A Naughty Santa Gram

by Alyssa D Mynx

  I slip on black flats that complement the wide leg white pants and red blouse I'm wearing. There’s a pair of heels in my purse, just in case. I'm out the door and into a black sedan in no time.

  "Why the chauffeur?" I ask, settling in back and buckling up as the driver takes off. Bossman doesn't deign to answer, so I direct it to the driver.

  "Hey there, I'm Blake, your person for today. Nothing against you, but why are you driving us and not him?" I point back to Bossman.

  "Hey there. I'm Dennis. Mr. Daniels likes someone else to drive him, so he can continue to work during the commute. I will also be your driver on most days while you are doing your Santa runs." The warm and calm voice comes from an elderly gentleman, probably in his sixties.

  "Do all the Santas get drivers? Or is it because I'm a woman?" I ask him, sending a sharp look at Drake that could kill if he'd ever look up from his phone.

  "All Santas have the option of a driver, and a few are assigned a driver. It depends on what they drive, how they drive, and what each individual’s 'look' is," Dennis responds.

  "That makes sense. Where did Mr. Gloomy over here tell you to take us? It’s kind of early for shops to be open, and I heard something about shopping."

  "That is for you to find out. We will be there in about twenty minutes, so why don't you sit back and relax a little, Ms. Blake."

  "As long as you just call me Blake, Dennis."

  "You got it, Blake." He grins, focusing back on the road as I lean into the leather of the car and let the cool air from the vents blow over me.

  I’ve just rested my head back when my phone buzzes, but I ignore it and spend most of the time just sitting with my eyes closed, relaxing after the workout and shower. Then I get bored and jump on my phone, scrolling through to see all of what I've missed in my social life in the last three hours.

  Facebook calls to me, and I wish it wouldn't have. I've yet to block and unfriend my ex and his new woman, and today there are some new pictures of them from a recent trip they took to Chicago. He'd labeled it, "Best trip with the best woman ever. #NoRegrets." That son of a motherless fucking goat. I swear to the hellfire that I'll kill him. Or his Porsche. Especially since now I'm starting to angry cry. Or frustrated cry. I can never tell the difference.

  I check my messages, and there’s one from my mom. That’s weird. I ignore it and delete it, trying to hold myself in check.

  I turn to look out the window, trying to hide the fact that I'm crying. Still, asshole Bossman notices.

  "You leaking or something?"

  "Yeah, or something," I respond dryly. Frankly, at this point, the only thing dry is my tone of voice.

  "You need a tissue? Here," he offers, pulling an actual fucking handkerchief out of his pocket.

  "Umm, you do realize you'll never get this back because I'll throw it away? And that it's kind of nasty?" I say, eyebrows up and lips curled back.

  Deep chuckles that fill my soul and start to calm me come in response. "That's fine. I have plenty. Use that to mop up with, then we can talk if you want."

  "Wow, that's almost, well, nice of you, Bossman. Who knew you had it in you? It's just my ex being a douche," I reluctantly admit, using the hopefully clean snot rag.

  "Do we need to hide a body or scare him? We've got the guys to do either," he says, grinning at me. An actual grin!

  "Whoa, I figured your face would break if you ever smiled. It's a nice change of pace from your glares, Bossman. And no, though I would love to say let’s kill him, I don't think we can do that legally. Though, I really truly appreciate the offer." I touch his chest to show my sincerity.

  A shock runs through me, from where my fingertips rest lightly upon the silky gray-blue shirt he's wearing, all the way to my core. I swallow hard, staring into Drake's eyes. His are hot, and the look of longing in his eyes makes my core ache. I break contact, taking my hand from his body.

  "So, erm, what were we talking about?" I ask, flushed from the contact.

  "I believe you were telling me about your ex, who I don't get to kill or scare." One corner of his mouth tips up. Drake turns off his phone and sets it down between us. And in that moment, I know love. I know that no matter what... I am fucking staying with this company. If the BOSS cares enough to put business aside to make you feel better, then you can bet your ass it’s a good company. No way am I leaving it.

