My Secret Snowflake (New York Spark #3)

1. Iris

Chapter one

Iris

I feel like a Santa Claus who’s eaten too many cookies and is now stuck in a chimney, unable to shimmy up or down. So much for my bright idea that I could easily step on a carton and climb through this open window that’s about five feet off the ground. I cling to the windowsill, not quite able to hoist myself all the way over, but I’m far enough off the ground that dropping back down could hurt. My stomach is on the sill, and my hands and elbows are holding me on, the wooden ledge biting into everything —splinters are a definite possibility. The box I stepped on to get a leg up is now a crumpled heap below me.

“Are you okay, Iris?” Jazmine asks from below me. “Ow. Ugh. There are so many prickly bushes here. Amelia, you should definitely stay on the path.”

“I can see your key card on your desk, Amelia,” I say.

Amelia, Head of Human Resources at Dream Company where we all work, is outside on a beautifully gardened gravel path, but her key card is in her hotel room. To save Amelia the 100-euro penalty for needing assistance after eleven p.m., I came up with the brilliant idea that I could climb in through her open ground-floor window, retrieve her key, and let her in. It must have been all the “let’s-think-out-of-the-box” exercises we’ve been doing on this company retreat in Provence with our new parent company, L’Etoile S.A.R.L.

“I probably should have just called the porter,” Amelia says. “But then he’ll think I’m an idiotic American. And what if he tells L’Etoile? And then L’Etoile thinks I’m an idiot?”

I’m the idiot. What if our L’Etoile colleagues see me hanging here? Oh no. I kick my legs. But I’m swimming in air, not water. C’mon, nonexistent arm muscles. Pull. This is your time to shine.

“Can you push me some more?” I bite out.

“I’m trying,” Jazmine huffs.

As some cool air brushes over the backs of my thighs, I wince. I have the uneasy feeling that all Jazmine did was push up my skirt. My arms are definitely weakening.

“I think I’m going to fall,” I gasp.

“Can I help?” It’s a man’s voice.

Oh, no. Is my underwear showing? It can’t be showing, right?

“Yes, please!” Hold. On.

“Sebastian, great timing,” Jazmine says.

Sebastian? The new guy in Legal?

Should I shimmy and try to get my skirt back down? I bite my lip and hold on tighter. If I shimmy, I’ll look like I’m doing some weird move to the windowsill. Or like I’m a worm.

Some twigs crack behind me as I presume Jazmine and Sebastian switch positions. I don’t dare look around. Please, let my underwear not be showing.

“Okay if I put my hands on your hips?” Sebastian asks. His voice is a deep timbre behind me, and it’s as if my hands want to loosen their grip on this windowsill and slip into the warmth of his arms. The smell of Ivory soap mixes with the night breeze.

“Yes, yes,” I say. I can’t hold on much longer . Especially when my body seems to have the completely wrong idea about this situation.

And suddenly two hands grip my hips, and my stomach is over the windowsill. Along the rest of me. Crash! Ouch! I don’t catch myself in time. I’m on the floor.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

No . I want to disappear between these wood boards.

“Yes,” I say, adding a cheery lilt to my voice as if I’m totally fine and my knees are not all scraped up—and I adore looking like an inelegant mess in front of a very attractive guy.

I stand and pull down my skirt. It’s dark, so maybe my underwear wasn’t visible? But at least Sebastian is an American colleague. Because my underwear would definitely not impress our French hosts.

I am so mortified. I can feel my cheeks flush.

I turn on the desk light and grab the key. I flash a thumbs-up out the window at the three shadowy figures standing outside, only the face of the man illuminated by the lamp. Amelia and Jazmine have retreated to the pathway, out of reach of the bushes.

“I’m Sebastian,” the man says as he steps forward. “I’m not sure we’ve met formally before.”

As if all the women at Dream Company in New York City didn’t immediately sigh in appreciation when he joined a month ago. Even I couldn’t help noticing him and I’d sworn off dating.

Should we really be doing formal introductions now?

“Iris Murphy,” I say. “Thank you. I was definitely stuck.”

“It was definitely a pleasure.” He flashes me a wicked grin.

I blush. Yes, my underwear was definitely showing. And I’m wearing my white full-coverage underwear—not at all sexy, especially with the cat pawprints. I close my eyes. Why did I have to wear those?

Still, given his smile and chiseled cheekbones, those dark-blue eyes, and his wavy blond hair, I’m sure he’s seen women in underwear before. Just maybe not granny underwear that looks like a cat stepped in pink paint and then massaged my butt.

