“Ohhh, vat is zis? For me?”
“For you,” he says, giving her a gentle hug before handing her the bouquet like she’s a prima ballerina.
“Sank you. Ohhh, zis man, Magdalena! You see? I say to you before—put more fat on bones and good man vill come. Zis is good man for you!”
Aww. Mrs. P. Your heart is going to be broken in January. “Seems to me he’s a good man for you, Madame Pavlovsky.”
“Ohhh! Psssh!” She waves off that thought and then puts her hand on Declan’s coat. “Not for me, no. Zis is a—how you say? Flirtation.” She rolls the “r” like it’s a run-on sentence and it’s lovely. A flirtation with Mr. Boss Butt would be lovely. Although I suppose that’s what we had before the holidays.
“There ya go,” Declan says, patting her hand, which is still grasping on to his coat. “We’re gonna grab a drink at McSorley’s. You want to come?”
“Ohhhh nooo! Nooo, not for me. You go! You go! Don’t let me keep you, young people. Come by for some kutya later, yes? Good. Yes.” She finally lets go of Declan and beams at us, clutching the flowers to her chest as she watches us walk down to the pub—not hand-in-hand, not bumping shoulders.
Just walking down a sidewalk like two people who didn’t totally just go down on each other under a vigorous stream of water forty minutes ago. Maybe this is how it will be at the office. Maybe he was right when he said we’re just a couple of straightforward hot as fuck people who can handle vacation sex and then go back to business as usual. Maybe it is just the holidays stirring up emotions, the isolated period of time in which we’ve been interacting with each other in more casual environments than we’re accustomed to. I hate that I can remember every single thing he’s ever said to me, and I hope I can forget every appallingly wonderful sexy thing he’s said to me the past few days.
Declan holds the door to McSorley’s Old Ale House and leans in to say in my ear as I pass by, “I really wanted to hold your hand just now, FYI.”
Goddammit. I’ll never forget that he said that.
“Me too.”
The pub is barely a quarter full of patrons. It’s early afternoon the day after Christmas, so I’m not surprised. They still have the strings of lights and minimal Christmas décor up, and the holiday music is still playing. I’m glad. I’m certainly not ready for this part of the year to be over.
“Mug or glass?” he asks me.
“Fuck it—mug. I’ll get a table in the back.”
“I like your style, kid.”
I take the table for four in the back part of the bar, just inside the door behind the wall so we’re secluded. I’ve never run into anyone from work in my neighborhood, but you never know. Real estate brokers get around all over town.
Declan places two mugs of dark ale on the table and takes the chair next to mine.
“To not letting this interfere with our fantastic work relationship,” I say as we clink glasses. “Come what may.”
He gets a glint in his eye, and I already know he’s going to hit me with his Irish accent again dammit. “May your mornings bring joy and your evenings bring peace. May your troubles grow less as your blessings increase.”
God, I love it when he talks dirty to me.
“May no one walk in on you when you’re dancing around naked to ‘Come and Get Your Love’—unless you want them to.” I raise my glass and then take a big gulp.
“May you only walk in on naked dancers as hot as I am.” We clink glasses again and take another sip.
I hold the mug up again and say, “May your nonna’s heart always be as soft and warm as her meatballs.”
“May your aunt’s accent always be as thick as her mashed potatuhs, arright?”
“May the only teeth in your ass belong to the woman you’re banging.”
He almost does a spit take at that one. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Well, I never.”
We stare at each other, smiling like goofballs again. I bring the mug to my lips and take a big gulp of ale to prevent myself from saying anything that might actually articulate these feelings I’m having. I might have to instill another “no talking rule” for the rest of the day. And I definitely think we should sleep at separate apartments tonight.
But I don’t get the chance to bring any of this up because The Pogues’ song “Fairytale of New York” comes on, and a reverent hush comes over all of the twenty or so customers in the pub, followed by everyone raising their glasses and singing along.
“I fecking love this song,” Declan muses just before the music picks up and Kirsty MacColl joins in.
