Exmas Read online

  I imagine he’s the kind of guy who always gets what he wants with the flash of his perfect smile. Unfortunately for him, I won’t be had that easily.

  I didn’t come here to date.

  And I don’t do the whole pen-and-company-ink thing.

  The SoCal Adonis in the gray suit makes his way over, laser-focused, and I swallow the lump in my throat and straighten my shoulders.

  “Reed York,” he says with guarded authority. “You’re on my team.”

  “There are four of us, right?” I ask.

  “Right.”

  “And we all do the same thing?”

  His sparkling gaze squints. “Right.”

  “So it’s not technically … your … team,” I say.

  “Semantics.” He studies me for a minute before shaking his head and wiping the smirk off his distractingly kissable mouth. “You’re going to keep me on my toes. I can already tell.”

  “Meaning is everything,” I say. “I minored in communications.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m more of a numbers guy,” he says. “Anyway, Phillips tasked me with training you, so … lucky you.”

  He flashes a smile that sends an electric zing to my core.

  As long as he keeps his pen from my ink, we should have nothing to worry about.

  2

  Reed

  “Visiting family?”

  I glance up to my First-Class seatmate, a sixty-something woman with silvery hair, diamond studs in her ears, and a lavender cashmere twinset.

  “Chicago at Christmastime is just lovely,” she adds. “My daughter and son-in-law live there. He’s a pediatric surgeon. One of the best in the state. They’re expecting their third baby any day now, so I haven’t booked my return flight yet. Fingers crossed we have a little one to hold before the new year.”

  The cabin doors have been secured and the flight attendant passes through the aisle, and I take a quick look around, hoping to eye an empty seat so I can get away from Chatty Cathy, but no dice.

  “Do you have any children?” she asks.

  I bite the inside of my lip and look away before I make an ass of myself and ask this woman if she’s never flown First Class before. It’d be the only explanation as to why she’s not following the first unspoken rule of this section of the cabin—mind your own business.

  A chime interrupts her before she has a chance to start again, and the captain’s voice fills the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Your flight attendants are preparing the cabin for takeoff. In just a few minutes, we’re going to …”

  Chatty Cathy listens carefully, and I dig into my inner jacket pocket to find my ear pods—only one seems to have vanished.

  Of course.

  “Champagne?” A caramel-haired attendant stops at our row.

  “Oh, my goodness. Yes, please!” Chatty Cathy says before leaning toward me. “I’ve never flown First Class before.”

  Was I right or was I right?

  The attendant looks to me and I shake my head. Once we take off, I’ll order my usual two fingers of whiskey, pop in my lone ear bud, and close my eyes.

  “My daughter and son-in-law bought me this ticket,” she continues. How she hasn’t yet noticed the one-sidedness of this conversation is beyond me. “She wanted to surprise me with an upgrade. A little Christmas gift, I suppose. I’m sorry—you seem a little agitated. Are you one of those people who get scared on airplanes?”

  I stifle a chuckle before giving her side eye. “No.”

  “You’re just so … quiet.” She toys with the diamond cross pendant dangling from her neck, tapping her fake red nails against it as she studies me. “Me, I have the opposite problem. I get nervous when I fly and then I can’t stop talking.”

  She laughs—no, cackles. The suited man across from us shoots her a look.

  “Magazine? Newspaper?” A different attendant stops beside us. “Last chance before takeoff.”

  “Well, let’s see. What do you have?” Chatty Cathy asks, clucking her tongue and perusing like we have all the time in the world. “Oh, I’ll take this one. Thank you.”

  Finally.

  Paging through a pristine issue of Good Housekeeping, the woman stops after a minute and folds it in her lap.

  “I’m sorry—I just can’t help noticing how agitated you are,” she says to me. “Something is clearly bothering you, and you know how I can tell? I’m a body language expert. I’ve written three books on the subject. Your breathing and your rigid posture and the way you keep situating and re-situating yourself in these extremely comfortable chairs … the fact that you refuse to engage in small talk … It’s the holidays, isn’t it?”

