The Naughty Elf (Forbidden Fantasies)

1. Ginger

1

GINGER

“ W here do you…see yourself…in five years?” Gracie shoves a spoonful of cereal in her mouth after she gets through the question. I grin at my daughter, trying not to laugh at how the milk runs down her chin.

“Planning fantastic events for children and those who are still children at heart.” I crunch on my toast and point at her with a corner of it. “And being the mom of a preteen-slash-newly-budding-teen, so my hands will be full.”

Gracie laughs, the happy sound filling the space under the kitchen lights. Her head falls back, and her eyes close, and it’s the most wonderful thing in the world. “Very full. I want to dye my hair pink when I turn thirteen.”

“And you can. Just like I did.” I take another bite of my toast and talk around it. “Next question.”

“Can you give me…an example of an event you have planned?” Gracie’s face scrunches up. “You’ve planned events, but what were they for and when?”

I shake my head. “I plan your birthdays every year, I’ll have you know.”

She perks up, bouncing in her seat. “They’re always fun!”

“Exactly, but for the job, I would say my favorite example would be the welcoming event for the incoming freshman class. I was one of seven planners. We each organized a day for Welcome Week. My focus was on student life.”

She nods and indicates that I can keep talking. I smile at her and keep talking.

“I organized a morning scavenger hunt for students to locate and become familiar with places and actions they would need to get used to doing, like finding a specific resource person in the library to get free scantron sheets, introducing themselves to the student IT staff to get a free phone case, and going to the football stadium to get a free ticket to our homecoming game. That kind of thing.”

I swipe my hair away from my face, resolved to pin it back for the real interview. “During the afternoon, I had clubs and activities set up booths around the center of campus where they could interact with freshmen and get people involved in the event.”

It was my favorite part of my initial welcoming week when I was a freshman. I tried out so many clubs, and they were all low-key enough that Gracie came to most of the meetings with me. I’m pretty sure that’s where her artistic side was born.

“And in the evening, we had local food trucks set up around the green space on campus, and I got to MC the movie night with some fun raffle prizes for those who were paying attention. And people who stopped by got coupons for the participating vendors for their first weekend on campus. I ate so many lobster rolls that my picture should be on their wall.”

Gracie laughs at me again. “You’re such a goose.”

“Thank you.” I shove the last bit of toast in and sip my cooling coffee. “Any other questions?”

Gracie picks up her bowl and slurps down her milk with a sigh. “It just says weaknesses and then there’s a question mark after it.”

She hops off her stool and carries her bowl to the sink, rinsing it out and putting it in the dishwasher like a good girl.

“Sometimes, I get lost in the details. You know, can’t see the forest for the trees. But I’ve learned to put systems in place to keep track of everything so that I can focus on the big picture.”

“Why can’t you see the trees, Momma?”

I rinse my coffee mug and place it in the washer beside her bowl. “I can see the trees just fine, pumpkin. It’s like if I was walking through the woods, and I was looking at the beauty of the trees and didn’t see that I’d gotten lost in the middle of them.”

Blinking up at me thoughtfully, Gracie thinks through what I’ve said. “Okay. It’s like when I get stuck in math because there are too many numbers.”

God, my munchkin is hilarious.

“Yes. Exactly like that.” I start shooing her toward her room because it’s time to get to the school bus. “All right. Brush your teeth, grab your backpack, and meet me by the door.”

I take the time to pin my auburn hair back. It seems more red today with my Hot Tomato lipstick and starched white shirt. I add a slender navy tie to be cute but professional, but I leave the jacket. It showcases my personality.

Gracie is slipping into her sneakers as I come back. I tuck my portfolio into my purse and slide into my red kitten heels. They match my lipstick perfectly.

“Ready?”

“Ready,” my mini-me repeats.

I drive her to the bus stop where we wait for the bus. I’m still too scared to leave her standing there, even with other kids around. Besides, we never have to wait long, and I love the ritual. “You’ve got all your homework?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you have art today?”

“Yes.” She draws the word out, all sing-songy and happy. “We were using pastels last class, and I hope we get to do that again today. They’re messy, but they smear together well.”

I chuckle. “Good. They are fun. Maybe I can get a box if I get this new job for at home.”

Gracie cheers, pumping her fists in the air. The bus arrives, and she unbuckles, wedging between the front seats to plant a kiss on my cheek.

“I can’t wait to hear about your day,” I call after her, and she waves.

I turn left after the bus passes, the other parents jamming together on the street to start their own days. I’m not looking forward to this new routine, but it is what it is. I really want this job. It’s way better than a regular entry-level project planning gig. At least, from the sound of it.

My foot rattles against the floor of my car. I rehearse my qualifications, my regular interview answers, and think about what I’m going to ask the boss to myself as I drive. My GPS navigates me into a neighborhood, and I notice the brand-new model home on the corner. The street is full of cars and construction vehicles.

