Starstruck with the Krampus (Clearwater Monsters #3)
Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
GIANNA
T he elevator on the other side of the office chimes. I straighten my back reflexively, senses on high alert. The door slides open, and I crane my neck, trying to see over the cubicles that block the view from my small office.
But I know instinctively he’s not there yet. Dominic Koch towers over everyone, and besides, I’d know if he was close. I don’t know how, but I always feel him when he’s near me.
It’s the exact feeling that’s been driving me mad these past months.
Ever since Webber & Sons, the design company I work for, has taken over Mr. Koch’s company’s branding portfolio, I’ve been daydreaming about the tall, impressive man. Which is absolutely forbidden, because Mr. Webber, my boss, has a strict policy in place, preventing employees from forming relationships with clients. Which I understand. I do. It keeps things clean and neat, something that Mr. Webber and I both appreciate.
And I need this job. It’s one of the only opportunities in Clearwater that allows me to stay close to home and still work in a field I know best—designing beautiful things for people.
I force myself to focus back on the project in front of me. It’s a cool one, a series of labels and packaging for a witch-owned apothecary downtown, but my heart’s just not in it today. I’m too excited about the fact that from today on, Mr. Koch will no longer be a client of our company. Today’s meeting will conclude the contract. It’s a formality. All the final files have been sent, the payments processed, and Mr. Koch has even filled in our online form, the one that Stacy sends out to every client after they’ve worked for us.
She showed it to me even though it was supposed to only go to Mr. Webber—because she’s cool like that. Or she might have guessed that I have a huge crush on Mr. Koch, unrequited as it might be. But seeing those answers made my day. He gave me a five-star rating and wrote that he was very satisfied with the finished branding.
I don’t know why those words sent a thrill through me. Very satisfied . Mm.
Jolting in place, I pinch my thigh to wrench my attention away from Mr. Koch. Focus, Gianna . I have to finish at least the first rough draft of this project before the office Christmas party tonight. It’s completely ridiculous that we’re having it on Christmas Eve, but more than half of the employees, including Mr. Webber, are supernaturals of various species, from witches to shifters and more, so they mostly already celebrated the winter solstice this week. Christmas is more of an afterthought for them—but not so much for us humans.
I’d been afraid at first to even apply to Webber & Sons. I’d been worried about working alongside supernaturals—and now, a year after taking the job, I feel ridiculous and more than a little ashamed of the fact. They’re much the same as humans when it comes to being coworkers. There’s good ones and bad ones, just as in any human-run office. Stacy, a bear shifter by blood, is the kindest, most protective, wonderful friend I could have asked for, and Mr. Webber, a witch, is a boring middle-aged man who likes to take credit for other people’s work.
A shiver runs through me. My skin erupts in goose bumps, and my nipples pebble under my bra. I’ve started wearing a padded one to work after a meeting with Mr. Koch left me deeply embarrassed over my body’s reaction to him.
Which is exactly how I know that he has arrived. The elevator hasn’t even opened yet, but I can sense him, as if my body has developed a Koch-radar. It’s inconvenient most times, but I was very glad of it when I nearly ran into him at the bakery a couple of months ago. I’d been on my period and out hunting for the maple bacon glazed donuts from Clara’s bakery, and definitely didn’t want to meet my crush wearing sweatpants, my old college t-shirt, and a messy bun. I’d noticed the tingling sensation in my belly, saw his tall form emerge from a shop several doors down, and ducked behind a parked minivan.
Not my proudest moment, I’ll admit, but something about this man has me twisted up in knots.
The elevator chimes again, and there he is. Towering over Mr. Webber, who has scuttled from his much larger office to greet our best client personally.
But Mr. Koch turns his head away from the witch and looks directly at me. Our gazes lock over the heads of my other coworkers, and I could swear the air shimmers between us. I’m pinned in place, unable to move—not that I want to. If I could, I would bask in his attention for hours. His dark eyes crinkle at the corners, and his lips tip up. It’s not quite a smile, more of an acknowledgment that I’m the one he’s here to see.
I resist the urge to wave at him like a ninny. Instead, I give him a very professional nod and tear my gaze away, glancing at my computer to save the changes I’ve made.