  I can’t help but chuckle at her audacity and the blatant irony that lies in the fact that she can pick up on body language cues and brag about her expertise but be so socially inept.

  “Name’s Reed,” I say, giving her my full attention now as we taxi to the runway. “And you’re correct. I am agitated. But it has nothing to do with the holidays or flying.”

  “Reed. That’s a lovely name. I’m Saundra,” she says, a pleased gleam in her gray eyes. “With an ‘a’ and a ‘u’.”

  “I’m actually traveling for work and I’ve got a lot on my plate, so if you don’t mind …” I offer the politest smile I can muster and lift my ear bud before placing it in my left ear.

  “Traveling for work? Over Christmas? Your boss must be a real Scrooge.”

  I harbor a full breath in my lungs, resisting the urge to exhale loudly. “I’m my own boss.”

  I mean, technically the president of the company is a step above me, but he doesn’t have the balls to fire me—not after the information that’s recently come to light … which is part of why I’m making this trip, but that’s neither here nor there.

  “Oh.” Saundra rests her manicured palm on top of the glossy magazine in her lap, brows meeting as she stares at the seatback in front of her.

  Leaning toward the window, I close my eyes and offer a soundless prayer for silence to the merciful Gods of Holiday Airline Travel. Fortunately they hear my plea, because the moment we’re in the air, I steal a quick peak at Saundra and find her passed out, mouth agape, a pink shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

  Turns out, though, that it doesn’t matter. Without Saundra’s gums flapping in my ear, my own thoughts are just as loud and busy, just as focused as ever on the one thing that hasn’t left my mind since the day she left LA: Joa Jolivet.

  Past

  Reed

  I check my watch, waiting for Grosvenor to shuffle in with the newest hire, some recent college graduate from the middle of nowhere. I’m sure she flew out here with Hollywood stars in her eyes and sky-high ambitions that’ll be crushed by the time she finishes her first apartment lease.

  I notice her from my peripheral vision first. Maybe it’s the cherry red sweater that matches her full, glossed lips or the sleek onyx hair draped over her shoulder and tucked behind one ear. A string of pearls circles her neck. She’s a vision of Old Hollywood glam mixed with a modern twist, and I can’t take my fucking eyes off her.

  I want.

  No. I need …

  “Everyone, I’d like you to meet Joa Jolivet,” Grosvenor introduces her, and she offers the sweetest, understated smile I’ve ever seen as her sapphire gaze scans the room, stopping on me.

  “Joa brings with her a masters’ degree in business administration from Purdue University with a focus on finance,” Elliot continues. Deidra yawns and checks her chipped manicure. Maxwell checks his Apple watch for the twentieth time. “Her thesis was on the effect of cryptocurrency on the private financial sector. Quite an impressive read. Highly recommend checking it out if you haven’t yet. Anyway, Joa, we’re thrilled to have you here, and I have no doubt you’ll fit right in.”

  “Thank you, Elliot,” she says. “Excited to be here.”

  She sounds like a nerd, but if she’s a nerd, she’s the sexiest nerd I’ve ever seen in my entire life. />
  I haven’t had the strength to look away yet, and my pen is gripped so tight in my hands I feel the metal bend and threaten to snap.

  Grosvenor drones on with a couple of reminder items and tells us to get back to work.

  The team files out and a couple of people stop and introduce themselves, but I take my time so I have a chance to introduce myself personally.

  Making my way to her once the room has emptied, I watch her shoulders straighten and her lips press flat as she swallows.

  “Reed York,” I say. “You’re on my team.”

  “There are four of us, right?” she asks.

  “Right.”

  “And we all do the same thing?”

  I squint. “Right.”

  “So it’s not technically … your … team,” she says.

  Sassy. Outspoken. Brazen.

