Ghost of Ex-mas Past

1. Bea

1

Bea

I’m having the best Hallmark-induced daydream ever.

I’ve traded the Manhattan office I’m currently sitting in for a crystal-clear blue sky above me and trees around me. The frozen lake is perfectly smooth and the pines are snowcapped and picturesque. I’m surrounded by townsfolk and gracefully skating along until I lock eyes with a handsome, flannel-clad man skating toward me. He gives me a slow smile, and then I trip on something—a bump in the ice, maybe—and I fall, but like, in a sexy way, and he catches me and?—

Okay, scratch that. First of all, if anyone can fall in a “sexy way,” it’s not me. I’ve never ice-skated before, not even a few blocks away at Rockefeller Center, which is packed right now since it’s December. Second, I am not even sure a small town in the Catskills like Here, New York, is going to have a skating rink. Sure, Here looks cute as hell, but it’s also pretty tiny—one small ski resort and a handful of restaurants and shops that make up Main Street.

Fine. Well, what if I take the flannel idea for a run with a different fantasy? In the backyard of the cabin my family is renting for the holidays I hear this loud thwacking noise. It’s a lumberjack—beard and everything—chopping wood for us. He catches sight of me, drops the axe (in a careful, safe way so he doesn’t lose any toes), and sweeps me into his arms. We make out against the woodpile, my hands running underneath that flannel until?—

Damn it. It’s cold outside. My nips would cut glass.

Unless he’s got a fire going.

Well, that wouldn’t solve the problem of splinters from the log pile. I do not want rough-hewn wood anywhere near my sensitive parts, thank you very much.

What if I’m in one of Here’s adorable locally owned shops and we both reach for the same... I don’t know, snow globe? And our hands touch and there’s a spark of electricity and?—

“Bea? Hello? Earth to Bea!”

I blink back into focus and out of my daydream.

Sigh. Goodbye, sexy mountain man.

Instead I’m in my boss’s office with him and his wife. It’s not unusual for us to have a casual lunch together. Clara often brings in food for both of us and she knows the best restaurants.

But right now, their attention is on me and Clara is smirking.

“Sorry, did you need something?” I ask, ready to put my food down—bao buns from that Chinese place a few blocks away—and step back into my job as executive assistant.

Nash shakes his head, a small smile on his face. “No, but your phone’s been buzzing nonstop.”

“Shit.” I snatch up my phone from the arm of the chair and check the notifications. Way to be snoozing on the job, Bea.

“Not that one,” Clara corrects. “The one in your purse.”

Oh. Well, that’s my personal phone. I feel less bad, though my phone buzzing enough to annoy Clara—not technically my boss but close enough—isn’t great either.

Don’t get me wrong. I like Clara and Nash a lot. Nash is the CEO of Heartly, a social media company built on positive vibes and wholesome content, and Clara runs food tours in the city focused on immigrants and their food culture. Calling them friends wouldn’t be accurate, though—this is business.

I pull my personal phone out and check the screen. Oh boy. I’ve got email notifications popping up like crazy.

Usually my phone is on Do Not Disturb during the workday, but I have it scheduled to be off during my break. I often leave it at my desk, like when we have meetings or a work lunch, but today, since we just got back from an off-site meeting, my phone is with me.

I open my email and scroll through the messages. It’s all one long thread and in my head I form a quick “TL;DR”: Dad wants to change the rules of our family secret Santa. The rest of the messages are mostly my three sisters chiming in something to the effect of no way and Why? The way we do it is fun.

Secret Santa isn’t something I need to worry about right now, so I turn DND back on and tuck my phone away.

“Anything interesting?” Clara raises a dark eyebrow at me.

I shrug. “Christmas planning.”

“You’re going upstate, right?” Nash asks. He’s in a suit, like always, this one a deep blue that complements his dark features. I know so much about Nash, not only from working for him but from all the media attention he gets. He’s young, handsome, the estranged son of Arab immigrants, and he recently was handed the reins of Heartly from his former mentor and surrogate father, Clara’s dad.

“Yup. In the Catskills.”

Clara pops the last of her bao bun into her mouth. “Let us know how it is. Maybe we’ll go there next year.”