When I get out of my car, I can see a house that is currently being built five lots down. The one across from it has materials to finish the inside on the porch and in the yard.

I pull my portfolio out of my purse and slide my purse over my shoulder as I saunter in. It’s time to be my better, most professional self. Confidence fills me as I climb onto the porch.

The door is open, and I see an office sitting off to the left in what looks like a study. A man stands up from behind the desk, and I can hear the slap of his shoes against the hardwood.

It’s a nice house, with bright white paint on the outside and soothing blues in the entryway. A peaceful waterscape painting hangs on the wall.

A startlingly handsome man appears at the office door, and when I blink, I recognize him. It’s one of my dad’s friends. That’s a little confidence boost. I know how to impress my dad, so I’m betting the same things work on this man.

I’ve got this.

His hand swings out to shake mine, and I give him a nice squeeze. “Jackson Hayes. You must be Ginger Thatcher.”

“Sure am.” My hand lingers a second, and I enjoy the firm warmth of his grip as much as the golden boy look of him. He’s a golden boy in his forties, but that’s not a bad thing. Not with the way he smiles.

“Come on in, have a seat. I’m glad you could make it.” He steers me into his office, and it’s nice. Inside, there’s built-in bookshelves, plush furniture, anda fancy but not-so-tidy desk. I eye the bench seat by the window and imagine painting or reading there.

I sit in the comfy chair opposite his desk and note the awards hung on the wall. The room feels lived-in and professionally set up at the same time. Color me impressed.

When Jackson Hayes sits behind his desk, his gaze lingers on my red mouth, my crossed legs, and the prim posture of my back. I was aiming to look professional despite my age, and I know how to accentuate the more mature aspects of my appearance to make me seem older.

Part of me wishes I could have left a few buttons of my blouse undone, but I can do that next time.

“I was impressed by your experience. You just graduated over the summer?”

“I did. It took me a little longer to get my degree, but the extra time gave me more opportunities to participate in and plan events. Especially as a single mom.” Not usually something I would put out there straight off, but Mr. Hayes must already know about my history.

“Like I said, impressive.” He gives me another once-over, leaning back a little in his chair as he regards me.

Suddenly, I don’t feel so much like I’ve been nothing but a mom and a student for the last seven years. Jackson Hayes looks at me like I’m a woman—full-grown and ripe for the picking. I try not to enjoy it too much. He is my potential new boss, after all.

“I have one very important question for you, Ginger.” His hands steeple in front of his mouth, those dark blue eyes an oasis next to his bronze skin and golden hair. “What are you looking for from this position?”

My back straightens another inch, and a small smile curls along my mouth. “I’m looking for something I can throw myself into. Something that will challenge me and force me to be creative.”

Simple and true and not too dorky. Hopefully.

His matching grin says I’ve hit my mark.

“I’m a hard worker, and I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.” Something my dad always appreciates, so I figure this guy will approve of that sentiment as well.

Nostrils flaring, he purses his mouth and nods. I swear a new tension fills the air between us.

“Well, that’s all I need to know.” Jackson Hayes rubs his hands together and stands. “Welcome aboard. I’ve got some paperwork for you to fill out before we get started.”

I frown at him. I’d been preparing for this interview for days. Literally days. That was it?

“Come on. I’ll set you up in the kitchen to fill out your W2s and whatnot, then we can go over your first job.” He pauses, taking in my frown. “That is…unless you don’t want the job?”

I let out an exasperated sigh. “Of course, I want the job. But someone could have told me the interview was just a formality before I put in all the work to prepare for it.”

His laugh doesn’t wipe away the sting one bit, but he cheerily waves me out of his office and into the well-designed kitchen. A manilla folder is waiting at the end of the counter in front of a stylish, low-backed stool.

“Can I get you a cup of coffee while you work through that?”

“That seriously depends on if you can make it right.” I challenge him with my gaze and see a matching playful glint staring back at me. “Mr. Hayes,” I add, just to be professional.

“Call me Jackson.” He taps the counter. “And I’ll take that bet.”

I fill out the paperwork as Jackson moves around the kitchen. The rumble of a grinder perks me up. I didn’t even notice they had an espresso machine in the back corner. As he moves around, I work through the customary first-day paperwork that you have to tackle at any job.

When he sets a creamy, foamy, and fragrant latte in front of me in a perfectly white mug, I have a feeling that this job is going to be perfect. The first sip I take while he watches me confirms it.

His triumph is written all over his face.

“Fine. I concede. That’s good, by the way.”

“You bet your ass it is.”

Our eyes lock for a few, long seconds. I should not be thinking about how hot he is, and how this little thrill settles under my breastbone when he looks at me. Or how much I like that he doesn’t back away from the strength of my direct gaze.

“Finished?” He breaks our stalemate by turning away to start tidying up.

“Yep.” My head tilts. Is this a normal day at the office?

“All right. Well, let’s talk about your first project. You’ll be taking the lead on the entire Christmas carnival. It’s a month away. Think you can handle it?”