Chicago could have a good day.

  Nine hours after being nearly knocked unconscious by a careless gym-goer, I was back on the sets of Cozy TV wearing a darling pink A-line dress with bright blue hydrangeas on it, red hair neatly tucked into shoulder-length retro pin curls, as I stood amid the mildew-scented hell of Mistletoe Lane counting props.

  Cozy’s aesthetic extended to their monstrous props warehouse.[19] One whole aisle was devoted to mistletoe: sprigs, balls, bouquets, clothes... If it involved mistletoe, it was here in a box or a bag or hanging from the ceiling far, far overhead. Not only did I feel shorter than usual next to the towering thirty-foot shelving units that looked like they’d been rescued from an abandoned Amazon warehouse, but there was a very real possibility that one of the gigantic vinyl snow globes would spontaneously inflate, roll off the massive shelf, and crush me to death.

  I eyed the mistletoe suspiciously. There was a monster movie in the making if all those little hemiparasitic plant balls ever became sentient.

  The ones in the clear boxes near my head were mostly plastic, but the ones overhead were the custom jobs made of silk, gems, and crystals that glittered evilly under the industrial lighting. Windows would degrade the props, so even if it were a sunny day outside I’d be locked in the sinister gloom with the Ghost Of Winters Past. It was not a sunny day outside.

  I checked the list on my phone as the thunder muttered outside. The lights overhead whimpered, screamed, and died. Again.

  Under my breath, I counted to five, and nodded as the earthy curse of whatever poor soul was in charge of making sure Ellen had her lighting sounded.

  Two thumps. Three. The generator rumbled to life and the lights overhead hummed as they considered turning on again.

  Since I’d arrived, the same scene had repeated at least six times. Much to the dismay of Ellen, no doubt, who was currently on set with brown-haired, hazel-eyed Patrick Miles, former teenage heartthrob and current D-list actor looking to make a comeback after taking a sabbatical from the spotlight.

  Patrick was only in Chicago for a week because someone was—in my opinion—terrible at scheduling around Chicago’s spring weather. Just because it looked like I was stuck in a horror movie about possible small town Christmases did not mean it actually was December in the city.

  Today was dedicated to lighting shots, promo shots, and the ‘getting caught in the rain scene’ that Ellen was so excited about.

  Lightning turned the dark gray outside the giant, open doors of the warehouse to a blinding white, silhouetting a robed figure with a scythe.

  The figure with the scythe was still ther
e when the lights turned back on. Black pants, black hoodie, fake scythe, charming smile... Seth pulled his dripping hood back as he walked to the end of Mistletoe Lane. Smiling, he looked up at the threatening mass of holiday greenery. “You waiting for someone?”

  “Here?” I glanced up at the mistletoe. “No,” I said a little more sharply than I would have with someone else. Seth was... comfortable to be around. Easy to like. Probably easy to love. He’d already had his chance to hit my weak points and he’d passed.

  But I didn’t want to be in love.

  Probably.

  I narrowed by eyes at Seth.

  He raised a hand in surrender. “Just asking. I know Patrick Miles is on site today. Half my staff are helping with Cozy’s makeup just to get a glimpse. Maybe you were hoping—”

  “Patrick is Ellen’s crush,” I said, cutting him off and turning away. “I’m counting mistletoe, not waiting under it.”

  “Sounds fun.” Did the man’s voice have to be so dangerously delicious?

  Dang it. Seth was making me second-guess myself. I hated second-guessing myself. Like Mr. Darcy, I made my mind up about someone two-point-three seconds after I met them and moved on without so much as a backward glance.

  But Seth was playing the clever Lizzie Bennet to my unflappable Darcy. The daisy-chained Persephone to my smiling Hades.

  And, nope, picturing Seth with a pink flower crown resting in his sexily tousled platinum hair was not slowing down my train of thought.

  “How many kisses would someone owe you if they walked toward you right now?”

  Oh. Wow.

  “Two hundred and seventy one,” I said as I scrolled through the props list on my phone, desperately trying to think of something other than kissing Seth. Oh, dang. Oh, frikkity-frak. Focus, Merri!

  I stole a quick glance and did not, absolutely did not, lick my lips.

  Focus on the numbers, Merri.

  “There are six mistletoe props on set right now, which means one is missing. I’ll triple check, but I’m fairly certain the one that got away is the mistletoe bouquet from A Stolen Christmas Kiss.”

  How apropos.

  Seth shook his head as his face wrinkled in confusion. “I don’t know that one.”

  “The cat burglar breaks into the royal palace during the Christmas party, tries to steal the crown jewels and gets caught by the prince.” I looked up, expecting some hint of recognition. “He catches her. They get a picture of them snapped. Everyone thinks they’re dating. She tells him she wants revenge because her father made the crown jewels and they were stolen from him. Then, when they get married, all the crown jewels are made into a bouquet of mistletoe and holly?”

  “Nope.” Seth shrugged. “I guess I missed it.”

  “It came out the same year as Scars.”

  He shook his head again. “Sorry. I really don’t watch a lot of Cozy romcoms. Or anything Cozy, actually.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You bought the company but never watched their major movies?”

  “I pay people to do that.”

  “Right.” Movie snob. Never mind that I only knew about the movie because Willow gave me a rundown of every famous Cozy prop and movie earlier, from the hand-painted gown in Butterfly Kisses to the authentic Viking sword replica from A Viking’s Heart.

  Cozy did historical romances. Who knew?

  “Why are you counting props?” Seth asked. “This isn’t an accountant’s job. I know. I pay people to take care of the props.”

  I turned off my phone and walked to Seth at the end of Mistletoe Lane, very careful to look at his eyes, not his lips. “The numbers in the accounts are off. There’s plenty of ways to hide money. Everything from fake lunches to overpaying workers. But I couldn’t find another account and Cozy doesn’t own a lot of land. Where most of their money goes is here.”

