25. CONOR

CHAPTER 25

CONOR

" B reathe."

"I'm breathing," Sierra says in a squeak.

"Deeper." I order, giving her hand a little squeeze. In return, she clutches at my hand in a death grip. I lock every muscle in place not to wince. "Are you sure you're breathing?"

"No. I've decided it's best to pass out right here and have you carry me away. That way neither of us has to be subjected to this torture." She turns a toothy grimace my way.

"I have bad news for you." My voice is a soft whisper that echoes in the hallway, just outside of the conference room at the top floor across from the CEO's office. That's where all the company's executives currently sit. "We've postponed this until the literal last minute. If we don't do this now, it's never."

"Would that be so bad?" Sierra blinks up at me, a little wrinkle appearing on her forehead. "Like, the whole event won't be ruined just because we don't convince the executives to do this. So, why are we even trying?"

"For fun. "

"Whose? Because I'm shaking in my Uggs and you're bathed in sweat."

"It'll be fun when everyone's drunk at the party." I wipe a bead from my brow. "Maybe we should've taken a couple of shots of liquid courage before this."

"I wish," she grumbles.

"In any case, it's too late to run. We already got a spot in the agenda to talk about this and it was announced to them, so…" I swing her arm gently. "Just remember you're not alone in this."

"You better not let me talk all by myself, Conor Mahoney, or else." She narrows those dark eyes of hers that make me feel like she can see right through to the core of me, promising a world of pain if I don't do what she says. I'm pretty sure this is going to be my life from now on, and I don't mind it one bit.

"I won't." I lift her hand, bringing the back of it against my lips. I want to linger in the moment as long as I can, my eyes lost in hers, my lips on her skin, inhaling the soft scent that is only hers—something like a warm, spiced vanilla.

But then the door opens and we jump apart.

Richard's still laughing along at something that must've happened a second ago, and when he turns to face us, Sierra and I are at a respectable distance. "Hey, guys. You ready?"

"Of course."

"Totally."

We're both all smiles and fake bravado—that's how you survive in marketing anyway. It's not that exceptionally brilliant people are required to pitch wild ideas to customers while at the same time gathering intel from them—we're just really big practitioners of the fake it till you make it doctrine, mixed with high levels of determination. I feel it's not that different from being a professional athlete.

I motion for Sierra to walk ahead of me and join her in facing all ten executives, plus Martin Richter, SPORTY 's CEO .

Individually they're all pretty chill, except for Camila Puig. But together, they're ten Camilas. This is why this executive team has taken the brand to worldwide stardom, competing toe and toe with the top European and Asian brands of sportswear and equipment.

A trickle of sweat travels down the middle of my back and I stand stoic against the itch.

"Hi, everyone. Thank you for granting us a few minutes of your time," I start just as Sierra and I rehearsed earlier. "This is Sierra Fernandez, and I'm Conor Mahoney. We work for Richard in marketing and today we'd like to request your support for the annual Christmas event that will take place this Friday."

Our boss nods, which is a little hint for everyone else to be amenable to this. Meanwhile, Camila looks at us as if she couldn't believe we just wasted thirty seconds of her life introducing ourselves to her again.

Sierra takes it from here, seemingly unfazed by the glaring executive. "Now, I'll preface this by clarifying that it isn't a request for further budget. In fact, we've optimized expenses to reduce twenty percent of our allocated budget."

Richard gives us a discreet little thumb up. At the same time, the body languages in general improve. I decide it's best if I ignore Camila altogether for my own mental health.

"What we'd like to ask you is…" I make a strategic pause until I lift a shopping bag and place it at the end of the long table. "That you stick to a very specific dress code."

Martin's eyebrows rise. "Oh?"

"We thought the best way for the employee base to relax and get in a festive mood, aside from spiked eggnog, would be if our executives lead by the example." I put my hand in the bag and grab a fistful of velvety fabric, knowing exactly what I'm about to pull out because I literally packed this bag myself. I take a bracing breath and take out a very familiar looking garment. "Martin, we're thinking this should be your attire."

