DECLAN: That depends on how long you’re going to make me wait out here.
For purely professional reasons, I run to my bathroom, as quietly as possible.
ME: Could you first explain why I have the honor of receiving you at my home on a Saturday?
I roll a little perfume oil onto some pulse points and floss my teeth and gargle with mouthwash and apply lip gloss. Because my mother and my landlady would be appalled if they knew I received a gentleman caller without having done so. Even if the gentleman is my stinker of a boss.
DECLAN: I’m considering letting you have Christmas off.
ME: Go on…
DECLAN: And there’s something I’d like to discuss with you. Something that I didn’t want to discuss with you at the office. Something that is not work-related.
Gulp.
DECLAN: There’s a legal agreement involved. It’s not creepy.
ME: I’ll be the judge of that.
DECLAN: Exactly how large of an apartment do you live in? Because it’s taking you a really long time to reach the door.
I reach the door and open it. And Scrooge me, he might look even better unshaven, in a beanie, jeans, and black puffy jacket than he does all groomed in a suit and fancy wool trench coat. What an asshole.
“Hello, Magdalena.”
“Only Mrs. Pavlovsky gets to call me that.”
“Hello, Cooper… May I?” He gestures, asking if he can enter my home. Like a vampire. Like a vampire who smells like camping sex in a forest when it rains.
“Do I have a choice?”
“I’m about to present you with a choice, actually,” he says as he brushes past me, pulling the beanie off and combing his fingers through his perfectly tousled chestnut brown hair. Like a vampire with bedhead.
He doesn’t stop near the entrance to look around my apartment like most normal humans would—he immediately starts strolling around, checking it out. My living room area, the kitchen, the bathroom, and then peeks into my bedroom—as if he were at an open house. “This is pretty nice,” he says, sounding surprised.
“You were expecting me to live in a hovel? Just because my work environment is wretched and unpleasant, that doesn’t mean my home has to be.”
And there’s that damn dimple again.
Just as I realize I haven’t shut my front door yet, my landlady pops her head in. “I very like zis man, Magdalena. Wonderful man to have for you,” she enunciates while beaming at Declan.
“Very good, Mrs. Pavlovsky!” I praise her. “But I do not have this man, thank you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Pavlovsky,” the man says, grinning. “I very like your building.”
Why is he so nice to her? First my niece, now my landlady.
“Ohhh, sank you.” She gives a little wave. Her cheeks are so flushed, she looks like Mrs. Claus. “Okay, I am leaving now. Bye-bye!”
I carefully shut the door and stay near it because I expect to be opening it and ushering Declan out shortly. “I’d offer to take your hat and coat, but I’m sure you won’t be staying long.”
He shoves his beanie into a pocket, unzips his coat very slowly while holding my gaze, and all I can do is stare at his bare hands and imagine him stripping naked. I blame my thirteen-year-old niece for this. But God, that man knows how to take off a coat. He shrugs it off and drapes it over one arm. “I’ll keep it with me, in case I need to make a run for it.”
“Good thinking.”
“Can we sit down and talk for a minute?”
“Must we?”
“Are you this apprehensive with all of your guests?”
“No.”
He smiles, shaking his head, hangs his puffy jacket on the back of a chair, and takes a seat at my dining table. “Have a seat, Maddie.”
I get all tingly when he calls me Maddie. He almost never does. I can’t tell if they’re the good kind of tingles or not, but I can’t seem to make them stop. I take a seat opposite him, and we’re both watching each other’s every move. He pulls a manila envelope from an inside coat pocket and places it on the table but doesn’t pass it to me.
“How are you?” he asks as an afterthought, but he almost seems concerned.
“I’m apprehensive. How are you?”
“Eager to get down to it.”
I take a deep, shaky breath and wait for him to proceed.
He gently places the fingers of his right hand on top of the envelope, staring down at it. “I realize you’re unhappy with the idea of working so much during the holidays, and I’d like to propose a compromise… It turns out I have to attend a few family gatherings over the course of the next couple of weeks… A family dinner in Ohio on Christmas Eve. And a rehearsal dinner and family wedding on the 30th and 31st of December—which is a ridiculous date for a wedding, but there you go.” He looks up at me as if this is all he needs to say.
“And?”
“And I would like you to attend these events with me.”
“As your assistant?”
“As my date.”
“What?”
“I would like you to pretend to be my girlfriend—with no obligation of fulfilling any of the actual duties of a girlfriend, other than to accompany me and behave like my girlfriend when we’re around my family.” He watches me for a response, but I am not giving him one. “In exchange for this, you do not have to work at the office from the 23rd until January 4th. But if you should choose to join me whenever I’m working there, it would be appreciated.”
I just stare at this man, incredulous. I know that in a situation like this, the best thing to do would be to remain silent and make the other guy so uncomfortable that he starts to sweeten the deal. Or at least admit that he’s hardly presenting me with a compromise at all. But I can’t. I am not genetically programmed to remain silent.