  "So, my ex. Used to be my boss at the law firm. We met when I was a freshman at UCLA after I’d moved away from Kansas. I was seventeen, he was twenty-one, a senior. Life seemed to be going good, and after he finished law school three years later, we moved in together. It was my senior year of college for my bachelor’s. Everything seemed to be going well, and we got engaged two years ago. Then he started coming home late or not at all. I’d invested eight years with this man for him to one day just up and tell me I’m fired for something stupid, that he was breaking off the engagement, and that I needed to move out so he and his new girlfriend could be together. Took my ring, cut me off, and I ended up living in my best friend’s closet within a matter of hours."

  "Like that wizard kid?" Drake asks, a full blown grin on him again.

  "Yeah, if he had had a hundred pairs of shoes and a rug so fluffy it could eat you as roommates, then yes. No, I'm pretty sure mine is bigger and better, but not by much. At least I live with my best friend, not some horrible relatives." I shudder, thinking of living with my mom and Craig still.

  "Makes sense to me," he says.

  "It's not like..." I'm cut off by the loud buzzing of my phone freaking out. "Who could that be?" I wonder aloud, digging through my purse to find my phone. BZZ BZZ. "Gotcha," I say triumphantly, holding aloft my phone. And then I see the caller.

  And promptly send them to voicemail.

  "You’re not going to take that?" Drake asks, leaning towards me. He towers over me just enough that I catch my breath.

  "No," I answer flatly. "It's my mother. She only calls twice a year, and I only answer twice a year. No good will come of answering unless it's Christmas or my birthday. She and Craig can go fuck themselves the rest of the year."

  "Dad?" he asks.

  "Step. He's a dumb monster, and let's leave it at that." The coldness I have for my mom and step-dad seeps into my skin. I shiver unconsciously, and that just pisses me off.

  "Here, put this around you. It's better than you shivering in this warmth, you weird brat," Drake says, smiling and shaking his head at me. He unbuckles to shrug out of his jacket and gestures for me to lean forward.

  He's settling the jacket around me when there's just the slightest brush of his knuckle across my nipple. I catch my breath, sure it's a mistake, but it happens again. I look up through my lashes and lock eyes with Drake. Sound disappears, and the only things in my world are the hot eyes digging into my soul and the constant caress of a knuckle to my nipple. They perk up, and his eyes go to where I'm licking my lip. His woodsy scent fills my nostrils, the smell of a pine forest on a hot day leaking into my pores. Drake starts to lean over, and I know I'm being naughty, but…

  "And here we are," Dennis states, pointedly looking forward out the window. I start, moving backwards from Drake.

  "Thanks for the, um, jacket. And wow, isn't it a little early to be shopping here?" I ask, glancing at the expensive shops lining the street as I shrug out of his jacket.

  "I made a call," is all Drake says. Huh. Drake. My first thought is to call him Drake now, but I'm definitely still going to have to call him Bossman, just to bring out that tic I love so much.

  Bossman and I get out of the car, and I hand him the jacket reluctantly. Our fingers brush as I hand it off, and the phantom heat of his knuckles touches me once more. I breathe deep and look away, back to the store.

  A severely dressed woman with a bun pulled so tight in her hair that she looks like she's in pain, opens the door. "Punctually early, as usual, Mr. Daniels."

  "Of course, Chesca. I'd hate to be late."

  "Indeed, Mr. Daniels." The wo
man's dark eyes turn to me, and she purses her lips. "Yes, I do believe you guessed around the right sizes. Let's go see what we can do for you two. Come along."

  "Right sizes?" I whisper. "What the hell, Bossman? You checking me out THAT much?"

  He leans over and whispers in my ear, "Always, Brat. I own that ass now." He stands and smiles at me, hot and possessive.

  I’ve opened my mouth to protest when Chesca says, "Come come, we haven't all day. If we are to fit you with Ms. Santa outfits, we need to work. My team is here and ready, let's not keep them waiting."

  I shoot Drake a hot warning look and follow them inside.

  Two hours, seven pinpricks, and a million hot glares and stares between Drake and me later, I have 5 "decent" outfits, according to the bossman. We are back in the SUV and I'm guzzling water like it's Dr. Pepper when I finally think to ask, "How did she have Santa outfits? It's almost Halloween, not Christmas."

