Kiss A Ginger Day: A steamy workplace romantic comedy

Chapter 1

Alice blinked snowflakes off her lids and cursed. Her stupid high heels kept sinking into the growing slush—and Theodore, a man she’d known for exactly two hours, would not stop with the questions. The last thing anyone wanted in a surprise Washington, DC winter storm was to play a get-to-know you game as a distraction.

She wanted the gloves and hat she’d left at the office.

She wanted an industrial-sized vat of coffee laced with amaretto.

But most of all, she wanted to find her damned car.

She glanced up and down the residential street. It looked familiar. Sort of.

“What did you say again?” She was only half listening to him spout off his favorite everythings.

So far, they’d covered favorite months, foods, movies—his was an action flick, of course—and which one of the seven dwarfs in Snow White. Hers was Doc. His? Happy.

He helped steady her as she almost slipped again. “My favorite month is January.” The man whose sanity she was seriously questioning lifted his hand to catch some of the flakes that would not quit falling from the sky. The fact that he introduced himself to Alice at the party as “Theodore Gaston the Fourth, at your service” was a clue he might be a bit off.

But Theodore had a hypnotic British accent. It lured her into thinking he was safe. Plus, her work colleagues laughed with him all night across the bar. But within seconds of exiting the bar, he was peppering her with all these odd questions. “A game,” he’d stated. “Something to make us forget the cold.”

Instead, it made her question her choices—yet again. Why hadn”t she paid closer attention to where she’d left her car? And why did she have to have one that still used a key? She’d kill for one of those fob things that beeped.

She slipped her half-frozen arm free of his. “Tell me one good thing about this month because we’re out of Christmas January and now into real January.”

“That’s why. Holidays are over, pressure’s off. No one cares what you’re doing. Plus …” He dramatically stopped and swept his hands over his peacoat. “It has ‘Kiss a Ginger’ day.”

“You made that up.” Probably hoping she was into red-headed guys. He had to be trying to pick her up. Men didn’t bolt from a party and offer to help you find your lost parked car in twenty-something degree weather for nothing.

“Not making it up,” he said. “It’s tomorrow, January 12. January 18 is Museum Selfie Day. January 23 is National Pie Day. There’s Chinese New Year, Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. Oh, and damn, we missed National Bobblehead Day.”

“Tragic.”

“It is. It was January 7.”

Oh, my God. What was she thinking, walking with a complete stranger on a deserted—and very snow-wet and chilly—street?

Maybe because tonight sucked, and the last thing she needed was to die of exposure and in some snow pile—alone. Blowing on her fingertips, she sighed.

Tonight, when her boss asked her to meet him at Harrison’s Pub, she’d thought it was to discuss her promotion to CFO. Three months ago, the former CFO, Brian, quit in a huff. He didn’t even tell her he was leaving, and they’d worked together for the last two years.

Roger immediately dangled the position in front of her. They’d had several private dinners to talk about it—“to avoid distractions, a relaxed conversation out of the office.” Instead, tonight, he’d invited the entire office to the pub for a surprise birthday party for himself. Who did that?

But that wasn’t the worst part. Apparently, he’d asked Tricia to write up a new CFO job description that week—something she’d found out when Stephanie and Tricia accosted her in the tiny ladies’ room. “We feel bad you don’t seem to understand. He was auditioning you for Miss December. That’s what all those dinners were. We’ve seen it before.”

They’d thought she and Roger had dated. And not only that, but that she’d been the potential flavor of the month. Jesus.

Right then, her New Year’s Resolution was formed. She’d stop being so timid, and she’d take control of her destiny. It was important to pick one thing every year to improve about oneself.

But she’d stomped out of the party only to discover a blanket of snow over everything in sight. Pretty, but every single car on the street was a mound of white. So much for controlling her fate.

Following her out was Theodore. “Need help?” he’d asked in his lilting accent.

At the time, it had seemed smart to take him up on his offer. He’d looked harmless enough. Then again, Ted Bundy and probably Jack the Ripper had as well. They’d turned out to be serial killers.

She quickened her pace, only to almost slip again. “Oof.”

He grabbed her elbow. “Steady, there. High heels, huh?” There most definitely was a judgy look in his eyes.

“It was a workday,” she huffed. She should have called a rideshare. If there were any to call. Washington, DC shuttered all activity when anything fell from the sky.

