A Very Bossy Christmas Read online

  She screams—actually screams—as soon as she tears off the wrapping and sees the top of the box. It’s one of those deluxe karaoke machines from Korea. She loves karaoke. Everyone knows this. Sure, it cost a little more than the twenty-dollar limit. Okay, it cost over eight hundred dollars more than the limit. What are they gonna do? Sue for overspending and being a more awesome gift-giver than everyone else? As general counsel, I’d advise against it.

  Cindy is so happy, and for some reason, Maddie appears to be really happy for her. She goes over to hug her. Cindy’s crying. Happy tears—you’d think Justin Timberlake jumped out of the box and kissed her—but she’s crying. Which is awkward. She wants to know who her Secret Santa is, but no one’s coming forward to claim the reward for being the greatest guy at Sentinel and possibly in all of Manhattan.

  Because seeing Cindy happy is reward enough.

  I gulp down my whiskey, check my personal phone. There’s a text from my buddy Matt, asking if I’ll be at his party. I tell him I won’t be able to make it out to Brooklyn tonight. There’s a text from my sister, with a photo attachment of something deep-fried that our nonna is making her family for dinner. It might be a thumb. There’s a text from someone who has no business texting me now or ever again. I delete it without reading it. And I have no idea how long Cooper has been standing right behind me, but she keeps saying my name.

  “Hi,” I say, shoving the phone back into my pocket. She looks like she’s about to tell me something really important.

  And I am ready to hear it.

  “There you are,” Drucker says, handing her a cup. “Try this. It’s incredible.”

  She takes the cup from him, still staring at me, at whatever my face is doing. She takes a big gulp and then—spits it out. All over my shirt.

  Merry fucking Christmas to me.

  Ten

  Maddie

  SATAN BABY

  What a baby.

  Scratch the surface of every gorgeous, cocky man in this city, and that’s what you get. A big baby. Okay, so I sang a song about how mean he is in front of everyone we work with. It was a joke. It’s not like he cares what people think of him. Okay, so I spewed eggnog all over his beautiful face and shirt. It was an accident.

  I immediately offered to take the shirt to the cleaners for him. But he just pulled those socks that Drucker had given him out of his jacket pocket, dabbed at his face and shirt with them, and left. Didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t even find it a little bit funny. It’s not like I had done it on purpose to make him laugh—but come on.

  And to think I was feeling badly for him after I saw the look on his face when I had finished singing the Grinch song. Those sad eyes. That expression of—what? Longing? Wistfulness? It was so unlike him. I thought I was getting a glimpse into his soul for once.

  To think I was about to tell him I would go with him to Ohio. Pretend to be his girlfriend for a few days. Because I do realize what a bind he must be in if he actually asked me to do this. He doesn’t take things like this lightly. That’s why he’s a good lawyer. But that doesn’t make him a good person. It’s not like he sent flowers to my landlady because he’s such a sweet guy. I know how he thinks. He did it because he knew she’d be all up in my face about him. And she has been. Ever since last weekend.

  First my niece and now my landlady. It’s one thing to have to deal with him at work, but I can’t even pretend to like someone who’s that uptight. Not that I’m the life of every party. Not that I even want to go to every party. But if I’m going to choose to go anywhere with anyone, it’s got to be worth my precious time. I can’t believe I actually came back to the office in the freezing cold just to check on him—I’m such a sucker. The fucker walks so fast, I couldn’t catch up with him, and he didn’t even reply to my texts.

  It doesn’t even make sense that he would be this mad because of the eggnog. Or the song. Or the fact that I haven’t given him an answer yet. But I’m going to give him an answer. It’s five to six, and he’ll get his answer. He won’t like it, and I’m actually a little concerned that he might fire me right now, but he’ll get his answer.

