Do I actually think our working relationship would survive a few rounds of hot vacation sex? Yeah. I do. She may not know who she’s dealing with here, but I do. And she can handle it.
“Why would I agree to this?”
“Would you rather be at the office with me on Christmas Day than spend a couple of days and evenings with me in nonwork environments and get some much-needed time off?”
“If you’re going to these events, then it is clearly not as dire for you to work through Christmas as you had led me to believe.”
“I’ll have to make up for lost time, and I’ll be working at the office even when you aren’t there.”
“Really? You’ll be working at the office without me? All by yourself?”
I shrug. “If I have to, yeah,” I say quietly, my shoulders slouching the tiniest bit. Because I am not above trying to make her feel sorry for me right now.
“You know what?” she says. “Thank you for the offer, Mr. Cannavale. I’ll think about it.”
I study her poker face. “You will?”
She smirks and leans toward me. “You sound skeptical.”
I fucking love that smirk.
I know what she’s doing. She thinks she’ll have some kind of power over me if she doesn’t give me an answer one way or another. Look how happy she is right now.
“Okay, Cooper.” I put my gloves on. “You think about it.”
“I shall.” She nods once. “When do you need to know by?”
She needs a deadline. Deadlines for accepting offers are always tricky, but I have a feeling this woman needs as much time as possible to warm up to this idea. “The 22nd. Six pm. But I’ll need you to book travel and accommodations for us ASAP. You can always cancel your flights if necessary.” And before she can open that gorgeous, sassy mouth, I continue. “Separate adjoining rooms at the Ritz-Carlton in Cleveland.”
She frowns as she opens the door to the hallway. “You’re not going to stay with your family?”
“Absolutely not.”
“But they don’t live right in Cleveland, do they?”
“No, they don’t. But the best hotels are there, and I always stay at the Ritz-Carlton. And we’re only staying one night. The night of the 24th. Fly in that afternoon. Fly out the next morning. That’s very important. The wedding’s in Cleveland, so we’ll stay there for that too. I’ll email you the info.”
She’s still frowning at me, and as I pass her on my way out the door, I have the strongest urge to grab her and kiss that mouth. Really give her something to frown about. But I won’t. There’s no kissing in the art of negotiating a deal. And I need this. I need her. I need her for this.
“Uh-huh. And if I decline your offer, will you be traveling alone or selecting some other lucky hot-as-fuck winner?”
God, I love it when she says hot as fuck.
“I’ll probably just cancel everything. I mean, I have to go to the wedding, but…”
“Whose wedding is it, anyway?”
Now I’m frowning. Now I hate everything again. “My brother’s. See you Monday.”
I can hear her sigh of exasperation, followed by a derisive scoff, as I stride down the hall away from her. She thinks I’m being a moody asshole as usual, and that’s fine. I’ll be having flowers sent to Mrs. Pavlovsky—to thank her for letting me in today. And to keep Cooper’s nosey landlady on my team.
Art of the deal.
Deal with it, Maddie Cooper.
Eight
Piper
MADDIE AND DECLAN, SITTIN’ IN A CHRISTMAS TREE
K-i-s-s-i-n-g. That’s what they were doing. With their eyes and their words.
They would kiss with their lips eventually.
It was fate.
Maclan was just a couple waiting to happen.
A love story waiting to be written.
Why did it have to wait, one might wonder?
Why could Maddie not see the way Declan gazed at her longingly with his beautiful amber eyes? Why could she not see the chemistry between them? It was hot enough to melt the North Pole.
So was Declan’s butt.
His perfect, perfect butt.
It was the most perfect man butt Maddie had ever seen, even though she refused to admit it to herself or anyone else.
He had the Holy Grail of butts.
But back to Maddie.
What was holding her back?
It wasn’t a lack of confidence.
Oh no—that lady had confidence to spare.
It wasn’t that she was blind—even she could see how gorgeous Declan was.
