Unwrapping Romance

Chapter 1

Chapter One

S ierra

The wind bites as I step off the curb, holding up my hand and signaling the approaching cab. Instead of stopping, the driver sped up, barreling through a slushy puddle that splashed all over my black dress pants and long black coat.

“Asshole!” I shouted, holding up my middle finger.

“Tis the season,” a woman spoke, walking by.

If I’d heard those words one more time, I would lose my shit. Another cab was rolling down the street, so I stepped in front of it, making the driver slam on his brakes. Opening the door, I climbed inside.

“Are you crazy, lady? Do you have a death wish or something?” the driver yelled.

“Isn’t everyone a little crazy this time of year? 359 W. 45 th Street,” I said.

After swiping my card, I climbed out and entered the coffee shop. Looking around, I saw my friend, Becca, waving me over to a table in the corner.

“What happened to you?” Her brows furrowed as she stared at the filthy muck all over my pants and coat. “Wait. Let me guess. A cab?”

Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree played overhead, further ruining my already shitty day.

“Yep. The asshole sped up when he saw me.” I took off my coat and sat in the seat beside me.

“Here. Drink your coffee.” She pointed to the cup sitting before me.

“Thanks, Becca.”

“How did the interview go?” she asked.

Picking up the warm cup, I took a sip of coffee and savored the bold and brilliant taste.

“It didn’t. The office manager, Lydia, said I was overqualified and wasn’t sure why the temp service would even send me. This is the fourth time I didn’t get the job this week. What is wrong with me?”

“Were the buildings/offices decorated for Christmas?” she asked.

“Unfortunately.” I tipped the cup to my lips.

“And did you make a statement about the decorations?”

“No,” I lied as my brows furrowed.

“Truth, Sierra. I know you.” She pointed.

“Fine. All I said was that it looked like Christmas threw up, and someone should clean it up.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “It’s your own fault nobody wants to hire you with that attitude. Maybe try to refrain from telling potential employers that it looks like Christmas threw up all over their office. Not everyone feels about the holidays the way you do. You need to respect other people’s joy this time of year.”

Blah. Blah. Blah. It was the same lecture every year at this time.

“Anyway, Brad and I are hosting Thanksgiving at our house this year, and we want you to come. We will not take no for an answer.”

“You’re cooking?” I cocked my head. “Have you ever cooked a turkey?”

“Yes, I’m cooking. No, I’ve never cooked a turkey. But I’ve been watching a lot of YouTube videos, so it’ll be fine.”

“Thanks for the invite, but I already have plans.”

“No, you don’t. You spend the holidays alone, locked up in your apartment, eating Chinese food, and watching Netflix.”

“So?”

“You have friends who want your company at Thanksgiving. Please.” She reached across the table and grabbed my hand. “Just humor me this once.”

My phone rang, and when I pulled it from my purse, I saw that the temp agency was calling.

“Hello,” I answered.

“Sierra, it’s Yvonne. Lydia called to tell me she’s going with someone else for the position. I’m not sure why you’re not getting these jobs. You’re more than qualified. I have another that just came through if you’re interested. I will warn you before sending you into the lion’s den. The man you’d be working for is—how do I put it nicely? He’s not an ideal person to work for.”

“And why is that?” I asked.

“He can be rather rude and traumatizing. Nonetheless, he is one of our clients and has been for years. The pay is good, Sierra—better than your last job.”

“How long does he need a temp?”

“At least until after the new year. He wants someone there now. Wherever you are, grab a cab and get to the address I just texted you. You have thirty minutes.”

“But, Yvonne?—”

“No buts, Sierra. You’ve been on eleven interviews in the last three weeks and weren’t hired. In all my years working at this company, I believe you hold the world record. If you’re late and Mr. Atlas doesn’t hire you, then I’m afraid our search for a job for you will have to end.”

I pulled my phone from my ear and looked at it, not believing that she hung up on me.

“I have to go.” I took another sip of my coffee. “I have a job interview.”

“Looking like that?” Becca’s brow arched.

“I don’t have a choice. I have thirty minutes to get across town and make a good impression, or Yvonne will let me go.”

“How are you going to make a good impression looking like that?” she shouted as I walked away. “And you better come to Thanksgiving!”

Climbing into the stopped cab, I gave the address to the driver. When he pulled up to the curb, I swiped my card, climbed out, and looked up at the tall building. When I approached the door, a nice young man smiled and held it open for me.

“Good afternoon, miss.” He nodded.

“Good afternoon. Thank you.” I smiled.

Three people were in front of me to step through the security scanners. Setting my purse in the bin, I cleared the scanner, grabbed my purse, and looked around the fully decorated lobby, which had indeed vomited Christmas. Three oversized, fully lit, decorated trees, garland galore, and red and white poinsettias in every direction I turned.

“Ugh.” I walked over to the directory.

“Can I help you?” A woman wearing a blue suit approached me.

“I’m looking for Atlas Enterprises.”

“Which department?” she asked.

“All I know is I have an interview with Mr. Atlas.”

“Oh.” Her face twisted. “His office is on the top floor, the thirtieth floor. Mr. Atlas occupies floors twenty-four through thirty. You say you have an interview with him?”

“Yes. A job interview.”

She placed her hand on my shoulder as she looked me up and down, noticing what a hot mess I was. “Good luck to you, dear.”

“Thanks.” My brows furrowed.

Walking over to the elevator, I stood with the rest of the people, waiting for one to come down. Hearing the ding, I looked up, and the doors opened. Being the last one inside, I pushed the button to the thirtieth floor. A man standing beside me looked me over.

“If you don’t mind me saying?—”

“I do mind. Keep your opinions to yourself.” I glanced at him.

After stopping on numerous floors, the doors finally opened on the thirtieth.

“May I help you?” The receptionist, with burgundy hair and dark red lips, smiled brightly.

“I have an interview with Mr. Atlas,” I said.

“Have a seat over there, and I’ll let him know you’re here. Excuse me. What is your name?”

“Sierra Knight.”

Taking a seat in the cream-colored chair, I noticed no Christmas decorations. Maybe they just hadn’t gotten around to decorating yet, unlike Manhattan, which decorated earlier and earlier every year.

“Miss Knight?” A young man walked over. “I can take you to see Mr. Atlas. Follow me.”