  Hot as fuck.

  “Semantics.” I study her for a minute before shaking my head and hiding the smirk on my face with the brush of my hand. “You’re going to keep me on my toes. I can already tell.”

  “Meaning is everything,” she says. “I minored in communications.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m more of a numbers guy,” I tell her. “Anyway, Phillips tasked me with training you, so … lucky you.”

  I can’t help but flash a smirk when I notice the way her chest rises and falls and her eyes shift on mine. I’m all but reading her thoughts at this point.

  Call it a gut feeling, but I’m two hundred percent sure Joa Jolivet wants me.

  And I’m two hundred percent okay with that.

  3

  Joa

  “If you need a buffer, I’m your girl,” Lucy from work says through the speaker on my phone Friday night.

  I’d never so much as mentioned Reed to her in the past. Never brought up our history. Never went into specifics about why I took the transfer. As soon as I stepped onto Illinois soil, nothing else mattered. I left the past in the past where it belonged. Besides, no one wants to draw attention to their bad decisions.

  But tonight, she got an earful.

  “That’s sweet of you, Luc, but I don’t need a buffer,” I say, though the burgeoning pit in my stomach begs to differ. “I’m just going to be professional and cordial and … and … get through it.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” I can almost see her rolling her eyes from behind her signature red frames.

  The Family Stone is paused on my TV, my Hot Toddy is now nothing more than a Lukewarm Todd, and I haven’t stopped pacing since I got home. I’ve even found myself grabbing random things just to touch them and then putting them back in the most random of places. Throw blanket on the bathroom counter? Remote in the fridge? And I can’t stop checking my reflection, though I haven’t the slightest clue what I’m looking for.

  I’m hell bent on standing my ground with Reed come Monday, but I’m not sure how I’m going to do that if the mere mention of him coming to the city has me this frazzled and scattered. He’s the only man in the history of men to make me act and feel like I’m losing my mind, and I hate him for that.

  I stop pacing, but only long enough to check myself in the hall mirror for the billionth time. The woman staring back at me with her familiar onyx hair and hooded baby blue eyes looks equal parts terrified and ready for battle, and of course she does. The enemy is about to cross a line drawn in the sand somewhere around Edgewater, Colorado, where our physical halfway point lies and our work territories are divided.

  “What do you think he wants anyway?” Lucy asks. “It’s just so random that the CFO would plan a last-minute site visit right before the holidays. Do you think he’s going to personally deliver our Christmas bonuses?”

  “Ha. Right. You don’t know him like I do.”

  “Obviously.”

  “He doesn’t give two shits about anyone but himself. He couldn’t be bothered to hop a flight across the country to personally deliver Christmas bonuses. Believe me, he’s got better things to do with his time,” I say.

  “Then what could it be? Are they closing the branch?”

  I thought about that on the ride home tonight but quickly ruled it out. “No way. We’re having our best year yet. We’re outperforming the East Coast with half as many clients. There’s no way they’re cutting us.”

  “Ah, true, true.” Lucy exhales into the receiver. “Then that only leaves one other logical explanation.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He’s coming because of you.”

  If I had a drink in my mouth, I’d spit it out. “Sorry, Luc, but that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. He’s well aware of the fact that I want nothing to do with him.”

  “Is he though? Have you ever actually told him that?”

  “In not so many words, yes,” I say. “Radio silence can be deafeningly loud in the right situations. Plus, we were nothing more than fuck buddies. LA is filled to the brim with beautiful women who would give their left breast implant for a chance to date this asshole. He’s not going to hop on a plane and fly two thousand miles on the off chance he might be able to get a piece from an old co-worker.”

  “When you put it that way … I guess.” She pauses for a second. “It’s just that, when you talk about him, you talk about him like he’s your ex-boyfriend.”