Of course Mr. Koch isn’t here to see only me. I might have been the one who worked most closely with him, but it’s Mr. Webber who called this meeting. Mr. Koch is here in a professional capacity, not to pour his heart out to me.
“Gianna,” Mr. Webber calls, his voice rising over the low murmur of the office noise. “We’ll be in the conference room. Join us when you can.”
I take a deep breath and make myself wait several seconds before I start putting away the clutter on my desk. I don’t want to seem too eager. If I rush over there immediately, Mr. Koch will know . From his long looks and the occasional smirk, I think he already suspects I like him, which is frankly mortifying.
He probably thinks I’m just some poor girl with a crush, two decades younger than him. He’s so far out of my league, it’s not even funny, but if I don’t do something, if I don’t at least try to ask him out, I know I’ll forever regret it. Once he leaves this office today, I won’t have any legitimate reason to contact him again, and I can’t live with that.
So I straighten my desk, put the little box I prepared for him in my handbag, and barely keep myself from diving into the bathroom to apply some lipstick. I don’t want him to think I’m trying too hard. Swiping on a clear lip balm, I roll my shoulders back and take a deep breath, then march down the corridor toward the conference room.
A low murmur of voices tells me Mr. Webber is already working his charm on Mr. Koch. Bracing myself for the full impact of our client’s personality, I step through the doorway.
He glances at me, and time freezes. Mr. Webber is still talking, still moving his mouth and hands, but Mr. Koch is staring right at me. I’m caught, pinned in place by the weight of his attention—and I don’t want to escape. My heartbeat speeds up, that treacherous organ slamming against my ribs.
“Hello, Miss Marino.”
God, even his voice is incredible. A low, rumbling purr that matches his big chest and the muscles straining his tailored suit. He seems human at first glance, but there’s no way one human man could have such an impact on me.
“Hello, Mr. Koch,” I reply, proud that my voice only trembles very slightly. “It’s good to see you.”
“Come, Gianna, take a seat,” Mr. Webber orders.
He pulls out a chair for me, then pushes it in awkwardly when I sit, bumping the backs of my knees. I’ve always hated it when men do that, but I fix on a smile and try not to flinch when he puts a hand on my shoulder in a patronizing gesture, patting me like a prized dog.
“Gianna here has done a good job, hasn’t she?” Mr. Webber says, oblivious to the fact that our client is now glaring at his hand as if he’s two seconds away from ripping it off.
I shrug lightly, not wanting to make a fuss out of it, and my boss finally takes the hint and moves to the head of the table to take the position of power, as he likes to call it. He starts the meeting off by reading through all the requirements that Mr. Koch had coming to our company, his voice droning on and on. I resist the urge to brush my shoulder, then look up at Mr. Koch.
He seems barely leashed, his hands balled into fists on top of the conference table. His dark eyes sparkle with gold, a detail I’ve never noticed before. I don’t know what kind of creature he is, but something about Mr. Webber seems to be setting him off.
I widen my eyes at him and shake my head almost imperceptibly, signaling to him to calm down. Whatever his non-human side is telling him, he cannot maul my boss just because the older man touched my shoulder.
If I felt unsafe working here, if Mr. Webber was a creep, I would have taken one of the out-of-town jobs rather than remain here. But as boring and obnoxious as he can be, he’s never acted inappropriately, so I know his behavior is only pompousness.
Mr. Koch’s gaze finally shutters, the gold sparkle disappearing. He sits back and puts his hands under the table, then angles his body ever so slightly away from me. A pang of hurt goes through me at the gesture, completely irrational. I fight down an embarrassed blush, wondering what on earth has gotten into me. He probably wasn’t even upset because of me. Maybe he has heartburn, and I’ve misinterpreted the entire thing.
Letting my hair out from behind my ears, I use the dark curtain to partially hide my face and pretend I’m making notes. The idea I had of asking him whether he’s coming to our Christmas party seems preposterous now. If anyone should invite him, it’s Mr. Webber, which I’m sure he’s done already, so I shouldn’t bother at all.
And even if he’s been invited, he probably won’t come. We’re no longer working together, so he has no reason to attend a boring work gathering.
This daydream has gone on long enough. I need to face the reality that I likely won’t see Mr. Koch again after today, or if I will, it’ll be from afar, in the street, while I hide behind a van, clutching my donut loot to my chest.