Chapter 11 Cleo
CLEO
Iam ninety-five percent certain that Elijah did not murder the security guard or have him killed or injured or threatened or fired simply because the man was kind enough to bring me a coffee drink.
And I really hope he didn’t do any of those things.
But I also don’t hate that he was being so possessive of me.
And I really don’t hate the way he delicately kissed my face right before we were interrupted.
I don’t even hate that he’s being such a bossy grumpyface with me again because he’s such a sweetheart with his son.
I wish he’d let Paxton hang out with me, but he marched him directly into his private office as soon as he got here and shut the door, ordering me to finish reading the Untitled Christmas Project script ASAP and then report back to him.
I’m speedreading through the script, and Elijah is definitely going to hate what I have to say about it.
Literally as soon as I reach the words FADE OUT on the last page of the script, my phone vibrates with a text notification.
ELIJAH
Have you finished reading the script yet?
ME
Just finished!
ELIJAH
Why didn’t you tell me?
ME
I literally just finished and now I’m telling you.
ELIJAH
Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
That was Paxton. I will be right out to discuss your thoughts on the script.
The door opens, and Elijah steps out, tugging on the sleeves of his suit jacket. “Did anyone call?”
“No. Do people usually call your office on the Sunday before Christmas?”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Don’t be impertinent, Miss Jones.
” He notices the Scout Elf sitting at the edge of my desk.
“Why is there an elf on this desk? Did you move the one from my office?” He looks back inside his office, spotting the other elf that’s still on his shelf. “How many elves did you bring?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Abrams. These Scout Elves are here to keep an eye on you and Paxton, and they will report back to Santa tonight to inform him of your behavior. We aren’t supposed to touch him. If we do, he’ll lose his magic.”
I watch him struggle to prevent himself from smiling, the poor man. His facial muscles are no match for my delightfulness. “Whatever. What did you think of the script? Give me the headlines. I’ll want notes tomorrow. Did you write notes on the script?”
“I made some notes, yes.”
“I don’t want to see them yet. Tell me what you think in general.”
Paxton trudges out, yawning. His hair is all mussed up. He must have had a nap. “I’m hungry,” he declares to the room.
“I can order lunch for us,” Elijah says. “Go back inside my office, please.”
“I brought some fresh homemade gingerbread cookies if he’s allowed to have these,” I say, tapping on the container of cookies I had brought in the duffel bag.
“They’re gluten-free and soft and chewy!
” Opening the lid and using it as a fan, I let the warm, spicy scent waft over to them. “Made ’em this morning.”
“Can I, Dad?!”
“You baked cookies this morning?” Elijah looks skeptical.
“Yes—I was inspired.” I hold up one of the Grumpy Bossypants gingerbread men. He’s frowning and has a green icing necktie. I even gave him a fancy yellow Rolex like Elijah wears. And then I bite off his head, delighting in chewing him up while holding Elijah’s gaze. “Mmmmm. Tastes soooo grumpy.”
Paxton runs over to my desk and chooses one of the happy gingerbread boy cookies with glasses.
Elijah doesn’t even seem to notice because he’s still staring at my mouth.
“Just one cookie,” he says in his dad voice, eyes still on me.
“Don’t ruin your appetite.” As soon as he says it he shakes his head, as if he can’t believe he uttered such a parental cliché.
I hold the container up to him. “Would you like one?”
“No. Yes.” He takes a step toward me and swipes one of the frowny-face cookies. “Give me your general thoughts on the project.” He takes a bite of the cookie and shuts his eyes. “Jesus, that’s good.”
“Can I have another one, Dad?”
“Just one more, yes.”
“Well, Mr. Abrams, I think you may have missed the humor of the script.”
“If I missed it that means it wasn’t funny.
” He begins to pace back and forth, several feet away from my desk.
This man has a lot of pent-up energy. If things were different, like if Elijah had a totally different personality and if his young son wasn’t currently in his care, I would probably come up with more creative methods to aid him in expending it.
But things aren’t different, so I won’t.
Not right now anyway.
“I think it’s a satire.”
“Blech. I hate satires. We don’t make satires around here anymore.”
“Fair enough. I’m just saying that I don’t think it’s a terrible script. It’s just not the kind of movie this studio makes.”
“You don’t actually think it’s good, do you?”
“I mean. Yeah. I do. For what it is. They get points for writing a script that goes against the grain.”
He stares at me in horror. As if he presented me with a flaming pile of poo to assess and I have told him I think it’s a field of daisies. “Unacceptable. I need you to help me fix it.”
“I can still help you come up with notes for the kind of movie you need it to be; I just don’t think this is a bad script.”
He squeezes his eyes shut, pinches the bridge of his nose, and shakes his head. Much like Franklin does when he’s faced with one of my hand-knitted holiday cardigans. “I knew this was a bad idea.”
I glance over at Paxton, who is eating his third cookie, and wink at him. “If you would prefer to terminate my services, I will write up an invoice for you before taking my leave.”
He holds one hand up, halting me. “No. You don’t get to leave. Find me some Christmas movies to watch on Streamflix for inspiration. But none of the ones I hate.”
“But you hate all of them.”
“That’s not a me problem. Just find one Christmas movie that will inspire me and put me in the right frame of mind. And then start typing up your notes.”
“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”
He takes one more cookie from the container before returning to his office. “Come on, Paxton.”
“I’m gonna stay out here with Miss Cleo.”
“Fine. But no more cookies.”
“Just one more, okay?” Paxton calls out.
“Fine.”