  Sentinel is eerily quiet when I step off the elevators. The temp receptionist nods at me, and I can just tell from her flushed cheeks and the intoxicating scent combination of tobacco and a sweet and spicy hot drink and sex on an antique leather sofa that Declan Cannavale has passed through here very recently. I can also tell that these temps were goofing off until we showed up.

  Declan has the blinds inside his office and the door closed. I nod at the guy who’s sitting at my desk and knock on the door before opening it. And fuck me running on Santa’s sled—my boss doesn’t have a shirt on, and he has the most stunning male torso I have ever seen.

  I immediately shut the door behind myself, but I don’t know what to say. I also can’t seem to look away. Or breathe. Or calm my stupid lady parts down. We’ve never been glared at by a gorgeous, shirtless, infuriating man before. And I can’t tell yet if it’s the best or the worst thing that’s happened to us yet, but it’s a lot of things. I’m so glad I’m still wearing my coat so he can’t tell that my nipples are trying to claw their way through my push-up bra and dress.

  He continues to stare at me, unflinchingly, as he reaches into a desk drawer and pulls out one of his brand-new spare dress shirts. It’s crisp and white, and he gives it a good snap to shake out the folds, startling me. I let out a gasp and lean back against the door, clutching the doorknob with one hand, squeezing my trembling thighs together. It’s not like my breasts are heaving and I’m biting my lower lip or anything. I am perfectly capable of controlling my behavior. I can wait until I get home to do that stuff.

  “Can I help you, Cooper?” he asks, finally looking away from me so he can carefully spread the shirt out on top of his desk and unbutton it.

  He must exfoliate and moisturize the shit out of his skin, it’s so smooth.

  “I was just going to offer to take your shirt to the dry cleaners again.”

  “No thanks. Anything else?”

  “Are you going back to the party?”

  “I think I’ve had enough holiday fun for one day. Anything else?” He’s back to glaring at me as he lifts up the shirt. When he raises one arm to slide it into a sleeve, I get a glimpse of a tattoo on the inside of his bicep. A bird. And fuck me, it’s beginning to look a lot like my Instagram feed in here.

  I clear my throat. “I’ve been thinking about your offer.” I clear my throat again.

  “And?”

  “And I absolutely do not want to go with you to Ohio.”

  His eyelids flutter, and for one melancholy moment I think I’m getting a glimpse into his soul again. But then he tilts his head the tiniest bit and grins at me. “But?”

  Cocky little…

  “But I will.”

  He nods once, as if he knew I would all along. “Have you signed the document?”

  I unzip my coat. Until this very minute, I wasn’t sure if I’d be shredding and burning the document or handing it over to him. But I’ve been carrying it with me all week. And I signed it as soon as I saw the crumpled-up receipt for the karaoke machine on his desk this afternoon. And the leftover wrapping paper in the corner. I knew it was a Secret Santa gift for Cindy. And when he didn’t even claim responsibility for it at the party…

  I stroll over, watch him watching me as he continues to button up his shirt. I stop directly in front of his desk, push my coat aside, and reach down into my cleavage to pull out the folded-up piece of paper. I hold it up between two fingers.

  Not gonna lie to you. It feels good to watch that jaw clench. To see that vein along the side of his neck. To see his eyelids grow heavy and that Adam’s apple bob up and down just once.

  I drop that folded-up signed document onto his desk and turn on my heels and say, “I’m going home now. To pack. If you need anything, work-wise—let the temp know.” Before opening the door, I stage whisper without looking back at him: “See you in Ohio,
sweetheart.”

  I grab my laptop and bag from the locked drawer in my desk and answer a couple of questions for the temp, but then I make a quick exit. I don’t even wait for the elevator. I would rather walk down seven flights of stairs in these heels than get caught after touching my boobs in front of my boss and dropping the mic like that.

  Not that I don’t think I can handle facing him again. I graduated top of my class in Business Administration. I had six job offers before I’d even finished my exams. I’ve got recruiters trying to scout me all the time, even when I’m not looking… If shit gets real between us over the holidays, I’ll have no trouble finding another job.

