CHAPTER 1 ELIAS
The lobby coffee shop looked like the bastard love child of a Hallmark movie and an ugly Christmas sweater. Silver garland decorated the front counter, twinkle lights hung everywhere, and a Christmas tree decorated in coffee-themed ornaments and colorful blinking lights stood in the corner.
I almost turned around and left.
And then, the music. Were they serious? It was the beginning of November. Did they have to play the music, too?
An ominous voice in the back of my mind spoke: it has begun.
I’m dreaming of a white Christmas…
No, I wasn’t. I was dreaming of a cup of dark roast—the coffee here was exceptional—and the shot of Irish whiskey I was going to add to it that were going to get me through the rest of this nightmare of an afternoon.
Really, if I could be dreaming of anything, it would be a deserted tropical beach with a gorgeous woman dressed in something sheer. But I had too damn much work to do to make that dream a reality.
Yet another reason this day was grating on my nerves. Who scheduled a holiday party for three o’clock in the afternoon at the beginning of November?
My boss, apparently. Or maybe HR had talked him into it.
Either way, getting an email with a garish invitation complete with snowmen and candy canes, to a holiday party the first week of November was crap.
I didn’t care if they thought that meant more people could make it, since December was a busy month.
It made it harder—impossible, even—for me to claim I had plans and skip it.
Not that I ever had holiday plans. But in December, I could say I did and no one asked questions. Early November? Harder to make an excuse.
Plus, this year I needed to play the game. That meant I had to come back to the office after my off-site meeting and show my face at this party.
The holiday music made my back tighten and my jaw hitch in annoyance.
The lady in line in front of me was having a crisis of indecision.
She babbled at the barista, talking a mile a minute.
Her laugh grated on my nerves almost as much as the music.
It was all I could do not to growl at her so she’d move out of my way.
Finally, she ordered something and paid. I stepped up to the counter. The barista was wearing a headband with blue and white snowflakes that bobbed when she moved.
“Happy holidays!” Her eyes were too wide, like she was slightly insane. Or maybe she was just overly caffeinated. “What can I get started for you?”
“Twelve-ounce dark roast with room.”
“Room for cream?”
“No. For whiskey.”
“Are you sure you don’t want our special holiday blend?”
My jaw hitched again. I hated being questioned. “No.”
“Okay, no problem. It’s just really good and we only serve it for a limited time.”
I had no idea why she thought I cared. She kept looking at me with those wide, crazy eyes, an inexplicable smile on her face.
Since she wasn’t ringing up my order, I pulled my card out of my wallet and held it up with a scowl.
“Oh, sorry.” She laughed and rang up my coffee.
I paid and the too-big smile never left her face.
My brow furrowed. “Why are you smiling like that?”
She shrugged. “I just love the holidays. Don’t you?”
I eyed her with mild disgust. “No.”
That finally got rid of the annoying grin. I moved down the counter to wait for my coffee, ignoring the tip jar and her half-hearted, have a nice day.
She didn’t mean it and I wasn’t going to.
It’s the most wonderful time of the year…
No, it wasn’t.
They couldn’t have waited until after Thanksgiving? Not that I cared about that holiday, or any holiday for that matter. But this extra month of Christmas was making my life miserable.
My coffee came out and I got out of there as quickly as possible. In the lobby, a small knot of people were busy decorating a tall tree in the front window. I rolled my eyes and headed for the elevators.
Idiots.
A woman stood in front of the bank of elevators with a large leather bag slung over her shoulder. She was humming something. What was that tune? Jingle Bells? I couldn’t help the low growl that rumbled in my throat. I was so over this and I hadn’t even been upstairs to the party yet.
Still humming, the woman glanced at me. It looked like she was about to say something—probably some asinine holiday greeting—but as soon as our eyes met, her face fell and she went silent.
Finally.
Ding! An elevator opened but she didn’t move.
My brow furrowed again—what was wrong with people—and I walked past her to get in.
She still didn’t move, so I pushed the button for my floor and let the doors close.
I didn’t know what her problem was—or why she was staring at me like she’d just seen a ghost—and I didn’t care.