Maybe it was just that she was so busy looking over her shoulder at all the crappy boyfriends from her past that she couldn’t see the potentially great boyfriend that was standing right in front of her desk all along. Or for two months or whatever. A New York minute was like a second, but two months was basically forever in the world of New York dating. It’s weird.
That was why Christmas was the perfect time for Declan to take Maddie matters into his own hands—to take Maddie into his own hands…under the mistletoe.
It was their company’s holiday party—a day unlike any other day. It was a day of celebration—of the baby Jesus but also of love. And that’s what it was for Maddie and Declan. It was love. Maddie just didn’t know it yet. As she was gathering up her things to go home, she also did not know it yet, but she was about to get the greatest Christmas present anyone would ever give her (except for the macaroni portrait of her face that her awesome niece had given her several years ago).
She said good night and happy holidays to the super nice receptionist, but she didn’t bother saying goodbye to Declan, because she knew he would just text her as soon as she was gone. He always texted her. That’s what boys do when they like a girl. Everyone knows that. But for some reason, Maddie didn’t understand that when her boss texted her to ask her to do things for him—what he was actually doing was asking her to be his girlfriend. Showing her that she was always on his mind.
She was leaving the party early because she was going to go shopping for some amazing presents for her favorite niece—she was going to get her at least three of the items listed on the Google document that her niece had shared with her and the rest of their family. So, it was just her standing there in the lobby, by the elevators. She had been so busy thinking about the presents she would be buying her niece that she didn’t even notice the mistletoe that was hanging right above her.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Declan said from right behind her.
She rolled her eyes and turned to face him. She was about to say something sassy to him, as usual, but she didn’t get the chance because Declan’s mouth was on her mouth. He kissed her and kissed her, until they both had to catch their breaths. That was when he said, “Merry Christmas, Maddie. I love you.”
“You do?” she asked. Her eyes were filling with tears, but she could finally see him clearly. She could finally see herself clearly. “Well, now that you mention it, I love you too.”
And then they kissed again. Passionately.
Their lips were locking while everyone else was rocking around the Christmas tree.
It was a good thing no one else at the party was paying attention to them, because they were really going at it. Declan’s hands were all up in her luxurious brown hair, and Maddie’s hands were clinging to his incredible butt. There just happened to be paparazzi hiding behind a big plant, so pictures of their PDA ended up all over the internet, and that was fine with them. Because neither of them wanted to hide their love from the world or, more importantly, from each other anymore.
The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Just as their hearts were opening, to each other. They got inside the empty elevator together without even pausing their kiss. When the elevator doors closed, Declan hit the stop button so the doors would stay closed. An alarm went off, but they couldn’t even hear it over the sound of their beating hearts. They kissed even harder and more, like with tongues and hands and legs and stu
ff.
They were suspended midair, and New York time was finally standing still.
And that’s how it happened. First came love. Then came marriage. Maddie’s niece was the most beautiful bridesmaid the world had ever known (and that was how she met her future husband Shawn Mendes, who performed at their wedding). And then, eventually, would come a baby in a baby carriage. But not for a long time, because there were already enough babies in the family for now. But when they do have a baby, they will give it the middle name Piper and make Piper the godmother because they realize just how important she is in their lives, now and forevermore.
Nine
Declan
COCKY AROUND THE CHRISTMAS TREE
Socks.
Nobody ever asks for socks. Not for Christmas, anyway. I never had to because my nonna gives me socks every year. She gives everyone socks, every year. But she presents us with really nice socks. Italian socks. Because she’s so busy cooking during the holidays that she doesn’t have time to shop for unique gifts for each individual. So everyone always gets socks. It’s a family tradition. It’s charming.
But Drucker was just being a lazy dick when he wrapped this three-pack of gold toe crew socks and stuck a label with my name on it. We aren’t doing that thing where we have to guess who our Secret Santa was, thank Christ. But I know it was him. Because he’s a lazy dick who just happened to have closed a twenty-eight-million-dollar deal this week—a deal that I saved. Because it’s my job to save this company’s ass from assholes and idiots and lazy dicks. And what do I get? A pat on the back from my CEO, a massive year-end bonus, socks, and nothing.
