A VERY BOSSY CHRISTMAS
Kayley Loring
Contents
Half Page Title
Spotify Playlist
Chapter 1
2. Declan
3. Maddie
Chapter 4
5. Declan
6. Maddie
7. Declan
8. Piper
9. Declan
10. Maddie
Chapter 11
12. Maddie
13. Declan
Chapter 14
15. Declan
16. Maddie
17. Declan
18. Maddie
19. Declan
Chapter 20
21. Declan
22. Maddie
23. Declan
24. Maddie
25. Declan
Chapter 26
27. Maddie
28. Declan
29. Maddie
30. Declan
31. Maddie
Chapter 32
33. Declan
34. Maddie
35. Piper
36. Declan
37. Maddie
EPILOGUE ONE – Piper
EPILOGUE TWO
Coming in early 2021…
Acknowledgments
Keep in touch with Kayley!
Also by Kayley Loring
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Text Copyright © 2020 by Kayley Loring
All rights reserved.
COVER DESIGN: Kari March Designs
COVER PHOTO: © Maurizio Montani
http://www.mauriziomontani.it/
DEVELOPMENTAL EDITING: Jennifer Mirabelli
COPY EDITING: Jenny Rarden
PROOFREADING: Once Upon a Typo
Happy holidays to you, dear reader.
May the new year be merry and bright
and not suck as hard as 2020 has,
because yeesh.
Spotify Playlist
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4pM5EVEVl25X2e9PCddSck
Chapter One
DECLAN: You at the office?
DECLAN: Cooper. You there?
DECLAN: Seriously, you need to respond. No matter where you are right now.
DECLAN: But you’d better be at the office.
MADDIE: Yes, Your Highness. I am at the office. Are you on your way in? Because I thought I felt the temperature drop a couple of degrees just now.
DECLAN: Haven’t left home yet, but a lot of women display physical signs of a slight drop in temperature when I’m approaching, Cooper. It’s adorable that you’re so excited to see me.
MADDIE: Please refer to every eye roll I have ever executed in response to half of the things you say because I’m too busy organizing your life to find the emoji.
DECLAN: Set up a quick call for me with Drucker before my meeting with Shapiro so he can update me on the Branson Residences deal. Just a phone call. I don’t want him stopping by my office.
MADDIE: Yes sir.
DECLAN: Please refer to every eye roll I have ever executed every time you call me “sir.” But also keep calling me sir.
MADDIE: Anything else I can do for you before you grace us with your presence, Mr. Cannavale?
DECLAN: Everything else, Cooper. And coffee served with a special holiday smile.
MADDIE: Fa la la la la la la la--be right back with your order, hon.
Two
Declan
FROSTY THE BOSSMAN
The drive up Madison Avenue is slower than usual this time of the morning, but it’s satisfying to lean on the horn when some asshole in an Impala tries to cut in front of me. I flip the driver off as I pass him, and he does it right back, but he looks confused when he sees me. He’s clearly not a tourist, so I don’t know what’s confusing about a driver giving another driver the finger in Manhattan. Then I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the rearview mirror and realize I’m smiling.
I have a big dumb grin on my face.
For no reason.
No reason other than I’m on my way to work and I love my job.
Okay, I like my job.
But I love to work.
And I like to work with people who can actually keep up with me.
Okay, I love it.
It’s rare.
It’s almost as satisfying as leaning on the horn when some asshole tries to cut in front of me.
It’s a lot more satisfying than watching women cry after I’ve calmly explained to them exactly what they’ve done wrong and questioning their ability to perform the most mundane tasks.
Not that I enjoy making women cry.
I hate making women cry.
Especially when they should be answering my phone and redoing whatever mundane task I’ve asked them to perform.
But I don’t have to do that anymore.
Because Maddie Cooper is competent.
Maddie Cooper can handle me.
Maddie Cooper can give as good as she gets.
Maddie Cooper is hot and claims to hate me.
It’s problematic.
But she’s one problem I’m not willing to solve.
Not yet, anyway.
And just like that, I’m frowning again.
You happy now, Impala?
Yeah. This feels right. This feels like my fucking life this year.
I lean on the horn again because fuck you, everyone in front of me.
I’m about to call Cooper, just as my sister’s name and number come up. She’s not supposed to try me on my work phone unless it’s an emergency.
Shit. Now what?
“Casey?”
“Are you coming for Christmas or not?”
“Seriously? That’s why you’re calling me on my work phone? During business hours?”
“Also to say good morning, asshole.”
“Good morning, asshat, and not. But don’t tell Ma—I haven’t called her yet.”
“I knew it. Declan...”