  Seth had gorgeous eyes, a warm, dark-chocolate brown.

  Focus, Merri!

  I waved a hand toward the contents of the warehouse. “Sets. Props. Costumes. Even with the money they save by getting brands to give them clothes, most of Cozy’s hard-to-trace money winds up here. The cost of a one-of-a-kind prop is hard to quantify. It’s easy to hide an overpayment.”

  “Right.” Seth looked up at the mistletoe menace over our heads. “Wouldn’t that take two? At least? If the buyer overpays, you still need a seller who will kick back some of the money, don’t you?”

  “Usually. It depends on how the seller was paid though.”

  I tapped his scythe to remind myself that I was not going to try any Mistletoe Magic of my own. The big, scary Slasher CEO did not want a girlfriend who looked like she was auditioning for the role of Glinda The Good Witch in Wicked.

  Probably. “Did you come looking for me or were you headed somewhere with this?” I said, inclining my head at the scythe. There wasn’t a good reason to run through a spring storm unless he needed to be here.

  He spun it around. “Putting this back. I was checking on all the sets to see how people were doing, and this was laying around. Everyone’s behind schedule since January was lost to negotiations. Rushed people get sloppy.”

  “I see.” Not exactly the answer I’d been hoping for. A vivid imagination and a lackluster love life were not a good combination around Seth Morana. All practical considerations aside, I was more than willing to consider a fling with the Slasher CEO after I finished having a fling with his accounts. Two for one. Why not?

  There so many reasons why not, but I had trouble remembering them every time Seth smiled at me.

  “And...” His eyes narrowed as he walked to the rack of scythes adjacent to Mistletoe Lane.

  “And?”

  “There was a man who came looking for you. Bright green car, a bit of beard.” Seth made a little grabbing gesture at his chin. “He was avoiding everyone from Cozy but asking everyone from Slasher if we’d seen you.”

  It wasn’t a question but I could hear the hook all the same. Seth was fishing. Be still my heart. “Did he say why?”

  Seth shook his head. “I told him I’d take him to find you if he signed the guest book. He made an excuse and ran for his car.” The Slasher CEO fiddled with the scythes. “I don’t usually get involved in anyone’s private lives but... boyfriend? Ex? Co-worker? Father? Were you expecting someone? Should I have let him in?”

  “Was he dressed like a twelfth-century Italian?”

  “What would that—”

  “Long, embroidered robes?”

  “No.”

  “Then he’s not my father.” I ticked over all the other possibilities. “My office wasn’t planning to send anyone over, and if they did they would have presented their credentials and signed in. I haven’t had a second date in... years.” I was not going to admit to how many. “And the only stalker I’m aware of has four years before he’s eligible for parole.”

  There was Harry from the Henderson account too, but I hadn’t been back to the office to read his note. And it was hard to picture Harry coming to this side of town just to talk to me at work.

  Seth’s face made the journey from confusion to befuddlement to horror in record time. “Stalker?” Of course he got hung up on that, and not my father’s commitment to historical recreation. “How do you say that so casually? That’s a serious threat, not a missing sock. What if this guy is one? Should we call the police?”

  I shrugged the worry away. “Probably another fan of my video. I get those still.”

  “What video?” Seth sounded genuinely confused.

  Tucking my phone into my pocket, I looked up at him. His brow was furrowed, his whole face contoured with apparent confusion.

  Award-worthy acting, but I wasn’t buying it. “I was the star of a paste-a-face revenge porno after I told my high-school boyfriend I wasn’t going to the same college as him. He made it and told me he’d delete it if I changed my mind.”

  Seth’s eyes widened in horror and then his jaw set with anger. “That’s illegal.”

  “Now, yes.
At the time, I had trouble convincing the local judge, who’d known Wyatt since he was three, that I hadn’t consented. My ex insisted I’d sent it to him. The video was up for seventeen months and it’s still one of the first things that comes up when you search my name. I’m sure you’ve seen screencaps.”

  Everyone had.

  Every college classmate.

  Every brunch friend.

  Every intern.

  According to the video counter, everyone alive had seen a digital version of me getting indecent with the Christmas lights flickering at least twice.

  “I didn’t,” Seth said, a rare flicker of anger crossing his face as he looked away. “I never watch those.” He pulled his scythe closer like a security blanket. “When I made Scars, there were a lot of videos of me. Usually with people who thought they were fans. Sometimes with whoever I’d gone to dinner with that week. I watched one of myself.” He looked away. “They say it’s not as bad as actually being physically attacked, but...” He shrugged.

  “I know.” Sympathy was all I had to offer. “There’s no way to erase it, is there? I can’t forget it. Even when I try, there’s someone reminding me.”

  Seth nodded. “Is that why you were worried this morning?”

  “Yes.” I took a deep breath and looked out at the rain cutting us off from the rest of the world. “I didn’t enjoy our run-in at the pool this morning. I like controlling what people see.”

  Seth’s eyes softened and I could feel my armor cracking a little more. “So, all this...” He gestured to my dress.

  Smoothing a hand over my skirt, I widened my eyes and smiled like an innocent doll. “People see what they want to see. My ex wanted me scared of him, he wanted to use my body to punish me and control me. But I don’t get scared. And I decided if I couldn’t be anyone’s dream girl, I’d become their nightmare woman: intelligent, beautiful, better than them in every single way. And I am.” I ran a hand along my skirt and smiled. “I walk into a building looking feminine and frilly, and then I destroy people with a perfect smile on my soft, pink lips.”

  “Right.” His expression grew guarded again as he put the scythe with the stack of others, neatly corralled by a pair of green bungee ropes. “The Grim Reaper of Chicago.”