We sing this beautiful, messy underdog Christmas anthem duet to each other like a couple of drunk college kids. If I did a graph of how happy I’ve ever allowed myself to be with Declan, this would be the pinnacle. He’s singing with his entire body and being, and I wish I could have been the one who met him in college instead of Hannah. When he was still made of youthful energy and optimism.
Or maybe I don’t.
Maybe I prefer him this way—moody survivor of a broken heart and full of surprises.
“Ahhh, it’s a grand old song,” he says, shaking his head as the song ends. “You ever been to Ireland?”
“No. Have you?”
“Oh sure.” He gets a faraway look in his eyes and places his hand over his heart. It looks like he’s about to recite a William Butler Yeats poem or something, but instead he says something even more romantic: “I’d love to take you there someday. Italy too.”
The tip of my nose is tingling, and the rims of my eyes are stinging, and I take a deep breath because I’m finally going to say something real.
“Maddie! I thought you lived around here!” I look up and see Cindy, the receptionist from Sentinel, walking out from the restrooms, only it takes me a few seconds to recognize her, all bundled up in her winter coat and accessories.
“Cindy! Hi.” I stand up to hug her. “What are you doing in these parts?”
“Oh, I was just on my way to my friend’s place on the Lower East Side, and I had to pee, so I stopped in for a quick glass of ale.” She finally sees Declan sitting in the chair next to mine. “Oh! Hi, Mr. Cannavale! I’m so sorry—I didn’t see you there. Happy holidays!”
He stands up to hug her just as she holds her hand out to shake his. “Happy holidays,” he says.
“Oh!” She gasps and wraps her arms around him. “Thank you.”
“Can I get you another beer?” he asks casually. “Would you like to join us?”
“Thank you, no, I’m already late for my friend.”
Both Declan and Cindy are watching me. It feels like my right eye is twitching. “Declan just dropped off my belated Christmas gift, so I invited him for a quick drink,” I explain. “I live right by here.”
“Right,” she says. “That’s great.”
“Right.” Declan looks down at the table. “Welp. Since I’m up, I’ll hit the jacks real quick. Excuse me.” He pats Cindy on the shoulder and heads to the doors that lead to the restrooms.
Cindy and I watch him go. He’s wearing dark jeans, and his butt looks magnificent in them.
“You don’t have to worry about me saying anything to anyone at work, Maddie.” Cindy touches my arm, reassuring me. “My friends and I go out a lot during the day on weekends, all over town, and you wouldn’t believe how many people I’ve seen together from the office. All hungover and post-coital. But don’t ask who, because I won’t tell.” She mimes locking her lips and throwing away the key.
“Really? Wow. That’s an effective policy, huh? But really, this isn’t anything.”
“Hmmm. Not what it looks like to me, but if you say so. Okay. Say goodbye to Mr. Cannavale for me. Got any big plans for New Year’s?”
“Not really,” I say with a shrug. Another lie. “You?”
She grins. “Huge.” She waggles her eyebrows and waves as she walks away. “See ya.”
I sit back down and finish my beer. My ears are ringing, and this dark ale tas
tes more bitter than it did a minute ago. When I see the expression on Declan’s face as he returns to the table, I feel guilty for making up that lie. Being around all those Catholics, their guilt has rubbed off on me or something.
“Hi,” I say when he sits down opposite me.
“Hey.”
“I’m sorry I made up that dumb lie. I guess I panicked.”
“Wasn’t dumb at all. It’s what I would have said too. You’re such a good liar. You’d make a good lawyer.” He raises his nearly empty mug. “May all your lies be laced with truth and your truths laced with whiskey.” He twists his lips to the side and shrugs. “Or something a lot cleverer than that.”
I’m about to say what I wanted to say before we started singing, but he slams the mug down on the table, stands, and blurts out, “Should we head to your place? Or maybe I should go home?” There’s that mood again. And here I thought we were done with all that.
“No. Come to my place. I want you to.”
“You sure?”
“You’re coming to my place, Dec. You vill have some kutya. And you vill like it.”
