Chapter 4
Atlanta
Penny stares at me from across the desk, blinking.
“I don’t understand.”
I smile because I really like her, and she’s got such potential. I try a different tactic. “Holden expects the design team to come in the day after Thanksgiving.”
Penelope has only been with the firm for less than a year, and it is not standard protocol to work in our industry to work the day after Thanksgiving.
But because there are incredible Black Friday sales, our boss decided that the firm comes in so that the design team can dedicate Friday and Monday to getting the best deals as possible for our clients.
“But I already made plans.” Her doe-eyes water up, which is a little annoying to tell the truth.
I sigh, my patience wearing thin. “This was discussed in our both our September and October monthly meetings, with follow-up emails. The expectation is that we work on Friday. Holden won’t approve days off for our department. We’ll get a note put in our file.”
“Well, that’s just mean.”
I don’t disagree, but I can’t tell her that. I won’t go against Holden. I won’t say anything against him to our coworkers. That’s what happens when you’re in love with your boss. Sure, I listen to their grumbles. I have to be approachable. But I usually redirect us pretty quickly.
It’s just getting harder to do these days.
It hurts me to hear people vilify Holden.
He’s incredibly talented. He owns some property on the outskirts of Hope peak where he’s going to build his dream house someday.
He’s even shared some ideas and basic renderings with me, and I know he values my opinion because every suggestion I make appears in the next version he shows me.
And I’m not gonna lie. There’s a little part of me, the part with ovaries that are about to freaking explode with love and want for Holden Carmichael, that thinks maybe, just maybe, he might be interested in me.
But he’s never done anything to show that.
Never done anything inappropriate that will compromise his business.
Because that’s the guy he is. He is a good man, deep down inside. He will give us random bonuses for big projects. Once, after finishing a big job, he gave people in the office the choice of a day on the golf course or a day at the spa. Just closed the office and let us relax and celebrate.
That was the year we won the Gold. Everybody pulled overtime to get that job done, but it was so worth it.
That’s why I don’t understand where he’s coming from lately.
He didn’t used to make us work the Friday after Thanksgiving.
Ever since winning that award, though, it’s like he keeps pushing us to out perform ourselves.
And when he does? A little bit of light in him dims every day.
I smile at Penny, the soothing office decor a contrast to how we’re both feeling. “It’s in the contract we signed.”
Penny walks off in a huff, and I don’t blame her. This policy stinks. I head to Holden’s office, knock on the door, and walk in when he motions for me.
He’s always had an open-door policy, hence the half-glass wall. Lately, it’s been closed more often than it used to be, but he doesn’t say no when someone needs him.
He looks up at me. He’s got that focused look, the one where he runs his thumb along his bottom lip while thinking, his brown eyes intense, and my resolve starts to crumble. But then I picture Penny, and I double down.
“We need to close the office the day after Thanksgiving.”
He looks at me like I have lost my mind.
I grip the back of a guest chair. “Being open and not allowing the team even the option of taking the day off prevents employees from spending time with out of town family. Big Sky didn’t used to do this. There are still Cyber Monday sales—”
“No.”
That’s it. That’s all he says. He’s not even going to discuss this with me. I don’t care if I love him. He is being an ass.
“You could make it an optional workday, giving those of us that want to come in time and a half or offer a flex day to be used at another time.”
I can see something flicker in his eyes before he disappoints me a second time.
“It’s still no, Atlanta.” He scrubs his face. “We just lost a new contract, so saving money on Black Friday is a solid move.”
“Wrong! It’s a solid move for the general public to save money on holiday presents for their kids and families, which you are not letting any of us take advantage of. It’s a very Grinch move.”
Did I just say that?
His eyes flash.
Oh, snap.
“You just called me a Grinch.”
I take a rule out of his playbook and say nothing.
He heaves a big sigh, places his elbows on the desk, and scans my body from head to toe.
The heat in his eyes is enough to make me want to get on his desk and let him have his way with me, which is stereotypical and inappropriate, but this is my favorite Carmichael fantasy.
Well, that and him winning at a game of strip poker.
I would be sitting there in nothing but a red bra and panty set, him in his tie and suit. He’d lean back in his chair, that cocky smile playing at his lips as he’d slowly loosen his tie and bite his lip. ‘Give up an article of clothing, Atlanta,’ he’d say, his voice low and rough.
I’d remove the bra, and his brown eyes would heat. “Touch yourself for me,” he’d command, loosening his belt while watching me slide my hand beneath the red lace, my fingers finding wetness as his breathing grew heavier.
He grumbles, startling me to the present. “I am not Grinchy.”
The lights in his office flicker, and his face pales.
Almost under his breath, he mutters it a second time. “I am not grinchy.” They flicker again.
Maybe I went a step too far. I open my mouth to apologize, but before I can get any words out, the sprinkler system goes off in the office.
“Shit, shit, shit!” He grabs all of his renderings, rolls them tightly, and throws them in a canister, unplugging his computer and throwing it in a drawer.
We run out to see how the rest of the office is doing, and it’s kind of weird.
The sprinklers above all of the workers’ desks are going off, but not in the hallways or the kitchen. Only in the workable spaces.