I hold the red fabric up with my other hand, in case it's not clear to everyone that it's the top half of a Santa outfit.

"And for everyone else…" Sierra repeats the same motion, this time pulling out a green garment. "Santa's helpers."

You could hear a pin drop in the ensuing silence.

How come this doesn't feel like an out of body experience at all? That would make this so much funnier, or at least I wouldn't be so aware of how fast my heartbeat is, or that I'm pretty sure I've soaked through every clothing layer under my armpits.

From the corner of my eye, Sierra appears composed and regal. No one would guess she was five shaky rabbits in a trench coat just a few minutes ago. She has this way more down pat than I do—maybe because she has two years more work experience than me, or because her personality is generally more kickass than mine. She'd have made a fine hockey goalie, to be honest.

But then Andre, the CFO, blows a raspberry that ends in guffaws. "Oh, wow. That's just amazing. I'd have paid big money for this and I'm going to get it for free? Sign me the hell up."

"Did you get my size, you guys?" Richard grins.

I respond solemnly. "Yes, sir. Size L at the top, M at the bottom. One second—" I rummage through the bag until I find Richard's outfit in a smaller package. "Here it is."

"Perfect, throw it over."

I toss it in the air and it lands right in his hands.

Martin slams his hands on the table and stands up, making everyone freeze. His eyes narrow on Sierra and I, and after a long moment he says, "I'll only do it if there's a beard and hat too. "

Sierra's face breaks into a brilliant smile. "Of course. We can also get you a fake beer belly if you want."

Lindsay, the boss of procurement, says, "I didn't know there was beer in the North Pole." She extends her hands out, waiting for her package, and Sierra takes it as the hint to start passing them along. We did our best to estimate the sizes based on eye measurement alone, and it seems to have worked for the most part based on the light conversation around the table.

That is, until Camila Puig receives her outfit.

One by one, all the voices and laughter are snuffed out. We all watch her, waiting for her reaction. I don't think anyone else will drop out just because Camila may be the only odd one out, but it'd definitely make the whole thing weirder.

"Do I really have to?" She sighs.

Sierra and I exchange a glance and I can glean that we're on the same wavelength. That wasn't a firm no.

Before either of us ventures a say, Martin speaks. "Well, it's not mandatory and neither is attendance. However, like our marketing colleagues said, we do lead by example."

"Fine." Camila drops her outfit package on the table and leans back on her chair. "But I'm only wearing the top and I'm ditching the ridiculous hat."

My eye twitches. That's the only reaction I'm brave enough to show, even though I almost feel like doing the celly I favored when I scored a goal—one fist in the air, arm folded as if I were showing off my bicep.

"Excellent, I'm looking forward to getting drunk in this thing," says Felix, our legal exec.

And with that, we win by shutout.

*

Unfortunately, the elevator was packed on our way down to the sales and marketing floor, including our boss, which means Sierra and I couldn't celebrate by giving each other a loud, sloppy kiss the kind that accelerates our cardiac rhythm. Alas, all we can do is sit at our desks, passing along messages on chat and avoiding each other's eyes.

Mahoney, Conor - 11:21am:

You were amazing

Fernandez, Sierra - 11:21am:

So were you

Thank you for not leaving me alone

Mahoney, Conor - 11:21am:

Never

You didn't look nervous at all, how did you do it?

Fernandez, Sierra - 11:21am:

Easy, I was dead on the inside

I snort and duck my head, in case anyone's watching me too closely.

Conor, Mahoney - 11:22am:

Well, now that that's done, it should be smooth sailing from here

Fernandez, Sierra - 11:22am:

Don't you dare jinx it, Mahoney

Conor, Mahoney - 11:22am:

Let's see

Music — check

Catering — check

Props — check

Gifts — wrapped

Execs — festived

Fernandez, Sierra - 11:23am:

That's not a word

My phone pings and I type the next message in our chat quickly.

Conor, Mahoney - 11:23am:

Let me ride this high, woman

After hitting send, I grab my phone and it's still ringing. I tap the green button and bring the device to my ear. "This is Conor Mahoney."