  But I’m not worried.

  I’ll continue to have no trouble resisting him. As long as there’s no alcohol. Or mistletoe. And he doesn’t do anything terrible, like be nice to me or take off his shirt when I’m around or smile at me.

  Merry fucking Christmas to me.

  Chapter Eleven

  DECLAN: Cooper. Did you specifically request that I be seated next to the most boring man on the plane?

  MADDIE: Actually, he requested to be seated next to the grumpiest, most intolerable man on the plane. Sometimes things just work out.

  DECLAN: He just described every single thing he had to eat today. In great detail. He didn’t have to. I could see it all between his teeth and on his jacket.

  MADDIE: BE NICE!!!

  DECLAN: I’m always nice, Cooper. Why don’t you try being nicer to me for a change? It’s sort of a requirement as my girlfriend. You should probably start practicing now.

  MADDIE: This is me being nicer to you. I’m smiling at my phone right now. See?

  MADDIE:

  DECLAN: Jesus. That’s what you look like right now?

  DECLAN: I mean, the finger was unnecessary. But fuck.

  MADDIE: Would you care to register a complaint?

  DECLAN: Yes. No one else should be able to see you looking that good. You should be sitting next to me right now.

  MADDIE: Better safe than sorry. And I, for one, am not sorry.

  DECLAN: You have a stopover at Dulles. You should be on this nonstop flight with me. It’s stupid.

  MADDIE: I’ll be in Cleveland an hour and a half after you land. It’s not that bed.

  MADDIE: It’s not that bad.

  DECLAN: Already thinking about getting into bed with me, huh? I like it.

  DECLAN: But this arrangement is unnecessary and a waste of time, and it’s already terrible. Who are you sitting next to? It better not be a guy.

  MADDIE: Oops! Time to put the phones away. See you in C-town, hon!

  DECLAN: That had better be sexty double entendre.

  DECLAN: I will remind you that I’ve got dibs on your C-town until January 2nd, Cooper. Potential, consensual DIBS.

  DECLAN: Cooper.

  DECLAN: Maddie.

  DECLAN: Unacceptable. Text me when you get to Dulles and when you leave Dulles and when you land in Cleveland. And when you realize what a bad idea it was for us to travel separately. And when you realize how much you miss me.

  Twelve

  Maddie

  DASHING, THOUGH NO SNOW

  I was expecting it to be cold in Cleveland. I’m not naïve—I knew that simply being in another city with Declan in a nonwork capacity would feel different. I have been mentally and emotionally preparing myself to handle any possible mood that he might be in and varying degrees of handsomeness depending on his wardrobe and facial hairiness.

  But gosh darnit, nothing has prepared me for the sudden rise in body temperature and flood of hormones and emotions and bodily fluids triggered by seeing Declan Cannavale standing there in the arrivals concourse. He’s holding up a hand-written airport pickup sign that says WELCOME TO C-TOWN, COOPER. GET YOUR ASS IN THE CAR—NOW!

  His lopsided grin is infuriating, his day-old scruff is mouthwatering, his suit and coat are elegant, and the slow journey his eyes are making from my bunhead down to the toes of my shiny high-heeled boots is agonizing. My ass is saying “Yes sir!” and I don’t trust my mouth to say anything appropriate, so I keep it shut and just let him finish his extravagant visual sweep of my impossibly tight sweater dress.

  I feel naked right now and he knows it, and it makes me want to slap him. And it makes me want to strip him naked and oil us both up so I can slide all over him or something. But I also don’t want to give him the satisfaction of being right about me being attracted to him.

  It’s complicated.

  “Took you long enough to disembark” is what he grumbles when he’s finally done eye-banging me.

  “I had to help a little old lady find her connecting flight,” I tell him.