  Drake just responds with, "I called her the day I hired you for a fitting, so she could get them ready." Turning attention back to his phone, he says, "Dennis, let's stop at the costume shop to pick up a few last minute things."

  "Right, Mr. Daniels," Dennis replies, taking a left at the next corner.

  I sigh, sit back, and relax, not knowing where we are going and honestly not caring all that much either. Sooner than I'd have liked, we are at "Costumes for the Curious." It's the Los Angeles area's biggest costume shop, and sometimes they even rent out costumes for movies. I've only been inside a handful of times, but the store is like a warehouse. I've never explored the whole place.

  Giddy like a kid getting some candy, I practically leap out of the SUV and rush to get in. Deep chuckles follow in my wake.

  I open the door, and, as happens every single time, I'm met with more colors than I can take in. There are aisles and aisles of costumes and accessories, masks, makeup, and just about anything you could want to turn yourself into anything you can imagine.

  Drake’s warm presence files in behind me, and I can feel his heat at my back. "Let's find some accessories," he whispers into my ear as he tucks my hair behind it.

  An hour and three big bags later, I hope I have everything Bossman could ever want me to have because I'm not sure how this is all going to fit in my locker at work.

  I’m rushing about, looking at last minute things while Drake takes care of the bill, when I slam into a hard wall and fall on my ass.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, so so so…” a warm voice sounds.

  I rub my forehead and look up to see this really cute guy standing there, moving like he wants to help me, then stepping back, then moving in again.

  Why I even take note of him, I'm not sure, since I'm crushing on Drake so hard, plus, you know, the heavy flirting. But something about him hits me right in the feels. The curly blonde mop on his head makes him look about twenty-five or so, but the glasses that frame his hazel eyes age him.

  “It’s alright, no worries. Just some sore butt cheeks and a bruised ego, no biggie.”

  “Help up you I can?”

  I snort. “Either you’re flustered or practicing Yoda speech. Which is it?”

  The guy blushes and just reaches out a hand to help me up. I take it, and he tugs me up with more strength than I thought he would.

  “Rubbing those cheeks, umm, that usually takes the sting away?” he says, blushing everywhere.

  “Don’t suppose you want to help out, do you?” I tease.

  The guy goes beet red and stammers, not replying.

  “Johnny! What’re you doing here?”

  "Sir, um, Drake, I’m, erm, looking for inspiration for a character. How's it going today?" the guy asks, blushing and stumbling over his words a little.

  "Good, just getting some work done. Johnny, meet Blake, the female Santa I was telling you about," Drake introduces.

  "Erm, yeah, um, hello. I’m Johnny. We met, well, kind of. I met her body, but then she met the floor, and... I'm Johnny. Oh, wait, shit, you already said that, umm, hi," Johnny says, each word running into the next.

  I have to giggle a little at his adorableness and shit. "Blake, as you heard. It's a pleasure to officially meet someone Bossman knows." I can’t help grinning a little and flicking my eyes to see Drake's reaction at that. His tic is back, and that brings me an evil sense of joy.

  "Uh, yeah, nice to, nice to meet you," he stutters out. He turns to Drake and says, "I'll see you later, man," and runs off deep into the stacks of costumes.

  Drake chuckles. "So now you've met Johnny. He's, well, Johnny. Enough said."

  "Enough said?” I shrug. “Now, how about we haul all this back. You are giving me two lockers or more for all this, right?" I ask.

  "No, you get one, same as everyone."

  "Three."

  "One."

  "Two?" I plead.

  "ONE."

  "Spoilsport."

  It’s Thursday, and day three starts out a little bit better. My body is sort of getting used to waking up early, but hell to the no do I like it. It's annoying as fuck to wake up on your own at 4:30 in the morning. I'd planned on sleeping ‘til 4:45 since I could get ready at work after my workout and the team meeting, giving myself just a little more sleep time. Today I'm getting my first ‘gram assignments, and I’m both looking forward to it and dreading it

  I get to the gym at 5:15, and there are a few guys here already. We must all have the same idea of getting gym time in before the meeting. I can’t wait ‘til the guys see the shower.