“I have to work.”
“I thought you started in-house lawyering so you could have a better quality of life.”
“I did. And I have a much better view from my office now.”
That is true in ways that I will not be explaining to my sister.
“Dec. Don’t be glib.”
“I’m not being glib. I only work fifty-five hours a week, and I get six hours of sleep a night on weekends. I’m practically a slacker. I can’t help it if New York honesty sounds like superficial insincerity to people in Ohio. And what makes you think the quality of my life would improve if I went home for Christmas this year? I’m dying to see most of you, but I can’t. It’s not like it would be easy for me either way…”
Boom. There it is. Saying things without saying things and attempting to elicit sympathy. It’s the only way I’ve been able to talk to the women in my personal life since I was five years old.
My sister sighs, loudly, because she carries the weight of the entire Cannavale family on her shoulders. Most of us are men, and we’re composed of lean muscle, my father’s relentless pride, my mother’s ability to talk anyone into or out of anything, Irish whiskey, and my nonna’s meatballs and deep-fried-everything that takes half a year to digest. We’re heavy. We’re belligerent. And we all want our ma and sister to love us the best.
Casey is the only girl of five kids, and she’s been the peacemaker since the day she was born. It’s a shit job, and none of us assholes are gonna do it.
“I hate this,” she offers
, her tone softening. “Have you talked to either of them?”
“No and it wouldn’t change anything if I did.”
“Dec...”
“Is that why you called? Because if it is—"
“It’s not—I just want to see you. We all do. You know how I feel about what’s going on…”
Yessssss. I’m still her favorite brother.
“I do, Case. And I appreciate it. And I’ve told you it’s not necessary for you to feel anything about it. Because I’m fine. It is what it is. I’m just busy with work and I can’t make it home. All there is to it.”
“Not even for dinner on Christmas Eve?”
“I can’t leave town—there’s a lot going on. I’m working straight through the holidays.”
“How can they make you do that?”
“Nobody’s making me do it. I’m the general counsel. Of one of the top real estate firms in the city. We have nine offices—none of them will be closed over the holidays, and it’s my job to oversee all legal matters.”
This is technically true. Our offices won’t be closed. Which is why I’ll be there working and so will my assistant. But I don’t have to be there working straight through the holidays. I want to. And fuck you, Catholic guilt. That’s enough out of you.
“Yeah yeah yeah, Mr. Bigshot Lawyer in the City That Never Sleeps. I get it. It sucks. But I get it.”
“It does suck.”
“But you’re coming to…” She doesn’t even finish that sentence, and I don’t need to hear the rest of it.
“Yeah. I’m not gonna miss it. But I’ll be in and out. Quick trip. How’s my favorite Jedi doing?” I change the subject fast.
“Your attempts at buying her love have paid off big-time. The presents you sent don’t even fit under the tree—you’re making the rest of us look bad.”
“So what else is new? That’s been a thing ever since I had a face.”
She laughs, but she can’t argue with that because it’s a fact. “You really can’t fly in just for dinner? You could fly back to New York that night, right? You could handle it for a few hours. Come on.”
I couldn’t. That’s the God’s honest truth. I couldn’t handle it, and I don’t want one person on earth to know this.
“I can handle it—I just don’t want to, and I can’t take even half a day off.”
“Fine. I understand.”
“Good.”
She exhales for so long it worries me. That can’t be good for her brain. Finally, she takes a deep breath and says very calmly, “I’m telling Ma.”
“Do not tell Ma—Casey!”
“Good luck explaining to her why you’re not coming!”
I slap the top of the dashboard. She’s older than me, but I hate it when she doesn’t listen.
“I will tell her myself… Case? Casey...”
She hung up on me.
That is not good.
This will not be good for me.
There’s a ninety percent chance that it was just a threat, but I am one hundred percent fucked if I don’t talk to my ma sooner rather than later.
If I call, I’ll need a plan, and I don’t have one yet.
If my ma calls, I can avoid her for about six hours, tops. Any longer than that, and I’m the least favorite son for months. She won’t be on my side, and I need the women on my side.
This is bad.
I finally realize there’s an old lady in the middle of the crosswalk and she’s flipping me the double bird. Only, you can hardly tell that her middle fingers are up because she’s wearing men’s gloves that are too big for her. I realize I’m leaning on the horn. And the old lady is using a walker.
This is really bad.
I raise my hands in the air in surrender, mouthing I am so sorry—it was an accident! And then clasp my hands together, begging for forgiveness.
That’s when someone else tosses their coffee at my car and yells “Eat a bag of dicks, you old Grinch!” Now all the cars behind me are honking because the light has changed and the old lady is still in the middle of the crosswalk, giving me the stink eye.
