Chapter 11
ELEVEN
GARRETT
This Christmas
Manhattan, New York
Ilet out a breath as I step out of my seventh cold shower of the afternoon. From the moment that I left the prep-ceremony, thoughts of fucking Savannah all over my condo have been running through my mind.
I’m more than ready to kill the tension that’s lingered between us for years. And I want us to stop playing games and just agree to date each other.
It’s the only thing that makes sense at this point, and I can kill the fraternization clause with the swipe of a pen.
Pulling on a pair of sweatpants, I walk down the hall and into my great room. I hit a button on the remote, forcing the shades of the panoramic windows to slowly inch up and give me a perfect view of the city.
It’s the perfect surface to press Savannah against in a matter of minutes.
Where the hell is she?
I look over at the clock and notice it’s a little after ten. Which is odd, because this woman is never late, even when she oversleeps.
Confused, I pick up my phone and call my secretary.
“Oh my god, I thought you’d never call me back!” she answers. “I swear to God if I didn’t need the money, I would’ve quit this asshole’s office months ago.”
“Hello, Veronica,” I say.
She sucks in a breath and the line goes silent.
“Have you seen Miss Grey in the building tonight?” I ask, completely unfazed by the way she answered the phone. “Is she in her office?”
“No, sir,” she says. “She went home after the prep thing and didn’t return. She did call half an hour ago complaining about a headache, though.”
“Did she leave a formal message?”
“Please don’t fire me.” The words rush out of her mouth. “I do hate working for you, but I really need this job.”
“Give me Miss Grey’s message. Now.”
“Right.” Papers rustle in the background. “She said that she’s finished all of her work, delegated tasks to the executives, and she’ll see you at the airport when it’s time to head to the office party in two days since she’s nursing a sudden migraine.”
“I see.”
“Okay, so back to me,” she says. “It’s a total pleasure working for West Media, and I must say that I’m so honored by the generous opportunities that you—”
I hang up the phone when she’s mid-sentence. I have more important things to do.
Sighing, I walk over to the coffee table and pick up the card from Savannah’s re-gift to reread it.
Happy Holidays!
Since you’ve always wondered what it’s like to ride your boss’s face, I decided to be a bit more proactive and help you out!
THIS will take care of all the tension that radiates off the two of you. I even had his name engraved on the side of it since you talk about him so much.
This is also more than perfect for all those times when you wished he would “shut the hell up and just fuck [me] against the wall.”
(You said that in Punta Cana when we were drunk last year, BTW. I remember!)
Love, Georgia
(& your Boss! Bahahahaha!)
(I still got you a sweater, FYI. I’m sending it after New Year’s, though.)
I know there’s no way she initially realized what she gave me, but something tells me that she knows at this point. And she has to see that I’m more than onboard for this.
I always have been.
Beyond aroused and impatient, I send her a text message.
Me: It’s 10:20, Savannah. Are you on your way? I’d still like to discuss some things with you.
S. Grey (Mine): No. Something came up.
I know. Come here so you can see it. Those are the words I’m about to send, but a series of text messages from an unknown number cross my screen first.
555-8709: These text messages never happened. I do not know you, Mr. West, and you do not know me.
555-8709: **But** someone we have in common accidentally re-gifted something that you were never meant to see.
Me: I’m aware of that, Georgia. Hello. Hope you’re well.
555-8709: No comment on the name you assume belongs to me.
555-8709: I just want you to know that I totally made up whatever I wrote for Savannah in that card.
(If it’s not too much to ask, can you kindly send me a picture of it?
I really don’t remember, and she’s panicking, and I promised her that it’s not that bad.
Actually, can you try to rewrite a different message in my handwriting if it is bad, so I can use that instead?)
I laugh and snap a picture of the card, honoring her request.
She responds within seconds.
555-8709: Um, yeah. So, I’m never going to show her/own up to writing this.
Even better.