“Is this a joke?”
“Is it funny?”
“I’m not laughing.”
“And as an attorney, I would never joke about a potentially hazardous situation with an employee, even when it’s regarding nonwork activities.”
“Well, as an executive assistant, I foresee a number of problems with the proposed scenario, and I would like to prevent them by saying—are you seriously for real right now? You want your family to think that I’m your girlfriend?”
“Yes.”
“You want me to lie to your family?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I promised my mother that I would attend these events, and she is under the impression that I have a girlfriend.”
“Why would she have that impression?”
“Because I told her I have a girlfriend.”
“And you don’t have a girlfriend?”
“What do you think?”
“You want me to lie about being your assistant?”
“That’s not necessary. We’ll be in Ohio. It’s highly unlikely that word would get back to anyone at the company that we’re dating, so I think it’s plausible that we’d gotten to know each other this way and that we’d handled it in the proper manner with HR and with my superior.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Why me?”
“Because, as you know, I don’t have time to deal with a woman I’ve already been intimate with.”
“‘Already’ been intimate with?”
“Been intimate with. You know what I mean.”
“Yeah. Ohhhh, yeah. I know what you mean. You are unbelievable, sir.”
He finally opens the envelope and slides one piece of paper toward me, and then pulls his Montblanc pen out from his inside jacket pocket. The one he uses to sign important documents. His lucky pen.
“Obviously we would have to refrain from discussing this matter in the workplace. Before, during, and after this limited period of time. With each other and certainly not with anyone else.”
“Oh, trust me, I don’t want to discuss this at all. Ever. I don’t want to be discussing it with you right now.”
“Really? Beca
use you strike me as the kind of woman who can be straightforward and moderately rational when it comes to sex.”
“Really? Because you strike me as the kind of man who’s totally oblivious about what women are thinking and feeling most of the time.”
There’s a flicker of something that looks like hurt in his eyes for a moment.
Suddenly he seems so vulnerable, and I feel unsure about absolutely everything.
Does Declan Cannavale have feelings?
But then he shakes his head and sets his jaw and offers me no more than a cocky grin as a response, and I’m right back to wanting to wipe the floor with his perfect boss butt.
Seven
Declan
THE FIRST NO WAY IN HELL
I know what you’re thinking and feeling, Maddie Cooper. Even when you don’t.
She’s absolutely right. In my personal life, as it turns out, I don’t always know what women are thinking or feeling. Or maybe just one woman. But I don’t think about that woman anymore.
However, I can read Maddie like a dirty book. I know she’s been suspicious of me for the past couple of days because I was being nice to her at work. I know it made her uncomfortable. I know how much easier it is for her to deal with me when she feels the need to put me in my place.
I’m starting to hear a little bit of that Staten Island accent again when she’s mad, and I like it.
Merry Christmas to me.
She’s got this place all decorated, and that twinkling Christmas tree is finally putting me in the holiday spirit. Or maybe it’s because those big sparkly brown eyes of hers, they’re glaring. Those nostrils, they’re flaring. She’s squirming around in her chair because her thighs are squeezing together. It’s a beautiful sight. She’s conflicted, and she’s putting up a fight.
I am so glad she didn’t agree to this ridiculous idea of mine right away.
I mean, I’ll get her to come around eventually. But I wouldn’t want her around if she were a pushover. She’s not a pushover. And I really want her around.
And she’ll feel better about agreeing to this shit show charade if she explicitly refuses first.
She finally glances down at the document, and it looks like she kind of wants to laugh, but she can’t. “You want me to acknowledge that this discreet, temporary, simulated consensual romantic relationship during nonworking hours will not interfere with Sentinel’s company policy of teamwork and a harmonious work environment.”
God, I love it when she recites the terms I’ve written.
“I do.”
“And you want me to acknowledge that the discreet, temporary, simulated consensual romantic relationship is not a misuse of your authority over me as an employee and thus cannot be perceived as favoritism or sexual harassment.”
“Do you require further clarification of the terms?”
“I require a blunt object, followed by a stiff drink.”
“I’d be happy to wait for you to consume one stiff drink before proceeding with this discussion.”
“I think I’d be happier if you had come here to murder me.”
“Aww, Coop. I’d never do that. I like having you around.”
“You like bossing me around.” She slides the piece of paper away.
“Not half as much as you like bossing me around.” I wink. “And I don’t mind it either. You’ve been an ideal executive assistant and partner at work. Which is why I think you’d be the most tolerable option as a date right now.”
She blows out a laugh. “Wow. I mean, I can handle the wink, Mr. Cannavale. But I really start to tremble when you lay the sweet talk on that thick.” She gets up from the table and starts pacing around.
I have conflicting emotions about this because now I can see her ass in those jeans, and I’m trying to make this agreement appear as safe and unsexy as possible. But I want to spank that ass. In a very sexy way.
It’s problematic.