“You’ve earned your good Samaritan points for the day,” I say wryly.

“I don’t think this qualifies,” he says with a slight laugh to his voice. “I couldn’t not help when it was like a luminous white flag of…”

My underwear was glowing? Great.

“Surrender?” I ask.

“That’s not quite what I thought, although it definitely works. Given that HR is right behind me, I’m not going to say anything else.” He gives me this half-smile that definitely hints at something more.

“You can’t leave me hanging,” I say.

“I didn’t. I’ll be off, then.” He backs up through the bushes, back to the gravel pathway that meanders among the cute little cottages at this French countryside resort.

That’s more in line with his usual behavior, according to the female office gossip. He’s gorgeous but aloof. All work and no play. I smooth down my skirt again. Patrick had the same complaint about me. My ice princess . That’s what he liked at first—that I wasn’t falling over myself to attract him. But that didn’t last. I sigh. I leave by the front door and meet Amelia and Jazmine outside.

Amelia takes her key card, saying thank you again and waving good-bye. Jazmine and I walk down the path to our suite in the building next door.

“I can’t believe Sebastian came to your aid,” Jazmine says. “I wouldn’t have pegged him as the type to rescue a damsel in distress.”

“I wasn’t a damsel in distress. I would’ve gotten myself over the ledge eventually,” I say.

Jazmine pats my back. “Of course. Still, sometimes it’s good to recognize when you need help. You don’t have to do it alone.”

“Why wouldn’t you have pegged him as the type to rescue a damsel in distress?” Let’s not drop that far-more-interesting line of conversation. Does Jazmine also see him as distant?

“I mean, he seems like a great guy, but he doesn’t socialize much,” Jazmine says. “But I think he was definitely smiling when he passed me. Maybe he’s just the ticket to get you over your good-for-nothing ex.”

I shake my head. “Should you—as HR—really be advising me to date a work colleague?”

Jazmine laughs. “You know I’m all for dating in the office. If I could only get Aaron to notice me. We’re in France, and it’s a romantic, moonlit night.”

I swoop my arm through Jazmine’s. “And I’m happy to be here with you.”

Jazmine and I had met at an office public service event this past summer where we’d been paired painting a classroom. This past summer . I’d spent all my free weekends flying to Patrick’s rock concerts. I hadn’t seen my friends or family at all. When I was really down about my breakup with Patrick, she made me the absolute sweetest care package—with bubble bath, a romantic comedy book, hot chocolate mix, and a gift certificate for a Thai restaurant around the corner from my parents’ house. I’d moved back home when I had to leave the apartment I’d shared with Patrick.

“I really hope our flights home don’t get canceled because of a labor strike, like on our way over,” she says.

“Me too. Tessa’s engagement party is Saturday night, and I’m both the DJ and tech person. I don’t want to miss that.” Earlier this year, I’d missed most of my sister’s engagement party because of a cyberattack.

My phone beeps.

“Who is that?”

“My brother. Asking if I’m okay. Liam’s become such a worrywart ever since I texted him when I…found Patrick.” I still can’t quite say when I found Patrick cheating . “And asked him to help me move out.”

“You’re doing much better. And I know you don’t want to hear this, but you and Sebastian talking through that window looked sparky tonight.” Jazmine pulls out her key and opens the door to our cottage. “Anyway, are you ready for your presentation tomorrow on cybersecurity?”

“Yes, I even discussed it with my new French infosec colleagues. I think I impressed them. I keep feeling like this is some sort of test and not just let’s-all-get-to-know-each-other.”

“I get that vibe too,” Jazmine says. We look at each other and then shrug. I wave good-bye and let myself into my room next to hers.

I pull up Liam’s text to send him a picture of me smiling next to Jazmine in front of the Eiffel Tower from a few days ago—to reassure him. But I can’t help flipping back to our text exchange from that night. I had come home early from a cybersecurity conference, only to find two wineglasses, a trail of clothing, and a closed bedroom door. I’d texted Liam, who was dog-sitting in the neighborhood.

Me: Patrick…

But I couldn’t type out the words.

So I texted a photo of the trail of clothes. A black dress. Red bra. Patrick’s jeans. His lucky black shirt. A black pair of underwear. Boxers.

Me: Can u help me take my stuff home? Now.

Liam: I’ll kill him. You can stay there.

But I couldn’t.

A framed photo of Patrick and me staring at each other, love shining out of our eyes, on my desk, had caught my glance. And it felt like a dagger piercing my chest. I still remember the bitter taste of blood from biting my lip mixing with the salt of my tears.