She says it sincerely, but I snort inside my head. Last year, they—Nash, Clara, and her immediate family—spent the holidays in the Alps at a gorgeous chalet. This year, they’re going to Finland to watch the northern lights and visit Santa Claus Village. Nash is surprising Clara with a food tour where they’ll learn how the native peoples survived winters and preserved food. Since the family includes Clara’s niblings, which are all under the age of seven, it seems like there’s something for everyone.

Here isn’t nearly on the same level of these globe-trotters’ Christmas plans, but it is a hell of a step up from Pithole, PA, where my family used to spend the holidays.

I’ll take it.

Clara changes the subject. “How was your date the other night?”

“Oh my god, amazing. Thank you so much for recommending that tapas place. I ordered the croquettes and they were To. Die. For. I’m serious,” I insist when she laughs. “The server had to perform CPR; it was a whole scene.”

“I meant the man .”

“Oh.” I wave my hand to indicate that the man I had a date with isn’t even worth discussing.

There’s an epidemic of shitty dates occurring across bars, restaurants, coffee shops, pubs, diners, and yes, even the occasional hot dog stand, all the time in this city. My bad dates are nothing special.

Though this one was, in fact, pretty damn bad. I don’t tell guys I’m an EA super often on the first date, but this one, a finance bro who lives in Tribeca, continued to ask me about work. The disdain on his face when I said “assistant” should have had me end the date there.

Alas, my Hallmark-fueled romantic heart valiantly tried to avoid flatlining before dessert, but after Raj picked up the check and told me we were going to my place (presumably for sex), it gave up the ghost. Sadly, it was also not the first time a date has assumed he gets to have sex with me after one date.

RIP my love life. Time of death, 8:45 p.m.

That was my twelfth date in a row where I didn’t like the guy enough to even kiss him. Granted, I work too much to go out on many dates, so the last time I had a man-induced orgasm was seven months ago when I swiped right and had a one-night stand while in London for meetings.

Honestly, city men just suck. There’s something about the concrete jungle, smog, and incessant press of people that makes them careless. As much as I enjoy my job, there’s nothing else holding me to New York.

I know how amazing love can be. I fell in love once and got left behind for a big city and all its opportunities and wealth. Furthermore—I want a family. I’m twenty-eight now, which I know is still young, but when you do the math...a year to date, a year to plan the wedding, a year of married bliss, then three to four kids over eight or ten years...

I feel old just thinking about it. And two of my sisters are in committed relationships. My kids should have cousins their own age to play with. The clock is ticking, people!

That’s why I’m going to keep my options open when I get to Here. There’s a flannel-clad, outdoorsy small-town man in my future. I can feel it.

There’s a ding and then an echo of a ding across the room when two phones go off with calendar notifications—mine and Nash’s—and it’s time for us to go to the conference room for a meeting. I check my makeup and hair—flawless and smooth. Clara waves us off, insisting she’ll take care of the trash and tidy up, so Nash and I grab our things and go.

On the walk, I check my personal phone again. The most recent email is from my mom, and it says, Bea, are you okay with that?

I’m not sure what they’ve settled on, but I’ll catch up on the email thread later. I’m sure whatever they decide is fine.

Yup, totally fine, Mom. See you soon.

We step into the conference room and have our meeting with the advertising team. I sit next to Nash and take notes on what he needs to accomplish until I hear a familiar name.

“Wait, what did you just say?” I ask Miles, the lead.

“Uh, how far back do you want me to go?”

“The bit about Rivrse.”

“Rivrse does sensors for virtual reality technology. Their product is currently being used in the ImmUniverse headsets.” Miles turns back to Nash. “We’ve noticed that ImmUniverse is now targeting ads on our platform based on customer data they shouldn’t have access to, and we think it’s coming from the Rivrse sensors. A few employees are testing out their VR headsets and looking for some data points, but it’ll take a while to figure out what’s actually happening. We probably need to call in legal to figure out if what ImmUniverse is doing is against our policies.” He grimaces.

Nash’s gaze meets mine, and he raises an eyebrow, probably wondering what my sudden interest in VR headsets is about.

My brain is still catching up and trying to reconcile what I know about Rivrse—which is, actually, not much. But I do know a lot about the CEO of Rivrse...he’s my ex.