"Mr. Mahoney, it's Joe Malone from Malone and Sons."

That's the carpenter we hired for the booths, so I sit up straighter. "Hi, Mr. Malone. How are you doing? Are the booths coming along?"

Sierra's head pops over the edge of her computer monitor, dark eyes attentive.

"That's precisely what I was calling about," the other man says, clearing his throat. "I'm afraid we have a problem."

"What kind of problem?" At my question, Sierra jumps to her feet so fast that her chair slides backward a few feet. Our other coworkers start looking up like meerkats.

"That big snow we just had stranded one of our trucks with the rest of the wood we needed for the project. I tried to shift around supplies from other jobs but it's not enough. We're short by three booths."

I take a sharp intake of air through my nose.

"Conor? What?" Sierra rounds our desks until she stands right next to me. "What's happening?"

I run a hand through my hair, my attention trained on her as I speak with the carpenter. "Does this mean you're certain that you can't complete the job?"

"That's right." I can tell by the man's voice that this pains him just as much as it does me. "Of course, I'll offer you a refund."

"I—I understand, thank you. If you don't mind, I have to talk with my colleague now to come up with a plan B."

"Right, sorry for the inconvenience."

"No, thank you," I grumble and we disconnect the call.

"Conor!" Sierra grabs my shoulders and gives me a shake. "You're killing me, what happened with the booths?"

"We're going to be short by three." I explain the situation through gritted teeth. "Sorry, it looks like I jinxed it."

"I didn't know you had the power to make it snow." She cries, throwing her hands in the air and letting them fall on her face. "Ugh, this ruins the whole plan. What are we going to do now?"

Sighing, I get up and pull her against me, wrapping my arms around her. It works, because she immediately relaxes against me. I bury my face in her curls. "We could call every carpenter in town."

"The lead time is too tight, I'm sure they're full booked by now," she mumbles against my chest. "Or they're all on holiday already."

"What if we go to a hardware store, buy some plywood, and make the booths ourselves?"

"I know you like chopping wood but have you ever worked with it before? Because I haven't."

"I'm afraid not." I run my hands up and down her back. "Are there any booths we could transform into simple tables?"

"Sure, but where's the magic in that?" She sounds deadpanned at the suggestion. "If only there were Christmas booths just laying around that we could borrow."

I lift my head, blinking hard without seeing anything. Then Sierra does the same, and a microsecond later we pull away and speak at the same time.

"The Christmas fair!"

I snap my fingers. "That's it, Christmas is saved."

"Don't jinx it again, Mahoney." She twists out of my arms to palm her pockets until she produces her cellphone. "First, we need to see if it's still open."

"If not, I'm sure someone at the convention center can give us a lead." I grab my car keys with one hand and my coat with the other. "I'll drive until the end of the earth if it means I can come back in time for the event with three damn booths."

"Let's go." Sierra nods at me and rushes to her side to pick up her things.

That's when someone else clears their throat.

We both freeze in midair and I guess Sierra is having the same realization as me—which is that we got so wrapped up in the disaster, we might have forgotten that we weren't on our own.

All our colleagues, including our freaking boss, watch us with equal levels of interest. Except for Rachel—she seems more amused than surprised. I guess Sierra must've told her we started dating already.

"What just happened?" Lewis asks with his mouth hanging open.

"I think…" Kaylee starts slowly. "That y'all just lost a bet, suckers!"

"Hah!" Rachel jumps to her feet and claps her hands. "Pay up."

Sierra's expression grows sour and she mumbles something in Spanish that I have no hope of understanding from my Duolingo skills alone. As she finishes shrugging her coat on, she says, "Let's deal with this later. We have more pressing concerns right now. "

"Right." I clear my throat and give her a wide berth as we head over to the elevators.

Except right before we're out of our colleagues' sight, Sierra slips her hand in mine and the stooges explode in hoots and hollers. I turn to Sierra but she's smiling like she did it on purpose.

And that's how the entire company finds out the formerly bitter rivals are now an item.