Patrick saying he was sorry—that she was a mistake. The woman objecting to being called a mistake. Saying she was sorry to me and yelling at Patrick. Me telling her it wasn’t her fault. Fatma swishing her tail angrily and hissing at them both. The woman helping me pack up and telling me to take the chocolate and the ice cream. I didn’t want the chocolate or the ice cream. I wanted my boyfriend, or rather the boyfriend I thought he was.

My stomach clenches. I’m definitely not ready to fall in love again .

N o flight delay and no cybersecurity crisis. And this is most definitely New York City and not Paris or Provence, as my best friend Maddie and I pass the corner pizza store we haunted as kids. The smell of melted cheese wafts over as someone exits out the door, a pizza box in hand. We’re actually on our way to Tessa and Zeke’s engagement party.

“I have such a good lead on this story.” Maddie is a reporter covering the city desk.

The gallery hosting Tessa and Zeke’s engagement party is in the middle of the block. In the top center of one narrow brick building, a woman perches on the windowsill, her face and body turned inward, her hand holding a cigarette out the window.

As we arrive at the gallery entrance, our friend Lily rushes up to us.

“I’m so glad you’re here. Tessa’s terrible paintings are gone. I put them right here”—she points at the front fa?ade— “and I carried in the framed photos—because those are so personal—and I was sure nobody would take the paintings. But they’re gone.” Lily practically wails the last part.

“We didn’t see anyone coming this way carrying paintings,” I say.

Lily looks down the street the other way, but it’s empty. “I was only gone for five minutes. I got distracted buying Rupert a bulldozer T-shirt for Christmas.”

“They’ll be fine. They’re going to be so happy with the party and all their friends here to celebrate them. And Tessa will probably be relieved that she never has to be embarrassed by them again.”

Lily looks torn. “Maybe. Maybe I can pass it off that I ‘lost’ them on purpose. But they probably have some sentimental value, given that she painted them when she was trying to persuade Zeke she had some artistic talent.”

A cab pulls up, and Lily’s boyfriend, Rupert, alights. She rushes up to him and explains to him what just happened.

He pulls her in to hug her tight. “Are there any building personnel helping you with the setup?” he asks.

“No,” Lily says. “I met the super here, and he gave me the key. Then he bicycled off.”

“Maybe you can call him and ask him if any security cameras monitor this area,” Rupert says.

“Great idea.” Lily smiles at him, and it’s one of those smiles you know you’re not supposed to see, meant for just the two of them.

I feel very single.

“Maybe we should focus on getting whatever else needs to be set up first, and then if we have time, we can try to find the missing paintings.” Maddie pulls me through the front door, leaving Lily and Rupert alone.

I make sure all the electronics work, including my playlist, while Maddie greets the caterers and sets them up in the small back kitchen. Lily and Rupert hang up various photos of Zeke and Tessa over the course of their relationship.

As Maddie and I stand off to the side, surveying the room, Lily joins us just as her phone rings. She hits the button to answer.

After a moment, her eyes grow wide. “In the garbage?” Lily screeches. “Okay, okay. In the back?” She listens for a second then hangs up and shakes her head. “He says he bicycled back to check on me, feeling bad that he’d left so abruptly, and saw the paintings leaning against the window. Apparently, artists leaving paintings outside the building is a thing. There’s a rule—any art left outside goes in the garbage in the back. I must have missed his return when I went to the bathroom.”

“I’ll look,” I say. “You stay here.”

I slip through the kitchen and out into the small backyard of the building. There’s a small iron table with chairs, a standing ashtray, a bike rack, and a very large pile of black garbage bags. One rectangular-shaped one in the back could hold Tessa’s paintings. I pull aside the first few bags. What do they put in these things? Full paint cans? I need to do that crouch and swing that the garbage truck personnel use. I pull in my stomach muscles, bend slightly, and get a swing going with the next one.

“Hello,” says a deep male voice from behind me. One that sounds familiar but I can’t place.

I turn around. It’s Sebastian—from the office—holding a bicycle. What’s he doing here?

“You,” I say.

“You,” he says.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“I’m friends with Zeke. We met when we both worked at Capital before I came to Dream.” He locks up his bike to the cycle rack. “How do you know Tessa and Zeke?”

“Tessa and I are friends from high school,” I say.

“Is there a reason you’re rooting through the trash?” he asks.

Great . First, I’m climbing through a window, and now I’m swinging garbage bags. Let’s not forget that in between, he saw me giving a presentation on the importance of not falling for phishing attempts—never click an email link unless it’s something you’re expecting and you’ve checked that the sender email address is legit and—oh yes, my face blushes—always shred your personal information because hackers will go through your garbage.