  “Well, you didn’t have to.” There’s a glint in his tea brown eyes—an evil sexy Christmas elf glint—as he reaches for my overnight bag. I allow him to take it from me, and the touch of his fingers on my shoulder sends tingles all the way down to my south pole. “Come on. Driver’s waiting for us. Thanks for ordering a stretch limo, by the way. Baller move.”

  “Well, I just want to travel in the manner to which I have grown accustomed.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Okay, so I haven’t been in a stretch limo since prom, and I wanted to make my boss pay for one. I regret nothing. In particular, I do not regret ordering the white stretch limo with neon pink interior strip lighting and complimentary bottle of mediocre champagne because I knew how much he’d hate it. And he does! But it’s not stopping him from knocking back the bubbly.

  I’m sitting as far away from him as possible, in a seat that faces the bar and the small monitor. The TV screen currently features A Christmas Story. It’s one of my favorite holiday movies, and it offers a very timely reminder of why I should never lick a frozen pole. Especially when it’s attached to my boss.

  He hasn’t said a word to me since we climbed inside this monstrosity fifteen long minutes ago. He’s just been typing on his laptop and occasionally glancing up at me to make sure that I’m as uncomfortable as he clearly wants me to be. But I’m not uncomfortable. I’m having a ring-a-ling-a-ding-dong-ding blast of a limo ride, and I’m not going to let him ruin it for me just because he’s being a boring naughty-list-sack-of-coal.

  “Aren’t you even a little bit happy to be home?” I ask while staring at the TV monitor.

  “I am a little bit happy to be home. Can’t you tell?”

  I turn to look at him and find him exactly as stone-faced as he was before.

  “I wonder if your family is excited to see you. Do they all hate you too?”

  “The word ‘too’ would imply that someone else hates me, Cooper. No one hates me. I mean, that old lady who was crossing the street that time hated me, but that was a misunderstanding. And that guy who threw his coffee at my car hated me, but he was just being a dick.”

  “Who? What are you talking about?”

  “Irrelevant. In general, and in all ways that matter, I’m a nonstop fucking delight.”

  I purse my lips and turn my attention back to Ralphie and his family.

  “You don’t hate me, Coop. You hate how much you like me. Big difference.”

  “Not really.”

  “You’ll see.”

  I shake my head, looking out the window in front of me, because I can’t even with him right now. “So tell me about them.”

  “Who?”

  “Your family. The people I will be meeting and lying to tomorrow.”

  “Right. We need to get our backstory straight.” I can hear him grinning. “The most believable lies are always the ones that are mostly true. Which is why I think we should just say it was love at first sight. As soon as you met me.”

  Eye roll.

  “I was professional. I resisted you for a solid week. But you pursued me in subtle yet irresistible ways, and I succumbed. I discussed and cleared the relationship with Shapiro and HR. We behave ourselves at the office, and very few
of our co-workers know about your obsession with me. Simple. Believable. Almost true.”

  “Except the part about all of it.”

  “Except the parts that haven’t happened yet.”

  Exaggerated eye roll.

  I turn to him and say, “I don’t feel very comfortable telling a lie of such magnitude.”

  “Okay, then. If you want to get even closer to the truth…” He looks away, shifting around in his seat, before continuing. “We can just say that I had a crush on you from even before the first time I saw you. It started when you were still working for Artie. When I’d call to talk to him. For a little while, the best part of my day was chatting with you on the phone for about thirty seconds. And now, the only bad parts of my day are when you aren’t around. Or not responding to my texts.”

  Stunned silence.

  I wait for him to burst out laughing, give me a sly, toothy grin—something. But he doesn’t. Silence fills the gaudy, cavernous space around us, and it sounds something like the truth, only it’s not any truth that I recognize as ours.

  “Would that be easier for you to sell, Maddie?” He’s staring down at his hands, and I wish I could read minds. I wish I could see into the future and know what would happen if I answered him with my lips and hands, because right now my whole body wants to tell him something that he deserves to know. Even if my own brain isn’t willing to acknowledge it.

  “Umm…”