“This is not a compromise,” she continues. “You just want me to work with you in an alternate manner, in alternate locations. I would be spending just as much time with you as I would if I had to work at the office through Christmas.”
“It wouldn’t be work. It might actually be fun for you. I mean, it will be a nonstop living hell for me, but you’ll probably find my family very entertaining.”
“I’m not going to find your family anything. What makes you think I’d actually agree to any of this?”
I angle the chair so I can face her, spreading my legs apart and leaning forward. “Maddie. You sound angry,” I say in a kind voice.
“Don’t you attempt to present yourself with open and understanding body language. Don’t label my emotions in an attempt to dissipate them. You think I don’t know every negotiation tactic ever invented? You’re trying to turn me into some kind of escort.”
I am so glad she didn’t fall for that.
“Not a professional escort—I have no intention of paying you for your company. I will, however, pay for all travel, food, and accommodations. Although, of course you will be the one to arrange all of it. I will pay for these things with money, and I will pay for them by tolerating your glares and sarcasm, as always.” I give her a cute little blink and a dimpled smile.
She’s not falling for it.
Good.
“Uh-huh.” She stomps over, leans over the table, and points at the document. She’s wearing her hair long and wild today, and my hands should be all up in there. “What is this clause you’ve initialed here? That you agree to not sue or terminate my services in the event that I should attempt or successfully manage to seduce you? Exactly how drunk were you when you typed this up?”
“I was sober enough to remember the very important bargaining tactic known in the legal community as ‘tit for tat.’ You’ll see that I have also included here that you too will agree not to sue me or quit in the event that you should attempt or successfully manage to seduce me.”
“Did you just use the word ‘tit’ while discussing my hypothetical attempts at seducing you? What is wrong with you?”
“Very little. When discussing nonwork relationships with women, I find it best to be up-front about things. It would be foolish to deny the fact that we’re both attractive, single individuals. In legal terms, we are what’s known as hot as fuck. This will be an isolated period of time in which we’ll be interacting with each other in more casual environments than we’re accustomed to. You might accidentally drink spiked eggnog and get a little frisky.”
“I hate eggnog,” she hisses.
“You also claim to hate me, and I’m not refuting that. But it’s the holidays. The holidays stir up feelings in everyone. It’s inevitable. To be clear—I am not saying this has to happen. I’m acknowledging the potential for these circumstances. There will be alcohol. You’ll be seeing me in a new context, and chances are good that you’ll want to have sex with me. And I, for one, do not wish for such circumstances to result in the end of our working relationship if they should occur once or several times.”
“Are you saying there’s no chance that you’ll want to have sex with me due to these hypothetical circumstances?”
“I am definitely not saying that. I wouldn’t say that. But until you sign this, I won’t say that I want to.”
She shakes her head, and there’s so much anger and adrenaline coursing through her veins that I’m pretty sure she could flip me and this table over right now. But I just want to bend her over it. “Fucking lawyers.”
“Fucking right. I like having you as my assistant, Cooper. But I need you to accompany me to these family events. And I want to minimize the potential impact on our ability to work together. That is why I require a signed agreement stating that we will not let this interfere with our fantastic work relationship. Come what may.”
“‘Come what may?’ Exactly how drunk are you right now?”
“I had a beer at McSorley’s on my way over.”
She barks out a laugh. “Sure you did.”
McSorley’s Old Ale House is an awesome old timey Irish pub just down the street from this building. It’s kind of a dive, a little touristy, and the exact opposite kind of a place that I usually go to when I’m in New York. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t go there.
“I’m half Irish. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because your shoes cost more than the décor and furniture in that place.”
“Faulty logic, Coop. I can go anywhere in these shoes. And I suddenly felt the need for a dark ale before facing you.”
“Don’t call me Coop. It warms my heart that the prospect of seeing me would drive you to drink, but they only serve two mugs of beer at a time at McSorley’s.”
“I know. I gave one to the guy who was next to me at the counter. I clinked glasses with him, and I said…” I give her my best Irish accent and prepare to catch her when she swoons because it always brings the ladies to their knees. “‘May the winds of fortune sail you. May you sail a gentle sea. May it always be the other guy who says this drink’s on me.’ And then he said, ‘Here’s to a long life and a merry one. A quick death and an easy one. A pretty girl and an honest one. A cold beer and another one.’” And then I wink at her for good measure.
She narrows her eyes at me, and her fists go straight to her hips. “Don’t you try to brogue me into complying either, Cannavale. I wasn’t born yesterday.”
Fair play. Tough customer. “Maddie, I’m not drunk right now. And I’m not lying. And I need an answer.”
“Well then, my answer is no. No way. No way in hell.”
That’s my girl.
“Okay.” My work here is done. I stand up and put my jacket back on. “You still have time to think about it.” I slide the beanie back on, watching her watch my hands the whole time. Yeah. Get a good look at these hands and think long and hard about what you want me to do with them over the holidays.
“I will not be thinking about it.”
“Yeah you will.”
A Very Bossy Christmas Page 4