I haven’t gotten what I actually want for Christmas, anyway.
Or need.
But I’ll get it. I just didn’t expect to feel this nervous about it, now that it’s getting down to the wire. Five-fifteen on the 22nd of December and absolutely no indication that Maddie will be accompanying me to Ohio. She’s booked everything, although she didn’t do exactly as I’d asked her to. Because she knows that as of now, I’ve got no leverage. It’s problematic. And still weirdly hot that she’s pushing the envelope like this.
Instead of flying in on the afternoon of the 24th, she booked us on separate flights to Cleveland—tomorrow. When I complained, she told me that she was just being a good assistant, as usual. It’s the winter, and there’s always a chance that the weather will prevent me from arriving at my destination on time. Better safe than sorry, she said. And we wouldn’t want to risk being seen together at the airport in NYC, so to be safe—separate flights. And she might not even be on hers. She booked her flight “just in case.”
She did not book us adjoining suites at the Ritz-Carlton in Cleveland either. She didn’t book us into the Ritz-Carlton or any of the hotels in Cleveland for the 23rd and 24th. She booked rooms at a hotel in Youngstown. An hour and fifteen minutes from Cleveland. Ten minutes from my parents’ house. “I know it feels like I did this to punish you,” she said, “but it’s just to be safe.”
And I’m not mad. I’m a lawyer—I respect being safe. I respect her audacity. It looks good on her. Everything looks good on her. Especially that bright red dress. It clings to her audacious curves like the skin of a Red Delicious apple, and I am staying just as close to her at this party. To be safe. I wouldn’t want her to feel like she has to wave off lazy dick fruit flies like Drucker on her own. I’m here to help.
Shapiro, our CEO, is wearing a four-thousand-dollar suit and a crappy Santa hat, passing out Secret Santa gifts to his employees. I’m pretending to give a shit while three assistants sing some fucking Jonas Brothers Christmas song on the karaoke machine. On top of the deluxe karaoke machine, Shapiro sprung for the back room of this fancy steakhouse that’s a few blocks from our offices. He’s not buying us steak, but there’s an open bar. I advised him to give out drink tickets and enforce a two-drink maximum per guest, but he didn’t listen. It’s fine. The off-site venue reduces the company’s liability, and the professional bartenders know when to cut people off. But he did take my advice and provided safe transportation options for anyone who needs it. This is why you should never invite your general counsel to your office holiday party. And why I shouldn’t be here. Because I’m always on the lookout for potential legal issues.
I gotta hand it to whoever decorated this place, though. With the strings of lights and the sparkly snowflakes and the very appropriate hanging blue balls and the silver tree—it looks nice. If you like this sort of shiny, happy holiday thing. I don’t. But I respect it.
What I don’t respect is lazy dick assholes who think they can hit on my assistant just because she’s wearing a bright red dress and hasn’t told them to fuck off yet. Just because she’s standing right behind me there, politely listening to him word-vomit about how relaxing it is at his beach house in the Hamptons in the winter. She knows I’m listening—that’s why she keeps oohing and ahhing, as if she’s actually considering accepting this d-bag’s invitation to hang out with him there. As if that’s a more enticing option than dinner with my family in Ohio.
“Well, let me know,” Drucker says. “I’m heading up there tomorrow, for a week. In case you don’t already have plans. Should be super chill.”
“I’ll think about it, thanks,” she replies. “I haven’t quite decided what I’m going to do yet. But it certainly sounds more relaxing than some of my options.”
She accidentally on purpose elbows me in the back, almost making me spill the drink in my hand. Almost. I put the tumbler down on the buffet table next to us and turn to join in on the conversation, because she obviously wants me to—just as Drucker is pulling something out of his blazer pocket.
“Hey, what’s this doing in here?” he exclaims, like the world’s worst close-up magician. He holds up a sprig of fake mistletoe, and before he can say why don’t you help me honor this holiday tradition, I’ve swiped that thing out of his hand and crumpled it up. “What the shit, man?” he whines.
