Not on His Wish List

Chapter 1

JENNA

Last December

There are certain people in this world who deserve to be at the top of Santa’s “naughty” list every single year.

Diners who are rude to their servers for no reason and leave inspirational quotes for tips? Here—take your coal and choke on it.

People who record everything on their phones and turn strangers into minor characters in their drama? Shamelessly naughty. Permanently revoke their Wi-Fi.

And lastly? Filthy-rich CEOs who turn year-end bonuses into an over-the-top “naughty or nice list” ceremony with enough spite to cover the Empire State Building.

Spoiler alert: He’s a man who deserves to be dragged under Santa’s sleigh for the rest of his life—but until then, he’s my unfortunate, Grinch-like boss, Nicholas Saint.

It would take five thousand pages for me to tell you exactly why he deserves to be publicly stoned with every piece of coal on earth. Alas, since I was currently headed to work at five in the morning just to check a blinking light on one of his Christmas trees, I believe that says enough.

I made sure my employee keycard was in my bag before slipping out of my condo and into Manhattan’s light snow.

“Happy holidays, Miss Dawson!” The town car driver smiled at me as I slipped into the backseat. “Ready for another wonderful day at Saint Tech Industries?”

“Happy holidays, Francis,” I said, refusing to answer that question.

Chuckling, he pulled onto the icy streets and handed me a hot coffee.

When we reached a stoplight, his eyes met mine in the mirror.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you smile at all this year, Miss Dawson.”

“I haven’t had much to smile about.” I tried to force one, but it was useless. “This year is probably going down as one of the worst of my life.”

“If you’d like, I can make a quick detour so we can egg your ex–best friend’s car again,” he said. “I keep a carton in the trunk just for the occasion.”

“Um…” A lump rose in my throat as I considered the offer. It’d only been eight months since I caught her screwing my ex-boyfriend, and I still wasn’t over it.

No matter how many times I tried to convince myself that we weren’t going to work out anyway, the memory of her apple-red nails digging into his back was enough to make tears prick my eyes.

“I can cover her entire windshield in ten seconds flat,” Francis said, his voice soft. “Just say the word.”

“No, thank you.” I shook my head. “Maybe some other day, though.”

“I’ll happily take you up on that.” He smiled and turned up the radio, allowing Let It Snow to sift through the speakers.

Like the perfect driver he was, he took the scenic route to headquarters—bypassing all the monuments that marked my terrible year.

Only a few weeks left in this year, Jenna. A few more weeks.

Twinkling wreaths and twenty-foot nutcrackers towered as we pulled in front of headquarters.

Stepping out and rushing up the steps, I braced myself for another month of Mr. Saint’s holiday bullshit.

The moment I stepped into the lobby, the scent of pine needles and gingerbread cookies smacked me in the face.

If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought I’d wandered onto a movie set for Santa’s wonderland. A forest of decorated trees lined the hall, red and gold garland curled around the grand staircase, and a stage featured a real-life Santa sleigh and twelve reindeer.

Satan (Mr. Saint)

Did you forget that I told you to come in two hours early today?

My blinking tree is not going to fix itself…

“Ugh…” I groaned and spotted the blinking culprit behind the mailbox.

Adjusting the settings, I made sure no bulbs were missing before unplugging and replugging it.

I didn’t forget.

It’s fixed.

Satan (Mr. Saint)

I need you to double-check all the décor and set up for the ceremony. Preferably with a sense of urgency.

A ‘thank you’ would be nice, Mr. Saint…

I agree. You’re very welcome for all I do for you.

It took everything in me not to send him the fuck you, asshole text he deserved.

Distracting myself with his holiday nonsense, I looked over the catering tables, checked the photography stations, and then—I stopped.

I saw them.

The lists.

Stacked in alphabetical gold boxes, each one filled with individual envelopes for every employee.

Last year, I’d received a standard All interns are nice box, but now that I’d been promoted to his assistant, I should’ve had my own personal one.

