26. SIERRA

CHAPTER 26

SIERRA

" W as that okay?" Conor grips the steering wheel harder as if trying to anchor himself. I don't understand why his sudden nerves, though. A quick glance at me has him adding, "I mean, that I blew our cover in a moment of panic and now basically the entire universe will know we're dating?"

"Oh." I lean back against my seat, fiddling with the strap of the seatbelt. "Um, it's earlier than I anticipated revealing this but it's fine. It's not like we're just fooling around." I pause. "Or are we?"

"Nope." His lips make the p pop loudly. "I'm dead serious about you."

He has to keep his attention on the road, but I'm free to stare at him all I want. I gnaw at my bottom lip, wondering if to share what's on my mind or keep quiet. But I'm not very good at secrets anyway, so here it goes.

"It's just, I'm nervous about how this will reflect on me."

He shifts his pretty brown eyes to mine for a second. "What do you mean?"

I take a deep breath and turn to the window. "The scary part about an office romance is that, if it doesn't work out, it's usually the woman with something to lose. That's why I wanted us to be a bit more, I don't know, firm, before we said anything."

Suddenly his hand's on my knee. "I get the theory," Conor says, "and I will crush whoever dares to talk shit about you."

"Thanks." I snort through my nose and pick up his hand between mine, observing the straight fingers, the tendons and veins showing in the back. "But even if SPORTY has a pretty decent environment, it's just how things are in this crappy society. Besides, my reputation is just a few levels below Camila's in light of how I used to treat you, and I'm sure a few of your fans will be very annoyed to find out you like me anyway."

"The solution is for me to scream it higher, then." He shifts his hand until he's lacing his fingers with mine. "Say, maybe we should have a date in front of the whole company."

"What?"

"At the Christmas party." His lips stretch into a grin. "Let's kiss under the mistletoe."

My jaw drops. "You're kidding."

"Not one bit. And based on what you're saying, we need to mark each other's territory pronto."

"That sounds so caveman." I scoff and after a moment, I say, "Deal."

Conor chuckles, and the sound is enough to dissipate that worry from my belly. Another one stays roiling in it, though. "Now, all we need is for these booths to work out and we'll be on track for ten grand each and a promotion for me."

"Hah! That's a good one. You mean ten grand each and a promotion for me?" Conor teases back.

"Don't be mistaken, dating hasn't changed the fact that I'll be the one on top."

He bobs his head all nonchalant for someone who just got thrown a major challenge at him. "I admit I do like you on top."

"Conor!" I still have hold of his hand so it's easy to smack his arm.

"What?" he asks all innocent like, not even bothered by my smack. "I was pretty sure you liked sitting on my thighs and having my hands all over you this morning."

Heat rushes not just to my face, but everywhere else, and I'm not sure what I can do with it while we're strapped inside the cabin of his pickup truck going forty miles per hour. I drop his hand on his own lap and say, "Ugh, is this what dating you is going to be like from now on?"

"Yes." But then he shakes his head. "No, I'm probably going to get worse, actually." For a brief moment, he turns to me while licking his lips in a way that makes the heat in my belly turn positively volcanic. "You're making me lose my mind, Sierra. I've been dreaming about you every night since we kissed the first time."

I suck in all the air in the space, which makes me choke. All the little prick does is laugh with that husky voice of his while he drives us the rest of the way downtown at a snail pace.

Thing is, my shock isn't because of what he said, per se. It's because I've had the exact same problem the past few nights. Like just a few kisses from him have awakened my hormones to a level I'd never felt before. I've leapt the stage of I find him hot straight into I'll mark my territory soon like a freaking cavewoman—and soon can't be soon enough.

Finally, we arrive at the convention center and we hastily exit the truck. We grab hands as we dash across the half empty parking lot, leaving plums of breath in our wake. It only clicks with me that something's weird when Conor and I make it to the entrance.

"Wait." I breathe with difficulty, and it's not because of the run. The ticket counter is closed and the gaudy decorations we saw last time are gone. The sign welcoming us to the Christmas market fair is missing and there's literally not a soul in sight. "Oh, no."

Conor pushes through the inner door leading to the convention floor, and holds it open for me. As we walk in, all that's missing is the tumbleweed to make the scene even more devastating.

The whole thing is empty.

The only proof that there ever was a Christmas fair is a few strands of golden tinsel strewn on the carpet here, some red glitter there, a few green leaves over there. Even my harsh breathing echoes in the vast emptiness.

