Merry Hissmas (Holiday Romances #3)

Chapter 1

HOLLY

The sound of people caroling cheerfully nearby makes my skin crawl, a sour taste entering my mouth.

God, I hate Christmas time.

It’s the worst time of the year. People are constantly smiling. Everyone is spending money like it’s nothing, and charities have no shame knocking at your door to attempt to guilt you into donating.

All of it is disgusting behavior.

No one respects your wishes to be alone at this time of year, yet no one bats an eye any other time of the year. The double standard only fuels my disdain for the holiday season.

There’s a knock at my office door, and a few seconds after, my secretary Joy enters.

“What is it, J?” I know she didn’t choose her name, but God, I hate it.

It particularly irks me around this time of year.

She wrings her hands together in front of her as her wings flutter behind her. “The staff and I were just wondering, since, you know, it’s getting close to Christmas, if you had thought yet about—”

“Spit it out, J.” I sigh, tossing my pen onto my desk.

Her shoulders rise, falling as she quickly blurts out, “What days will our Christmas holidays be this year?”

Of course that’s what they want to know. No one ever asks how the business is doing, or what else we can do to be even better than our competitors.

They all just care about when they don’t have to work.

Typical.

My answer for her is rather simple. “Just the statutory holiday days, like the law requires.”

Her bottom lip slightly pouts, and she grips her hands together tighter. “But boss, some of us have family out of town, or across the country—that’s not a lot of time to go see them.”

“Well, then those people should’ve planned their vacation weeks better,” I grumble, picking my pen back up. “Anything else?”

She gets a bit closer to the desk. “Just think about it, please. Even a few extra days off. Last year—”

“Last year, you all stormed my office and practically rioted for extra time off. I won’t be pushed around again.” My tone is harsh as I cross my arms. “Next thing you know, you’ll all be asking for a Christmas party.”

She lets out a sheepish laugh, chewing on her bottom lip before saying, “Well, actually…”

You have got to be kidding me.

They want extra time off and a Christmas party? That’s what they want me to use our company’s extra money on? How ridiculous.

“Before you say no…” Joy holds her hands out hesitantly. “All we need from you for the Christmas party is permission to use the office. We will do a potluck for the food, and we’ll decorate ourselves. Music can be played through a radio, so we don’t need to hire anyone.”

I can feel the vein in my forehead pulsating, but her proposition is something I can’t reasonably reject. It costs me and the company no money, and I don’t have to plan anything.

The muscle in my jaw ticks. “Fine—you can have your party here.”

“Thank you.” Joy’s grin spreads across her face instantly.

“But,” I say just as she starts to turn to leave. “When you decide on a date, inform me—and if there’s any mess by the time I come in the next day, there’ll be no party next year.”

She nods. “Will do, boss.”

With that, she hastily exits my office, and I let out a deep breath. I rub my temples—as long as I don’t have to deal with the Christmas ridiculousness, it’s fine.

At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.

I toss aside my pen, sliding the mouse around on the mousepad to wake up my computer. That was too many minutes wasted that I could’ve spent working.

Time to get back to focusing on the truly important tasks.

By the time I’m leaving the office, it’s completely dark outside, and a light snowfall has just started. I love nighttime, but I hate the snow.

Not because it’s cold or signals wintertime, but because the bright Christmas lights reflect off of it, enhancing what is already too blinding.

I wrap my blazer a bit tighter across me—it might be time to break out the winter jacket. It’s almost December, after all.

The worst month of the year is only a few days away. Maybe I’ll take off the day they have their Christmas party—then I won’t even have to see it.

But that day could be used working, bettering the company. So likely, I’ll be at the office.

In the distance, I hear caroling. Ahead of me I spot the group it’s coming from, going door-to-door.

What nuisances, shoving their cheer down everyone’s throats.

Taking a side street to avoid them, I quicken my steps. With the snow starting to come down, it looks like I’ll have to start driving to work soon.

When I eventually reach home, my legs are freezing from the windchill, and my boots are shiny from the melted snowflakes. Inside is warm though—my furnace must’ve kicked on at some point.

I unzip my boots, leaving them by the front door. As I make my way upstairs to my room, I slide my blazer off. Pantsuits are my favorite attire, but they really don’t keep me warm.

That’s not their purpose though, so I can’t really be mad.

Just as I open the door to my closet, there’s a knock at my door. My blood preemptively boils—if those damn carolers are here to harass me, I’m going to shove their sheet music down their throats.

Storming down my stairs, I fling my front door open. Just as expected, there’s a group that’s much too smiley on my doorstep, all wearing some sort of Christmas-related headgear.

Santa hats, reindeer antlers, or light-up headbands. All of it is hard on my eyes.

The person in front opens their mouth, but before they can get a word out, I say, “No.”

I don’t wait for a response before closing and locking my door. When I don’t hear movement on the other side, I turn off the exterior light.

If they fall down my steps in the dark, that’s on them.

Walking away, I make my way to the kitchen this time. I need a glass of wine—the first of many to help me get through this stifling time of year.

Once I pour myself a glass, I bring it upstairs, heading back to my closet. It’s too late to cook, or rather, I have no energy for it.

All the Christmas this, Christmas that talk has me feeling extra exhausted after a long day in the office. I’ll order something, and the leftovers can be my lunch tomorrow.

I set my wine on my bedside table, pulling my phone out. When I open the food delivery apps, I can’t help but scoff with disgust.

All the restaurants and take-out joints have changed their logos to somehow incorporate Christmas. Not only that, there are ads plastered everywhere about Christmas specials.

It almost makes me lose my appetite. Almost.

I order one of the festive meals—but only because it’s a good deal. Even I can’t pass up a deal like this.

Tossing my phone onto my bed, I finally change into my comfy clothes. I turn on the TV and hop onto my bed, picking up my glass of wine.

Now, it’s time to unwind and watch my show while I wait for the food to arrive. The episode begins, and to my dismay, it’s a Christmas episode.

Of course, just my luck. Is there anything that isn’t tainted by the mask of fake happiness and togetherness?

I switch channels, flipping through them over and over. Everything is seasonal. Everything is green, red, and Santa Claus.

God, I can’t stand it.

Changing my TV’s input, I grudgingly slink out of bed. Guess I’ll put on a movie—that way, I can guarantee it won’t be Christmasy.

As I pop in the movie, I realize I probably should turn my front light on again for the delivery person. I swear though, if I get any more solicitors, I’m covering my front porch in spikes.

Heading downstairs, I flip the light switch back on. I don’t even make it halfway up the stairs again before there’s another knock at my door.

Don’t these people have lives? Somewhere more important to be? Like, not my house?

I unlock and open the door, and to my surprise it’s my food order. The delivery guy stands there holding it, a sheepish smile on their face.

He’s rather short, his skin a shade of yellowish green. With low-hanging, pointed ears, I can tell right away he’s a goblin.

“I selected contactless,” I inform him, my eyebrows furrowing.

He hands me the bag. “Yes, I know, and I’m sorry. My boss, well, he said to directly hand everyone their orders and to spread Christmas cheer.”

Well, they won’t be getting my business again if they’re going to blatantly disrespect my decision. What if I had a super-contagious disease and that’s why I chose contactless? What if I celebrate a different holiday and don’t acknowledge Christmas?

“Tell your boss that he can shove his Christmas cheer right up his ass.” With that, I close the door, locking it and turning the light off.

I hold the bag limply at my side, heading toward the kitchen. With little thought, I toss the bag in the fridge.

Now my appetite is completely gone, and my night has been ruined.

All thanks to stupid Christmas.