When Elijah is out of sight, Paxton and I share a look and burst into a fit of laughter. “He is so grumpy!” I say. “Is he always like this?”
“Kind of. He doesn’t move around this much when he’s driving, though.” Paxton slides his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Again. I’ve seen him do this a number of times.
“Hey, can I see your eyeglasses for a minute?”
Nodding, he removes them and holds them out to me. “I’m gonna have another cookie now, okay?”
“Okay. I’m going to gently squeeze these little nose pads together for you. I think they’re a little too loose.”
While he’s biting off the head of yet another bespectacled gingerbread boy, I place the glasses on his face again. He nods and shakes his head, jumps up and down. The glasses don’t slide down his nose anymore. But he pushes them up anyway. I guess it’s just a habit. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. So do you hang out with your dad here at the office a lot?”
“Not really. I’m going to a mountain place with my mom and Barry tomorrow, so I’m spending the night with my dad. He won’t get to see me for more than a week.”
“Oh, I bet he’ll miss you a lot.” Elijah isn’t going to like any Christmas movie I select for him, but I know what’s really going to put him in the right frame of mind. “You want to help me try to make your dad smile?”
He nods, and again, his glasses do not slide down his nose, but he pushes them up anyway. “He won’t eat another cookie, though, because of his apps.”
“His apps?”
“Yeah.” He pats his belly. “He says apps are made in the kitchen.”
Gosh darn it, that’s cute. “Abs. He’s saying abs are made in the kitchen. It means he wants his tummy to be nice and flat, so he doesn’t eat a lot of sugar. I have some other ideas…” I tell Paxton I’ll be right back, grab my garment bag, and head to the ladies’ room.
Seven minutes later, Paxton and I enter Elijah’s office.
He appears to be mesmerized by a YouTube video of a snowy winter model mountain village and relaxing instrumental Christmas music.
I honestly have never seen him look so at peace, I almost don’t want to do the awesome thing I’ve been planning to do ever since I woke up this morning.
“Hi, Dad!” Paxton yells. “We’re here to make you smile!”
Elijah is awoken from his reverie with a jolt, and he immediately frowns at the elf costume I’ve changed into and the duffel bag I’m carrying. “No.”
“Noooooo-ellllll, Noooooelllllll! Noel, Noel! Born is the kiiiiing of Israel!” I sing. “I just realized every time you’ve said no to me since last night, you were just saying the first half of No-el.”
“That is adorably incorrect. What do you think you’re doing?”
“We’re decorating your desk!” Paxton explains. “You’ll like it.”
“No. I don’t like having stuff and things on my desk. I have my computer, my phone, my stress balls. Nothing else.”
I pull a very small pre-lit tabletop Christmas tree out of the bag and place it on a corner of his desk. “Think of it as a Christmas movie that you don’t hate—for your desk!”
“I don’t want to.”
“Me and Miss Cleo are going to make up a holiday song for you,” Paxton tells him.
I start attaching a faux-pine garland to the front edge of his desk, and then I whip my trustee old kazoo out of my pocket and hum one note in the key of G, and then I riff on the first verse.
“We wish you liked Christmas movies
We’ll make you like Christmas movies
Good thing we like Christmas movies
We can save your career!
Good plot points we’ll bring to your script
We’ll fix this Christmas project and get you Brad Pitt.”
“He’s way too old for this,” Elijah says, completely straight-faced.
I blow a handful of Christmas confetti at him, and he doesn’t even blink. “Okay, I tried. Paxton, you’re up.”
He taps his index finger against the tip of his nose as he ponders.
“Hey, did your mom fix your glasses?” Elijah asks.
“Miss Cleo did!”
“Just Cleo.” I don’t look up from the garland when I say, “I just angled the nose pads a bit. No big deal.”
Elijah is silent for several seconds, so I finally glance at him. He’s staring at me with watery eyes so intensely, it startles me.
“Are you okay?”
He nods. “Thank you for doing that.”
“You’re welcome.” We lock eyes for what feels like a very long time, having a silent conversation that might mean something entirely different to Elijah, but I think he’s telling me how much he appreciates me and that one day he’d like to show his appreciation by bending me over this desk and railing me.
“Oh, I know!” Paxton shouts. “I’m ready!”
Here endeth our silent conversation about appreciative boning.
I hum a random note into my kazoo for him, and he launches into…
“I think you should marry Cleo
I think you should marry Cleo
I think you should marry Cleo
Before the new year!”
“Aaaand scene…” I say at the exact same time as Elijah says it.
We’re both frozen in horror when we look at each other, but when we realize we just said the same thing, we burst out laughing.
Me and Elijah.
Laughing.
Together.
Totally sober.
His blue eyes are sparkling.
His teeth are so white.
I don’t know if I’ve ever even seen Elijah Abrams’s teeth before.
Who knew he had crinkly skin around the corners of his eyes?
He is unrecognizable right now, and hotter, in a whole new way that I never expected.
“I win!” Paxton says as he runs out of the office.
I didn’t realize we were competing, but he definitely won.
I look back over at Elijah, who was also watching his son run out of the room.
His gaze shifts to me, and suddenly his expression is oh so serious.
“Tomorrow, Miss Cleo. You and I are really going to get down to work.” He says even more with his eyes.
Things no one would be allowed to say in a four-quadrant holiday family comedy, if you know what I mean.
But I would pay ten hundo dollars to hear him say it out loud.
Oh my…
Paxton returns with a gingerbread cookie, and I squeeze my thighs together, grateful that I brought an extra pair of red-and-white-striped tights to change into.