After checking the lobby to make sure no one else was there, I opened the first “D” box and found my name.

I slipped my pen under the wax seal, certain I could glue it back in time for the ceremony.

The moment it gave way, I pulled out a beautiful silver sheet of paper that featured Mr. Saint’s handwriting.

Dear Jenna Dawson,

I made a list and checked it twice,

to determine if you were naughty or nice…

You are

NAUGHTY.

That means you will NOT receive a bonus this year.

Please continue working as usual.

Happy holidays,

Nicholas Saint

This man can’t be serious…

So, Francis…how open would you be to helping me egg the fuck out of Mr. Saint’s car tonight?

Like, scale of one to ten?

I’ll do all the work—just drop me off so I can—

“Miss Dawson?” Mr. Saint’s deep voice startled me, making me look up before I could finish my message. “Is that you?”

“No. Not at all.” I returned my envelope to the bottom of the stack. “If you put on your contacts, you’ll see it’s someone else.”

“It sounds like you.”

“It’s not me. I’m not Jenna.”

His low laugh sent unwanted butterflies fluttering in my stomach, and before I could slip through the emergency exit, he strolled toward me.

His deep green gaze pinned me to the spot, daring me to move. Swallowing, I pretended my heart wasn’t skipping a beat with his every step.

When he was finally in front of me, close enough for me to reach out and touch, I could see why every woman who caught a glimpse of him did a slow double take.

“What was that in your hand?” he asked. “It looked like you were reading something.”

“My phone?” I held it up. “I was texting Francis.”

“I’m talking about before that,” he said. “It looked like one of my envelopes…”

“I should schedule another eye exam for you, then,” I said. “You did mention your eyes would start to wane like your father’s eventually.”

“So, you weren’t looking at my lists?” He smirked, making my stomach flip again.

“I really need to find a body that’s loyal to my brain.”

“Come again, Miss Dawson?”

“Nothing.” My cheeks heated. “I wasn’t looking at your lists. I was just checking on things like you said.”

“Hmmm.” He didn’t look like he believed me at all. “Well, if you want to open your envelope before anyone else arrives, I’ll allow it.”

“That’s okay. I can totally wait.”

“Then can you hand it to me, please?”

“Um…no, uh—I think someone in the secretarial department must’ve left it out. It’s not here.”

“So you were looking for it?”

“I refuse to confirm or deny.”

“Hmmm.” He stepped around me, gently tugging the envelope from the stack. “Looks like it’s opened.”

“It opened itself.”

“Well, in that case, I’m sorry I won’t be able to give you a bonus.” He smiled, not looking sorry at all. “But if you’re nicer to me next year, maybe things will change.”

“I could’ve sworn the nice list was performance-based.” I crossed my arms.

“It is.”

“Then I should’ve been the first person to receive a bonus.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” I glared at him. “Oh.”

“So, you talking shit about me to your cousins back home for hours every night was nice?” He closed the gap between us. “And you purposely one-starring every restaurant and business I own in this city is nice as well?”

“I…” My cheeks were on fire. I had no idea he knew about any of that.

“Your work is definitely ‘nice,’ Miss Dawson,” he said, his forehead nearly brushing against mine, “but it’s obvious that you hate me. So I don’t think it would be fair to put you anywhere else except the naughty list. Don’t you think?”

“I didn’t talk that much shit about you…”

“I don’t talk shit about you at all.” He tipped my chin up with his fingertips, and I leaned closer, and for a moment, I thought he would kiss me.

And I would totally let him.

“Can you please stick to the fucking tasks I tell you to do for the rest of the day?” he said, shattering any notion of romance. “I can’t afford missteps from now through the next twelve months, and if anyone should know that, it’s you.”

He immediately tore away from me, leaving me bereft, and headed toward the closest exit door.

“Oh, and Miss Dawson?” He looked over his shoulder.

“Yes?”

“I forgot to give you a thank you.”

“For what?”

“For making it clear that I made the right decision to put you on the naughty list.” He smirked. “You’re welcome.”