He gets a flash of something in his eyes—horniness, I guess, but I’ll take it. I’ll take it day-by-day with him, and we’ll see where that leads us. Even if it leads to disappointment or worse by January first. At least we’ll have tonight.
Thirty
Declan
DO YOU FEAR WHAT I FEAR?
This has been the best post-Christmas hangover I’ve ever had. I’ve always thought of the hazy period between the 26th and 30th of December as the taint of the holiday season. It ain’t Christmas and it ain’t New Year’s Eve. But Maddie Cooper has found the sweet spot, gently massaged it, and stimulated it to the point where I now think of it as the exciting climax.
I can’t seem to stop waiting for the other shoe to drop, though. I had thought that seeing Brady and Hannah together and finally forgiving them was enough. I thought being truly happy with someone for once in my life was enough. I’m still a fucking badass alpha and all, but if I’m this happy with this woman, it might just kill me if she leaves me. And I’m the idiot who created this weird situation to begin with. This is what they call a fool’s paradise. I’m not the kind of guy who’s comfortable being the fool, but I’m not ready to leave here yet and I don’t regret getting us here either.
It seemed like the only logical thing to do at the time. Or maybe logic never really came into play. Regardless, I don’t want to lose her as an assistant, and I don’t want to lose her as a girlfriend. I want all of it to be real, and I want all of it to last. I just need to show her that things can go back to the way they were between us at work when we’re still involved outside the office. I’ll talk to Shapiro and HR as soon as the holidays are over if that’s what she wants.
It’s what I want.
We’ve been spending entire days and nights at each other’s apartments since the 26th, and she somehow managed to convince me to stay away from the office all that time. Running into the receptionist put a damper on our spirits for maybe ten minutes. I didn’t love that Maddie’s go-to response was to lie, but I get it. We decided not to take any more chances, and we’ve been in our own little world since then. We haven’t killed each other yet, so I’m optimistic.
She went home to change clothes after breakfast at my place today, and I convinced her to join me at the office because I have a shit-ton of calls and emails to return and half a shit-ton of contracts to go over. She wanted to drive to Sentinel separately so she can leave to visit her sister at some point. So I’m on my way there, and I’ve already let two assholes cut in front of me because I’m in such a good mood.
Another car in another lane is signaling, and you know what—I’m gonna let him in ahead of me too. I slow down and gesture for him to go ahead. The car behind me honks, and I don’t even flip him off. That’s how good I feel about the world right now. So good that I decide to accept a call from Brady on my personal phone. Even though I know he’s probably with my cousins right now because they flew into Cleveland yesterday, and they’ve all been drunk texting me since last night. I put him on speaker phone and answer with: “You got a hangover or are you still drunk?”
“Haaa! I knew you’d ansah if I used your bruthah’s phone. ’Sup, Manhattan?” It’s my cousin Billy O’Sullivan from Boston.
“’Sup, Billy Boy. You steal Brady’s phone?”
“Nah, he left it chargin’ in the cah. He’s out there pickin’ up some kinda weddin’ whatevah for Hannah around town. Givin’ us a ride back to the hotel. We all had breakfast togethah at your mutha’s. You gettin’ in today or what?”
“I’ll get in tomorrow afternoon for the bachelor thing. I’ve got work to do. I’m on my way to the office right now.”
“Aww, come on! You think you’re bettah than us? Bang out and get your ass ovah heah, ya fuckin’ skeezah. Eddie’s not comin’ in till tamorrah eithah. It’s just us and these married guys. I hear you got a girlfriend now—what ah ya, pussy-whipped?”
I hear a guy in the background say, “Lemme talk to that fecker.” It’s Nolan, my other single cousin, from Ireland. He’ll play the good cop with me now, but he’s the one who’s never satisfied until all of his American relatives have alcohol poisoning. “Declan! How ya getting on? Thanks fer replying to my texts, ya gobshite.”
“I definitely responded to one of them.”