He dropped his hold on her elbow and moved to the outside of the street. “Now, your favorite month?”

“May. Flowers. Sunshine. So, where are you from exactly in England?”

“I’m not. From Wales.” His coattails rose up as he reached for his wallet and drew out a driving license, holding it up to her face.

“Oh. You really are Theodore Gaston.”

“Of course I am. Ah, you thought I was kittyfishing.”

A little laugh bubbled up. “It’s catfishing. And, yeah, of course, I did. I mean—” she waved in the direction of the bar behind them “—it’s what half those people in there are doing.”

“Well, I’m not anyone.”

“No, you’re Theodore Gaston the Fourth.”

“Yeah, not my smoothest move to let that slip. I mean, you could be out for all my money and fame.”

She stopped. Gazed at him. Was he famous, and she’d missed it? DC was filled with celebrities who walked among regular people like her.

He winked and pointed at her. “Gotcha. I’m as ordinary as the day is long.”

“Not ordinary,” she said. “Not if you’re walking me to my car.” Her last date had sat in his car, engine idling, and texted her he was “outside.”

“That should be the most standard thing you experience.”

She stared up at him. The guy couldn’t be for real. For a long moment, she stood frozen, a little mesmerized by all the bright blue in his eyes.

A gust of cold air unstuck her gaze. “Thanks for helping me, Theodore.” She shouldn’t be looking a gift horse in the mouth. But once she was in her car, Theodore could go on his merry way. She was tired and cold, and she needed her stupid high heels off.

“Never a chore, always a pleasure, love.”

A tingle ran down her spine at his charming talk. Again, it had to be the British accent because she was over not having common sense when it came to what people really wanted—especially those with a pair of testicles.

Eyes open. Control.That would be her mantra.

He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “My mother would have my backside if I let a woman walk by herself in the dead of night.”

Ah. Now, he made sense. The guy still lived in his mother’s basement, didn’t he? “Don’t want to disappoint Mom.”

“But I know what you’re thinking.”

“You must save a lot of money living with your parents?”

“Ha. Like my parents’ place in Tenby Harbour has room for me. You’re thinking, ‘How is this handsome, single guy with the adorable accent all by himself on a fine January evening such as this’.” His smile forced little crinkles to form around his blue eyes.

Her eyes nearly rolled to the back of her head. “I’m thinking I hope I have my toes at the end of this night.” Her feet stung.

When they rounded the corner, she raised her arms and let them drop by her side. “I swear I parked on this street, but who could tell?”

“Tell you what. You stand under that shelter.” He pointed at an apartment building with a faded red awning and gold lettering announcing it as The Paramount. “I’ll wipe off the cars, and you yell when one of them looks like yours.”

“You’d do that?”

“Love, I wore boots. But you?” He pointed at her heels, now likely ruined. “The weather app is a wondrous invention.”

“So I’ve heard.” She slipped under the awning.

He dramatically wiped at the side of a car. “Ah, red sedan something. Yours?”

“Nope. My car is silver.” She stomped her feet, hugging her arms around her body.

He dramatically skidded along the wet surface like a surfer, his arms swiping at the next car’s hood at the same time. “Nope,” he called out. “Blue.”

His head swiveled to face her. “Is silver your favorite color?” His shout echoed on the abandoned street.

“Green.”

“Mine, too. Imagine that.” He stopped at another car and had to raise his voice more. “Okay. Favorite vacation spot.”

“Not here,” she mumbled. She glanced at the darkened townhouses lining the street. It appeared early-to-bed Washingtonians lived there. It was only eleven at night. “We should be careful to not wake people,” she whisper-shouted.

“What?” he yelled. “Waikiki, you say?”

She drew out her phone. A rideshare had to be available. She tapped the app. Ninety minutes was the earliest anyone could get to her. She brought her phone up to her mouth. “Hey, Siri, call a taxicab.”

And that was when her phone screen went black. Battery dead. Oh, for the love of…. Tonight had devolved into the ridiculous.

She strode, or rather slid, her way toward Theodore, who was arm-brushing off a black Mercedes, the little emblem sticking out of its snow casing.

He waved over the Mercedes hood. “Man, this car is a boat.”

“It’s a lost cause, and I’m calling a cab. Can I borrow your cell?”

“Don’t have one.”