  “I mean, yeah. We spent time together. We took trips—but only because hooking up in the office got old after a bit. It was nice to get away … but we were never dating. He never met my family. I never met his. We never hung out with each other’s friends. Never got together for any reason that didn’t revolve around an orgasm or two …” A cheap thrill zings down my spine and my thighs clench, but I force the excitement away.

  “If he was just some meaningless friend-with-benefits type of thing, I don’t think you’d be this worked up, you know?” Lucy asks. “Whether you dated or not, he’s still an ex. Even if he’s just an ex friend-with-benefits. The two of you have a history. And it might be a little more complicated than you’re willing to admit. And you need to own that or you’re never going to get through this.”

  I let her words soak in for a second, though I refuse to tell her she’s right because she already knows and it’s going to make her already big head even bigger. I can’t be responsible for Lucy Clarke’s head exploding just a few days before Christmas.

  “Own it, Joa,” she says. “Hell, give it a silly name so we can laugh about it. Call the next couple of weeks Exmas or something. You’ll get through this, but only with a sense of humor and a lot of self-reflection.”

  “God, you sound so much like your mother right now, it’s unreal,” I say, referring to world-renowned psychologist and syndicated talk show host, Dr. Candice Clarke.

  “Anyway.” The sound of microwave buttons beeping fills the background of her side of the call. “I’m heating up my Lean Cuisine, and then I’m painting the town with a few girls from spin class. Sure you don’t want to tag along?”

  “Nah. I’m staying in. I’m watching my nieces in the morning so my sister can wrap presents, and I promised I’d bring them sticky rolls, so I’m going to call it a night in a couple of hours.”

  “Lame.”

  “Have a drink for me,” I say, eyeing my Lukewarm Todd, which can probably be further downgraded to a Cool T by now. “See you Monday.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” She hangs up and I dock my phone on a nearby charger.

  Sarah Jessica Parker’s face fills the paused TV screen in my living room—her hair slicked back tight and hands clasped nervously in front of her hips as she meets Dermot Mulroney’s family for the first time. While I can’t relate to her character, I can’t help but love this movie. It’s not exactly a Christmas classic, but it isn’t a holiday season if I don’t watch it at least a handful of times. If Lucy were inside my head right now, she’d probably be analyzing my love for this storyline, saying it represents family and togetherness—which are of utmost importance to me— but also that it represents knowing what you want and then discoveri
ng what you need instead.

  Meredith wanted Everett. But he was all wrong for her. She needed Ben. He made her a better person. He brought out her best qualities while Everett enabled her worst ones.

  Do we ever truly know what we need though until we’re gobsmacked upside the head with it? Seems like that’s always how it works. It’s always easier, I think, to figure out what we don’t need.

  I don’t need Reed York. I know that.

  Life’s a hell of a lot simpler without him wading in my waters, mucking everything up, but the mire should settle as soon as he leaves, and life as I know it will continue on.

  I hit the play button on the remote, and SJP’s expression unfreezes as she goes in for an awkward hug as she meets her boyfriend’s mother for the first time.

  Rivulets of melting snow glide down my living room window, and outside a car pulls into the driveway I share with my next-door neighbor, Mrs. Kellerman. A family of five piles out a second later, grabbing wrapped presents and various-sized suitcases from the trunk, and it brings a smile to my face. Maybe it’s a good thing he’s coming to town over the holidays. Maybe when I’m not at work, I’ll be so busy and distracted by family gatherings and holiday parties and last-minute Christmas shopping and baking to even remember he’s here.

  I microwave my drink before settling in again, trying like hell to keep sharp, focused.

  I can do this.

  I’ve got a full weekend to harden my resolve, to prepare myself for Monday morning.

  Reed York might be a man used to getting everything he’s ever wanted, but Joa Jolivet is a woman who never forgets.

  He might want me, but he’s not getting me.

  Everyone knows naughty boys only get coal for Christmas.

  Past

  Joa

  Zippers. His and mine.

  Breathless sighs. His and mine.