The elevator went up, arriving at my floor with another ding. Before the doors opened, I could hear the party. Muffled voices and Christmas music drifted through. I took a deep breath and resigned myself to the inevitable.
If the coffee shop had been bad, this was my nightmare come true.
My floor had been transformed from office to holiday party with a nauseating display of red and green, silver and gold.
Wreaths, garland, and lights had been hung on every available surface and how many Christmas trees did one office party need?
Four? No, there was another one in the conference room, so apparently five.
The din of raucous conversation did nothing to drown the holiday playlist some dumbass had put together for the occasion.
If that Mariah Carey song came on, I might have to quit.
My coworkers were all dressed for the party, decked out in a mind-numbing array of terrible Christmas sweaters.
A few of the software engineers stood together, laughing at the fact that they’d all worn the same red and green monstrosity.
Phil from sales had blinking Christmas lights around his neck, Prasad, one of our developers, had silver and gold tassels and a Santa hat, and Janelle from accounting wore a sweater that made one of her boobs look like a reindeer face, complete with a red nose.
Kill me.
Ignoring the celebration, I headed straight for my office. It was just after three in the afternoon, but it was five o’clock somewhere, and there was no way I was doing this without a drink. There was probably spiked eggnog in the conference room, but I didn’t do eggnog.
I shut the door, surrounding myself in blissful quiet.
I set the coffee on my desk, got a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet, and added a generous pour.
I’d contemplated just the whiskey, but I wanted the hit of caffeine along with the burn of alcohol.
Plus, sometimes playing the game meant being the one to stay sober.
The door opened, flooding my office with the godforsaken music. My assistant, Alice, poked her head inside.
“Elias?”
“Get in here and shut the door.”
She came in and closed it behind her. “Sorry.”
Alice was probably in her late twenties with blond hair and—I actually had no idea what color eyes she had. Or much else about her, other than she was good at her job and she only annoyed me about half the time.
Now was one of those times.
Eying her, I took a sip of my coffee. “What are you supposed to be?”
She glanced down at her sweater dress—red with green trim and she had shoes with pointy toes and little balls on the tips. “It’s my ugly Christmas sweater. Or dress, I guess. I’m an elf.”
“You look stupid.”
Her hands went to her hips. I saw that pose a lot. “Well you look like a big old Grinch. Where’s your holiday spirit?”
My voice was low and flat. “Have you met me?”
“Yes and I rue the day. Except when I get paid. That almost makes it worth it.”
I narrowed my eyes. “If you dress like that again, I’ll fire you.”
She ignored me, although I wasn’t kidding. “Are you coming out to the party?”
“Yes.”
“Now?”
“When I’m ready.”
“Okay, well, when you do, watch out for Demi Simpson. She’s already drunk and trying to sit in people’s laps.”
A shudder ran down my spine. Sober Demi Simpson was a normal middle-aged woman. Drunk Demi Simpson was a cougar on the prowl. The last thing I needed was her trying to rub her boobs in my face.
Again.
Another shudder.
I took a drink of my coffee, once again contemplating a straight shot of whiskey before I entered the arena.
“I think I’m going to head out, though,” Alice said. “I’ve mingled enough.”
“You can’t leave.”
“Why not?”
“It’s three o’clock on a Friday. Where are you going to go?”
“Home? You know, the place where I go when I’m not dealing with your grumpy self at work?”
“We’re still working.”
She gestured toward the party outside. “No one’s working.”
“We are.”
She huffed, like working on an actual workday was some big inconvenience. It wasn’t like I was asking her to come in on a weekend. I ignored her little display of temper and flipped through my messages on my phone. Nothing critical.
“Fine.” She opened the door as wide as it would go and left it that way as she walked out.
Maybe I would fire her.
Or not. Hiring someone new would be a pain in the ass and I had enough going on.
I added a little more whiskey to my cup and replaced the lid. Then I wandered out into the party.
Usually, DataStream was a good place to work.
We were an IT consulting firm with a solid reputation, specializing in managed services and high-level data security.
We’d gone from a handful of employees to a thriving corporation of over two hundred people in a short period of time; and we were still growing.
Growth meant opportunity. Opportunity meant money. Money meant success.