Momentary shock made her still. “You don’t have a cell phone?” How did he live?

“Forgot it back at my place. We could go there, and?—”

She raised a hand to stop his words. As if tonight could get any worse. She sucked in snow-humid, cold air, and heaved out a foggy breath. “There has to be a cab somewhere.” She craned her neck up the street. So. Many. Snow. Mounds.

Her feet slipped once again, and her belly lurched. Strong arms banded around her, and suddenly, she was in his arms. Oh, hard chest.

“Come on, Snow Kitten, since you seem hellbent on finding your car, I’ll carry you. You swipe at the cars until we uncover yours.”

The evening truly was surreal. Laugher burst out of her chest as he hefted her in his arms. “Do you always sweep girls off their feet like this?”

“Only the beautiful ones with snow in their hair. Now, swipe.” He leaned down, and she had to hook her arm around his neck to keep from being pitched over.

What the hell. It would be wise to accept help when needed. “I’m losing my mind,” she muttered and swiped at a car hood—not hers.

They repeated the move on another car. Again, the wrong car.

He’d carried her as if she weighed as much as a dried flower. And he kept asking her questions, seemingly unbothered by the chilled air, though his cheeks and ears had reddened. His eyes grew impossibly bluer.

“Favorite holiday spot?” he asked.

“Australia.”

“Ah, that country is lovely this time of year.” He shifted her in his arms a little so she could lean down to swipe at what turned out to be a white sedan. “Especially Queensland. Fantastic beaches. I can see why down under would be your favorite.”

She’d only been once but had fallen in love with it. “It really is something.”

He continued to quiz her about her favorite things. Somewhere between her announcing Australia as her favorite place to visit and her favorite fabric—yes, he’d asked that question—she’d lost all inhibition about being carried by a strange man in a snowstorm. If nothing else, it’d make for a good story. In fact, she’d be sure to tell Stephanie and Tricia on Monday, and with any luck, it’d get back to Roger, her bastard boss.

She’d be extra dramatic about the details, too. How a handsome British man who clearly worked out regularly, given his breath remained steady despite his arms being full of her, came to her rescue and helped. Not offered false promotion promises.

That is, if they ever found her damned car and she made it to work tomorrow.

“Now, Alice, rapid fire round. Red or white wine?”

“Red.” She’d love a glass right now, in fact.

“Picnic outside or sheepskin by the fireplace?”

“Picnic in May. Fireplace in January.” She leaned her head back, gazing at the dark sky dotted by white flakes. It was pretty.

Sounds in the distance were muffled as if the world were wrapped in cotton. His footfalls softly creaked in the growing inches of snow. The soft plink-plink of snowflakes hitting the ground mixed with the sound of her breath. Even the beep-beep-beep of a truck in the distance was muted.

He shifted her a bit. “Jazz music or country?”

“Of those choices? Jazz.”

“Oh, good.” He smiled down at her. “Our first date is now planned.”

“Oh, really?” She eyed him, bouncing a little in his arms. He most definitely worked out—a lot. “Have I landed in a Hallmark movie?”

“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not a widow with a sheep farm-turned-lodge in Scotland or a lumberjack in Montana with a 20,000-acre ranch who’s sworn off love until we lock eyes.”

She laughed. “A fan, are you?”

His brow furrowed, and he shook his head. “Eh. Those guys are amateurs. But my mum regularly swoons over them. And you think it’s cold here? Visit Scotland in January with a storm blowing in. Now, brush this one.” He leaned over and she once more uncovered a car, not hers.

“Scotland is on my bucket list,” she said.

“We can stay at Glenapp Castle.”

Her heart hitched a little. “We?”

“Who’s going to keep your heels dry?”

“I have boots,” she sniffed.

“With heels?”

Busted. “I can get wellies.”

“Ah, there’s my girl.” His smile grew wider.

She couldn’t imagine what being his girl would entail. Endless questions. Chivalry. Travel. Nights of staring into his eyes, which were so blue it reminded her of those pictures of Broome, Australia, she had on her computer wallpaper. And even if he were peculiar, he seemed genuine.

“What kind of car do you drive anyway?” he asked, as they stopped at—what? Their twentieth car?

“A silver Audi.” She leaned over and let her coat arm, now caked with snow, swipe on the hood—and bingo. “This one!” She began to wiggle out of his arms, and he mercifully steadied her as she dropped to her feet.She stumbled a little, given her ankles and feet were numb with cold.