Old? Since when is thirty-two old? Who does that little shit think he’s talking to?
He doesn’t even help the old lady across the street. I want to get out of my car and do it, but she’d probably think I’m just trying to make her move faster. Which would be mostly true.
It’s not even eight o’clock yet, and I already hate this day.
Work.
I just need a few hours at the office, and then I’ll feel good and I’ll know my place in the world again.
Because I love my work.
Sentinel is the tenth-largest real estate firm in New York City in terms of dollar volume of listings. The properties are luxury. The offices are shiny but not as shiny as the law firm I left seven months ago. Everyone here works hard but not as hard as everyone works in Big Law. This is New York, so looking good matters, but these people aren’t too slick because no one’s the star of a reality show. Okay, maybe I’m a little slick, but only because it’s impossible to tone down my alarming good looks and impeccable style. And it’s real estate, so everyone is personable—but not as personable as your friendly neighborhood real estate agent in Ohio. Because this is New York. So I don’t have to deal with a bunch of friendly brokers all up in my face every day. They let me do my job, and I’m more than happy to let them do theirs as long as they don’t fuck things up by being idiots or doing anything illegal.
I did start in-house lawyering here so I could have a better quality of life. It’s true.
That’s why I’m the general counsel at Sentinel, as opposed to one of the top three firms.
A little less income than Big Law, sure, but also less stress and hours.
It was time for me to get a life.
It was time for me to prove—to no one in particular—that I could make room for another person in that spacious new life.
I just didn’t expect to realize exactly how empty my life had become as soon as I’d made the change.
Fortunately, I don’t have time to dwell on that kind of thing anymore.
Fortunately, my work life is fulfilling in a way that it has never been before.
I could do with a lot less of the Christmas decorations and holiday cheer around the corporate office, though.
As soon as I step off the elevator and into the Sentinel lobby, I’m greeted by Cindy the unbearably happy receptionist. Which is weird because she started to back off after I’d been here for about a week. That made me like her more.
“Happy holidays, Mr. Cannavale!”
“Nope.”
“I’m so happy you’ll be at the holiday party next week!”
“I won’t be there.”
“Oh really? Because Maddie just RSVP’d yes for you. We got the deluxe karaoke machine this year, so it should be extra fun.”
“Oh really? Maddie RSVP’d ‘yes’ to the office party, you say?”
“Yeah, like ten minutes ago.”
Interesting.
Unexpected.
Absolutely unacceptable.
But hot.
And there she is. The woman who keeps my schedule running smoothly and handles me with the sleek, unruffled grace of a highly skilled assassin. She shields me from all of the assholes and idiots I don’t want to deal with. I like it. She’s the executive assistant of my dreams and the succubus from my filthiest, most confusing adolescent nightmares. She’s the woman who’s kept me in a constant state of blue balls for the past two months. Today, she’s torturing me with a tight black pencil skirt, knee-high boots, and a cashmere sweater that looks like it was spray painted onto her evil curves. Her brown hair is so shiny; I believe her shampoo is made from the semen of demonic stallions. It’s up in a bun, revealing the satiny smooth skin of her long neck. I could spend an hour or twelve just kissing that neck, and I bet she’d like it too.
But that’s neither here nor there.
She’s standing by her desk
with a coffee mug in one hand, her other hand resting just above her hip, right where I should be gripping her.
“Cooper.”
“Morning, Sunshine. You’ve got your conference call with Drucker in ten minutes, and Harvey from Cravath had to push your lunch to the new year because he’s an actual human who takes time off to be with his family during the holidays.”
“I’m not going to the office party next week.”
“I’m pretty sure you are. Let me just check your schedule. Hang on…” She mimes looking at a schedule on a monitor. “Yup. December 22nd, five to five thirty or later, office holiday party.”
She follows me into my office, shutting the glass door behind her. Those glass walls and doors were my least favorite thing about this office until two months ago.
“Get it off my schedule.”
“I know it may feel like I RSVP’d ‘yes’ in order to punish you, and I’m glad it feels like punishment, but the entire executive team will be in attendance. So I’m actually doing my job and helping you to look like slightly less of a terrible person.”
She places the coffee mug on my desk, on the coaster, leaning forward and exposing just enough bra and cleavage to make a grown man cry. She turns the mug around so the World’s Best Boss text is facing me and winks. I fucking love it when she winks at me. Even when she’s being a sassy little turd.
I take a seat and glower at her. “You’re telling me Shapiro is going to this thing?”
A Very Bossy Christmas Page 1