“As general counsel of this firm, I’d advise against the use of mistletoe at a work function.”
Maddie covers her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.
“It’s not like I was going to force her to do anything,” he mumbles.
“Best not to put her in an awkward position to begin with.”
Now she’s laughing out loud.
Yeah, I get the irony.
But at least I waited until non-office hours to approach her and offered her the safety of a legal agreement instead of a leafy invitation to sexual harassment. And also—this guy is neither hot as fuck, nor is he physically or mentally agile enough to appreciate or handle her in all the ways she deserves to be handled.
“Employers are legally liable, even when incidents occur at off-site venues. Thanks for the socks, by the way.” I wave them around in front of Drucker’s face.
“What makes you think they’re from me?” he asks, grinning like a lazy dick sock-giver.
“Got you written all over it. What’d you get, Cooper?”
“A twenty-dollar gift card for White Castle!”
“From onion rings guy?”
“It even smells like onion rings.” She giggles, holding the card up under my nose.
“Mmm, reminds me of the interior of my car,” I say in a hushed voice—because this is an inside joke between my assistant and me and has nothing to do with Drucker.
“I love White Castle,” he says. “I like their smoothies.”
And before he can suggest that they stop by there on the way to the Hamptons, Maddie gets called over to the karaoke machine, because apparently, she signed up for a song.
“Hold this for me, will you?” She smirks, placing the card in the palm of my hand.
She smooths down the front of her dress as she sashays over to grab a mic and then proceeds to sing “You’re A Mean One, Mr. Grinch.” To me. Like Marilyn Monroe singing “Happy Birthday, Mr. President.” Except instead of wishing me a happy birthday, she’s telling me, in front of everyone,
that my heart is an empty hole and she wouldn’t touch me with a thirty-nine-and-a-half-foot pole.
Which is hilarious.
I mean—I’m laughing. Everyone’s laughing. I don’t even care that Drucker’s laughing.
Because it’s a holiday party. And her sexy voice is filling this entire room with holiday spirit and good old-fashioned sass. It’s not even sass, really. She’s cocky as hell. She isn’t nervously checking her watch to see how much time she has left to decide if she wants to accompany her boss to a few enjoyable family functions or work at the office all day and night for the rest of the year. And neither am I.
I’m cool as a Christmas pickle. A pickle who might have to call his mom and tell her his new girlfriend just got hit by a truck. Or maybe I’ll get hit by a truck. I could get lucky. I still believe in Christmas miracles. My heart isn’t really an empty hole. It’s an asshole. And an idiot. But it’s not a lazy dick.
I applaud and hoot and holler when Maddie’s done serenading me. She gives me a big, toothy grin from across the room. Service with a smile, always. But that smile falters for a moment. As she’s handing the microphone to someone else, those big brown eyes are still fixed on mine. I don’t know what my face is doing right now, but it’s making her a little worried. About me. About how she’s made me feel, maybe.
She cares. She doesn’t like it. But she cares.
What do you know? I might just have to look both ways when I cross the road on the way back to Sentinel so I don’t get hit by a truck. I might just have something to live for.
I tear my eyes away from her and stroll on over to the open bar to get one more drink before I head back to the office. I nod at What’s-Her-Name from Down the Hall, and Broker from the Downtown Office with the Stupid Mustache. It’s great to see everyone here at this party. Just great.
“Another Jameson,” I order from the bartender. “Neat.”
Shapiro calls out to Cindy, the unbearably happy receptionist, and tells her she’s going to have to come over to him to open up her present. Because it’s so huge. He had a bunch of interns bring all eighty of the Secret Santa gifts over from the office, but he isn’t willing to carry one twenty-one-pound box over to a sweet middle-aged lady in a Rudolph sweater. I am not the only one who’s watching her open this big box—it’s bigger than all the others. Nobody’s jealous, though, because Cindy deserves it. She’s the heart of the corporate office. It’s annoying how relentlessly cheerful she is, but she means well.
A Very Bossy Christmas Page 5