  A new guy comes up behind me while I’m doing some lifts, offering, "Want me to spot you?"

  "Sure, but I'm honestly not lifting much, just putting my time in and trying to appease Bossman. Oh, and get the insurance. But he said lift, so I'm lifting." I shrug, benching a measly twenty-five pounds.

  "Still, I'd hate to see a pretty girl like you get tired and drop something on yourself,” he persists.

  "I suppose, then."

  "My name is Sebastion, by the way,” he informs me while spotting the bar with his hands hovering next to mine.

  "Like the crab?" I ask through my slight heavy breathing, smiling up at him and his green eyes.

  He rolls his eyes with a grin. "Do you know how many times I hear that? Yes, but spelled differently."

  "Gotcha."

  “It’s nice to have a girl on board. Different, but nice. I’m guessing this will be the best idea since Santa Grams and that you’ll be busy as fuck after word gets out.” Sebastion’s amiable words make me smile.

  Our discussion ends when the alarm on my watch goes off. "Well, that's it for me, the last half hour is running. Thanks for the spot, Sebastion," I say as I stand to clean up my weights. Walking off to the treadmills, I find there's only one left, and it's next to Landon. Oh well, beggars, choosers, and all that. I step up and set it to a meandering walk on a bit of an incline to start.

  "Sweetness, it's good to see you back. Did you survive shopping yesterday? I hear you got quite a haul and two lockers," Landon says, jogging as lightly as a man his size can do, not even breaking pace or tone to talk to me.

  "I sure did. Told Bossman I'd need three lockers. Did the man listen? No," I say, rolling my eyes. My breathing starts getting a little harsh, but nothing too bad yet.

  "I've never seen someone stand up to him like that. At least not do it and walk away without a few broken bones."

  "Boobs. It's called boobs, my man, and I have a nice set of them." I gesture towards my chest for emphasis before taking the machine off incline. My calves are burning.

  "Mmm. That you do. I'd love to bury my face between them or... your lips. Sometime maybe? If you're not busy?" I almost trip and fall on the treadmill with his words.

  Landon just shoots me a hot look and switches off his machine. I'm stunned to silence, so I have no response when he says, "See you sometime, Sweetness." All I can do is get my butt back on the treadmill and get going. Thirty minutes seems to drag by as I try to determine what he meant. I know what he said, but di
d he mean it? How do I feel about that? Do I like it? What about my crush on Bossman? See, I have no idea what the heck I'm thinking.

  When my timer finally goes off, I grab my stuff and go, wanting time to take a nice hot shower before the meeting.

  That idea is quickly shut down. My new pink rug and curtain and towels are all in order, but since everyone had the same idea about a workout before the meeting, the hot water heater must be having trouble keeping up. That water is FRIGID, and I take the shortest shower in the history of shower taking. I'm not even sure if all the shampoo is out of my hair, and at this point, I’m prepared to have bubbly hair all day. But then Jenna would kill me, so I guess it’s better if I just simply rinse it.

  I get my hair dry and straight before the meeting and throw on the jacket I'd left in one of my lockers. Moving into the conference room, there are about fifteen guys waiting already, and I know I saw a few in the lockers still. So I do my normal hello.

  "What up, bitches? How's my homies hangin'?" I ask, annoyingly bright and in my cute voice.

  "My homie’s hanging low for you, but he's rising up," someone hoots from the back, and all the guys laugh. You can feel the tension cracking like ice at this point, thank you, Jesus. Talking starts around me, and I go sit beside a friendly face that I'm not disturbingly addicted and attracted to.

  "What's up, Nick?" I ask, sliding into one of the leather chairs.

  "Hey Blake. Not much, you?"

  "Just trying to warm the hell up. I'm fucking freezing," I exclaim, rubbing my arms.

  Nick chuckles. "Yeah, you need to be here by five if you want a hot shower. After that, they just keep getting colder, but it's only before the weekly meetings for the ‘grams that you really have to worry about it."