“The super threw out Tessa’s paintings, and I’m retrieving them,” I say. “I think it’s that bag in the back.”

“I’ll help.” He dispatches the bags pretty quickly, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m definitely enjoying the view of his muscles working underneath that white button-down. He pulls out the last bag.

I rip open the rectangular bag, and it is indeed Tessa’s paintings. Thankfully, they’re the only thing in the bag. I call Lily. “I found them.”

“Great! Phew. I don’t think we should hang them,” Lily says. “Let’s just lean them against the back wall. Too many people are here now.”

Sebastian is standing close to me, and when I look up at him, my heart does a little cardio dance like it’s become an animated cartoon. His shirt collar is open at the neck, and a ghost of a smile hovers as he gazes down at me with those very-blue eyes.

Get a grip .

I explain the plan to Sebastian, and he nods.

Wait, is this the Mr. Single Sebastian who Tessa has mentioned? My mouth drops open. One of Zeke’s friends who has no interest in dating? The guy who is also Rupert’s best friend? Lily also definitely said he doesn’t date.

“Wait—you’re the Sebastian who is friends with Rupert and Zeke and who doesn’t date?” I ask and then immediately regret it. Can I just hide in that pile of garbage bags?

What are the chances? It has to be him. He gives off the same vibe at work. Of course that’s the guy I would be attracted to.

He blushes.

He runs his hand through his hair. “I don’t think they have any other friends called Sebastian.” He coughs. “And I am happy being single, so I haven’t been looking to date lately. But I wasn’t aware I was such a topic of conversation.”

I make a slight scoffing sound. “Please. Lily loves to matchmake, and you’re Rupert’s single friend.”

So, most definitely not an option. All the better. He’s definitely not the type of guy I resolved to date next anyway.

The paintings look undamaged, none the worse for having been shoved in a garbage bag.

Sebastian picks up two paintings, and I grab the other two, following him back through the kitchen.

The party is in full swing when we enter the packed gallery. Zeke’s dog is the center of attention of one group of revelers. We discreetly lean the four paintings against the back wall behind the bartenders.

Zeke clinks on his glass with a spoon. “We promised no speeches, but I want to thank you all for coming to celebrate with us. We have the best friends ever, and I look forward to many more years together celebrating life’s milestones and enjoying every day together. Thank you, Tessa, for agreeing to be my wife and making me so happy.”

“Hear, hear.” We all clap as Tessa tears up and kisses him.

“And thank you, Tessa, for reminding me how important it is to step out of my comfort zone and take risks to get what you want.”

“Even if it does result in some very bad art.” Tessa points to her paintings.

“But a very solid relationship,” Zeke says.

There is more glass clinking, and Zeke kisses Tessa. I don’t look at Sebastian. We’re work colleagues, so I can’t just wave and disappear. But it’s so awkward to be standing next to him as Tessa and Zeke share a very tender embrace.

Tessa and Zeke break apart, Tessa looking very flushed, and the music starts up again. Oops. I abandoned my music post; Maddie is doing it.

Lily joins us. “Did you two finally meet?”

Sebastian quirks an eyebrow and says, “We work together at Dream.”

Her eyes widen, and I can practically see her matchmaking gears clicking in her brain.

“I have to go give Rupert a hard time for missing our squash game again,” Sebastian says.

Yup, definitely Mr. I’m-Staying-Single Vibes.

“Thanks for your help out there,” I say. “I’m supposed to be in charge of the playlist, so I should relieve Maddie.”

“I’ll relieve Maddie.” Lily turns around and practically runs over to the DJ station.

“Are you taking song suggestions? Do you want Zeke’s ‘getting ready to go out’ song?” Sebastian asks.

“You know that?”

“No, but Rupert definitely does. I’ll ask him and report back to you.”

“Is Rupert going to share that with you?”

“Are you doubting my powers of persuasion?” His eyes twinkle at me.

“Yes,” I say.

“You’re on.” He heads straight for Rupert. Maybe I misjudged him. He doesn’t seem so standoffish now. He’s helped me twice, and now he left our conversation open-ended with a reason for us to talk again rather than moving on to someone else, as so often happens at cocktail parties.

I walk over to join Lily and Maddie because DJing really is my responsibility.

Sebastian is grinning at Rupert, and he seems like someone who’s a lot of fun. I’m sure he’ll persuade Rupert to reveal Zeke’s “getting ready for a night out” song. But am I ready to pursue this feeling about him and possibly risk getting my heart broken again?