“Yeah yeah, really big of ya. Listen, it’s grand that you got yourself a fine thing now, and we’re all happy for ya what with your brother riding Hannah all year. But we’re here to celebrate Brady getting married, eh? So bunk off, bring the bird, and get yer arse over here.”
“I will definitely do that tomorrow.”
They both curse me, and I hear the car door open and my brother’s voice. “Hey. Who are you calling?…Dec? Are they giving you shit for not being here? Don’t even worry about it—you’ve got work to do. I can handle them until tomorrow.”
“It definitely sounds like you’ve got it under control over there.”
He whispers into the phone, “Help me, bro. Aiden and Casey are no fucking use to me, and Eddie won’t be here until tomorrow. I’ll be dead by sundown if you aren’t here as a buffer.”
“I feel for you, Brady, I do. But I have so much work to catch up on. I’ll see you tomorrow, I promise.”
“Don’t even sweat it—we’ll see you tomorrow.”
I hear Billy yell out “cocksuckah” right before he hangs up. I’m a shit brother. I do love the guy, but he did start riding my ex right after we broke up, and I really have a lot of work to catch up on.
They still haven’t taken down the Christmas decorations at the Sentinel corporate offices yet, and the building’s still piping in cheesy canned holiday music, but it doesn’t bother me anymore. I nod at the temp receptionist when I walk off the elevator and say, “Morning. Happy holidays.” She looks really surprised because I didn’t say anything to her when I saw her on Christmas Day. Because on Christmas Day, I knew I wouldn’t be seeing Maddie Cooper at her desk. Today I will. And even though I won’t be doing anything unprofessional to her on that desk, today will be a good day. As long as the other shoe doesn’t drop.
It looks like there are a few other random people working today, or maybe they just don’t have anywhere better to be. What’s-his-name in accounting. Purple-haired lady in marketing who seems cool, but I forget her name. British lady who brings the good tea for the break room and is either named Louise or Hermione. I should probably go around and introduce myself to everyone one of these days. I like it here.
And there she is. The woman who saved Christmas. The woman who handles me with the sleek, unruffled grace of a manga geisha drawn by a total pervert. She’s wearing that same fucking outfit she wore when she traveled to Cleveland. The sweater dress. The boots. Different black see-through tights, obviously, because I ripped the other ones to shreds. She’s got the same welcoming I dare you to mess with me right now smirk on her face that she
’s greeted me with ever since I hired her.
She’s standing by her desk with a coffee mug in one hand, her other hand resting just above her hip, right where I was gripping her on my kitchen counter earlier. This is working for me. We can do this.
“Morning, Cooper.”
“Good morning, Mr. Cannavale.” She hands me the World’s Best Boss mug. It’s strong and black, just the way I like it.
“Nice orchids.”
“Thanks. A very thoughtful asshole gave them to me.” She follows me into my office and leaves the door open. “I printed out your call sheet, and I’ve already replied to a few emails that you don’t have to deal with.”
I fucking love you is what I want to say. “Thanks. Did you see that Drucker actually closed a deal in the Hamptons yesterday? I’ll have to talk to him later.” I wait for her to tell me he’s already on my call sheet or that she’s already responded to his stupid email question for me. But she doesn’t.
When I glance up at her, she isn’t smirking and she isn’t smiling. She isn’t staring at me with heavy-lidded eyes and heaving breasts. She isn’t even frowning at me in that way that makes me want to tug on her hair and really give her something to frown about. She isn’t doing any of the things I like to see her do in response to me. She’s frowning at me in an entirely new way that I don’t like at all. I know that frown. I’ve seen that frown on another woman’s face, and the words that come out of that frowny mouth next are never good.
“You okay?”
It takes her a moment, but she snaps out of her unpleasant musing and answers, “Yeah. Let me know when you’re ready to roll calls. I’m just going through the Hamptons contract for you right now.” And with that, she leaves my office and shuts the door. One second later, she opens the door again. “Sorry, did you want this open or closed?”
“Open.”
“Right.” She goes back to her desk and doesn’t look over at me once she sits down.
Which is probably fine.
A Very Bossy Christmas Page 16