She dug into her coat pocket and pulled out her key.

Note to self: buy a car with a very loud key fob chime sound.

Chivalrous Theodore held on to her as they rounded to the driver’s side.

She got the door open with a loud crack. “You were a lifesaver. Let me drive you to your car?”

“I’d be a fool to not take you up on it. And for the record, I know where my rental is.”

She laughed, climbed inside and started up the car. He then proceeded to brush the snow off her car windows with this coat sleeve. The man most certainly didn’t live there.

How often had she met someone who would spend thirty minutes with her like that? How about never?

Once he was in the passenger’s side, the heat had begun to work. She wiggled her fingers in front of the vent sending blessed warm air her way.

“Okay, then.” He yanked on his seat belt. “I’m the next block over.”

“You’re on Ordway?”

He cocked his head toward her. “Parked in front of the bar. As snowed in as anyone else by now, I suppose.”

He could have driven away before there was a good eight inches of snow on the ground. “But … you’d said you wanted to share a cab.” He also could have driven her home. Then again, she’d never have gotten into a stranger’s car. Especially not now. She had a renewed commitment to keeping her eyes as wide open as the Grand Canyon.

He shrugged. “Wanted to make sure you got home safe first.”

Oh. Her lips involuntarily parted, as she gaped at him. A warmth built inside her, melting a bit of her usual defenses against men who used pretty words—like whispered “promotion” to her but didn’t mean it.

She angled herself so her back was against her car door. She was sure a logical question existed in her brain, her body, somewhere. She couldn’t seem to form words to ask it. What did she want to know?

Was he playing her?

Was he that charming to every woman?

Did he just want to get laid?

Who cared? Tomorrow, she’d think long and hard about her recent choices.

She put her car in reverse to gain a few inches so she could get out of the parking space and avoid the other two snowed-in cars in front and behind her.

Of course, her wheels spun. And spun. And spun. They didn’t move the car a millimeter.

“Oh, great.” She dropped her forehead to her steering wheel. She did not have that—or any part of that night—on her evening’s bingo card.

“Guess we might as well start that first date.”

“Oh?” she asked, her face still buried in her steering wheel. “Got a bottle of red wine on you? And a fireplace?”

“No, but I’ve got one at my place a block over.”

She twisted her face to stare at him, forehead still on the cold vinyl. “You live on Ordway, too?” She lifted her head and dropped it against the headrest. “Why didn”t you save yourself? Why do all this?”

“To get to know you I’d have flown to Australia and back.” His eyes shone over at her, a half-smile camped on his lips. “But only in international business class. It’s a really long trip.”

When she didn’t say anything, he mirrored her movement. He squared himself to her and took her fingers in one hand. “Okay, would you rather I said Scotland?” he asked seriously. “Because I could do either.”

She shook her head. “You aren”t real.”

“I”m as real as the driven snow, love.” He cracked open his door. “Come on, I’ll even carry you to my flat. Unless you want to spend the night here.”

Another stupid laugh erupted through her nose, and she repositioned herself to face the windshield. She would be a fool to go with him. But they were nowhere near a metro stop, and she hadn’t seen a single car or taxi on the snow-laden street.

A blast of cold air hit her as he stepped out. “I promise you’re safe with me.”

“That’s what serial killers say,” she whispered to her steering wheel.

He leaned down, his face bright in the open door. “Not the ones Edison Tech hires. They understand the whole adage of ‘you get what you pay for’. And I’d be too expensive.”

“You don’t work for Edison.” She handled payroll. She’d know if they had a recent hire.

“Not technically, but I know some of the people there. So, about that wine?”

“Theodore …”

He shut her inside with the click of her passenger car door.

Wine did sound pretty great—definitely better than freezing to death overnight in her car. She could always call a cab—if any were running—from his place.

She yanked open her own door and stood. “Okay, take me to your alcohol.”

His blue eyes glittered her way. “Good because in—” he checked his watch “—fourteen minutes, it will officially be Kiss a Ginger Day.”

“As long as it’s Cabernet Sauvignon Day somewhere.” She wasn’t interested in kissing anything except the rim of a wineglass—and maybe finding out who he knew at Edison. It always helped to network, and maybe he knew someone who needed a CFO.