We evacuate the office, cold and miserable, running to the Snowcap Inn to warm up as we wait for the fire department. Weirdly, the water stopped as soon as we stepped out of the door. The owner, Sebastian Ford, grabs blankets for each of us while Loretta grabs a tray of hot tea.
It takes about 30 minutes for the firefighters to check every wall spot for signs of heat. They determine it was likely a false alarm but recommend scheduling an electrician. Holden’s assistant calls a restoration company, who will send a representative to meet with he and the VP shortly.
A little subdued, we all head back inside to grab our things. Carter Jameson, our VP, tells everyone to stay home tomorrow and that an email will come out at 9:00 a.m. with a game plan. He shores up the text chain so that additional information can be disseminated quickly, and we head home.
Three hours later, I’m in leggings and a sports bra, my red hair piled high as I finish up my project for the day. Luckily, I can access much of my work from home. I feel so badly for Holden. This has not been his week.
Maynard, my sable Burmese, sits on the ledge by the door, his long tail swishing. My cat only does this when someone’s walking up. As the doorbell rings, he stands ready to swipe at whoever walks in.
I check the peephole and see Holden on the stoop, snow falling lightly behind him. He usually texts or calls.
I open the door, my girl bits clenching. “Hi.”
“Can I come in?” His brown eyes search mine, his hair hidden underneath a beanie.
What is it about him that makes me lose words? “OK.” That’s the best I could do.
True to his nature, Maynard hisses and swipes at Holden’s shoulder as he passes by. They have a staring contest, and I’m not sure who won, but Maynard doesn’t swipe at Holden again, so I consider that a win.
“Want some hot tea?”
At his nod of yes, I put on a kettle and motion my boss to the couch.
We settle in, and his gaze pops from my my chest to my eyes, a pink tinge on his cheeks.
I’m at home, on my turf. I’m not changing clothes just because my boobs are are on full display.
Serves him right. And maybe I’m tired of playing it safe where he’s concerned.
I turn to face my boss, sitting cross-legged. “What’s going on?”
“I think that Santa cursed me.”
I search his face for any sign that he’s joking or kidding, but the way his eyes squint in fear shows he’s not.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.”
He recaps Santa’s curse, then shares how his electricity went out and how his truck died after seeing the Santa guy. “And you saw what happened with the sprinklers.”
Holden is really spooked.
“These are all just coincidences, Holden.”
“No. No.” He runs a hand through his hair, his knee bouncing wildly.
“I was being a complete jackass each time. I didn’t want to go to my niece’s recital, so I hid from my sister like I’ve been doing for a week to avoid giving her an answer.
And it’s like the universe knew it. Then, as soon as I agreed to go, the lights came back on.
“There was no reason for my backup generator not to be working, just like there was no reason for the sprinklers to go off today.” Now he’s pacing around my living room, his gray joggers leaving little to the imagination.
Thank you, Universe. “The fire department didn’t find any heat spots.
There was nothing that set off that alarm.
It was an accident, except it should have never happened.
It’s a state-of-the-art system, just like the system at my house. ”
He does have a point. And then he looks at me.
“And then the Santa on the commercial looked right at me.”
I start laughing. “Holden, do you hear yourself? The Santa on the commercial looked right at you?”
“Yes, he did. It was the same Santa that I met outside. I’m telling you, the curse is real.”
“Okay, let’s suppose the curse is real. You have to do three good deeds by Christmas, right?”
“Yes.”
“Does your going to your niece’s recital count? That’s a good deed.”
“No, that doesn’t count. That’s just something family members do. That’s not a good deed. That’s why the lights came back on. I’m just doing what I’m supposed to do.”
“Okay, okay.”
The remediation company says it could be seven to fourteen days before the office is even able to open. He looks at me, his eyes heavy.
“I’m going to give everybody in the office the rest of the week off. There’s no point in trying to find a different space.”
“That’s it, Holden. That’s your first good deed.”
He scratches his head. His eyes look up. “Wait, that’s it? That’s my first good deed?”
“I don’t know, Holden. Do you think giving the rest of the week off to your employees when they can’t come into work anyway is what parking lot Santa had in mind?”
“I don’t know, but it’s worth a try.”
“Sure.”
We talk about work for a few minutes, and then I look at Holden. “Why are you here, Holden? You could have said all of this in a text, or at least called me.”
“I need your help, Atlanta.”
“Okay.”
“You’re the best person I know, and I want to try to do these three good deeds. Three really good deeds. I can’t be cursed. I don’t want to be cursed. And I was thinking maybe you could help me figure all this out.” He shoots a bright grin at me. “We can get started right away.”
I watch him, every instinct in me telling me no. I don’t need to get involved in this craziness. I need some space from my boss.
“Let me think about it, Holden.”
He looks at me, a quiet desperation crossing his face as he speaks words that pierce my heart. “If you help me, I will give you that promotion.”
I blink at Holden, the skin under my shoulders tingling with tension. I grip my teacup, my knuckles white, fighting to breathe as he watches me expectantly.
“Okay. I’ll help you.”
As I shut the door behind him, I can’t keep the tears from falling freely down my face. This is not how I wanted to get the promotion.