"What are we going to do?" I whine.

Conor tightens his hold on my hand. "We won't give up yet. Let's see if we find anyone."

"What for? Everything's been cleared. We're screwed." I drag my feet after him and at first, it feels like we're walking aimlessly until I realize he's following the overhead signs that guide the way to some offices beyond a corridor.

It's warmer here, which is the first sign of life we've found since we arrived. Conor struts like he owns the place, I don't know if it's because he's been here before or if he's just that determined to make this work. It must be a hardcore athlete thing, that of not giving up easily, and I'm so glad I have him to snap me out of my spirals. He did the same thing earlier when I was freaking out before talking with the executives, and if it hadn't been for his encouragement I'd have collapsed under the weight of my own fear of failure.

The wall on the right opens to a counter and behind it sits an older lady clicking away at a computer keyboard.

At last, human life.

"Excuse me, ma'am," Conor says with his most polite voice. "We work at SPORTY and we're interested in talking about an event we need help with. "

Succinct message loaded with keywords that should get us some results. I could kiss the guy for his brilliance right now.

Slowly, the woman tears her attention from what we're interrupting and she blinks up at Conor. "Wait, aren't you Conrad's grandson?"

"Uh, yes." He glances at me, as if checking for any clues as to whether this is good or bad news.

"He did say his grandson works at SPORTY one time at bingo." She rummages around on her desk behind the counter until she brings up a clipboard with a pen. "Fill in this interest form. Although you didn't have to come all the way here, you know? You could've set an appointment online."

"Actually, ma'am, um…" I clear my throat once her pointed stare turns to me. "I'm afraid we're on an aggressive time schedule. We were hoping we could talk with someone now… or today. Any time today is fine."

She scowls and pushes her glasses higher by the corner of one lens. "You're lucky that today is a slow day, but I won't guarantee anything until I talk with the boss." Grunting, she pushes to her feet and turns away saying, "Be right back."

"Right. Thank you." As she disappears behind a door, I say to Conor, "I could kiss your grandfather right now."

"How about you kiss me instead?" He tilts his head and taps his cheek right above the trimmed edge of his beard.

I shake my head. "How are you so calm?"

"Me? Calm?" He scoffs. "I'm about to pop one extra anti-anxiety pill."

"Does this help?" I pull him lower by his arm and peck his cheek right where he pointed before.

The rascal turns his face right before I lean away, and steals a quick taste of my lips that makes my toes curl in my Uggs. "Oh, yeah. That's the best medicine." Conor smirks as he pulls away.

Fortunately—or unfortunately—that's when the receptionist walks back out. "You're in luck. The boss is between meetings and she'll see you now. Follow me."

Conor raises a fist in celebration and I send me most heartfelt thanks up to the heavens. We all but skip after the older woman as she takes us down a narrower hallway, until she stops at an office door embossed with a woman's name and the title Event Center CEO below it. She knocks on the door and a voice sounds from inside.

"Come in!"

The receptionist opens the door and motions us in. This time I lead the charge pulling Conor by his hand, and I stop in the middle of a nice office that overlooks the parking lot. The biggest contrast is that the inside is decked in so many Christmas decorations, this space could be its own fair.

"Please, take a seat." The boss points at the chairs by her desk, and Conor and I scramble to do as bid. "What can I do for you?"

"Right, we—" My words die in my lips when I zero in on the woman's face. Blonde hair, crimson lips, dark eyes, a heart-shaped face… somehow she rings a bell but I can't pinpoint where I might've met her.

She's the one who snaps her fingers. "Oh, I know you two! You were the cute couple who refused to kiss under the mistletoe. I take it you've changed your minds since?" She points at our joined hands.

My mind plucks the memory of her in a revealing Mrs. Claus costume a few weeks back. "You were at the fair."

"That's right." She tosses her hair over her shoulder.

"I thought you were a booth owner," Conor says, eyebrows raised.

"Nah, that's what I let everyone think this year. I'd rather change out of these boring clothes and into something more festive," she says, motioning at her red cardigan. "But I assume that's not what you were here for. SPORTY , huh? "

Conor switches back to business faster than I can. "Yes, we actually need your help for the annual Christmas event that our company puts together."

"Hmm, we're a week away from Christmas so I assume your event will be happening in the next few days. The problem is that we're already booked with a Christmas themed art exhibition that we'll start installing tomorrow."

"It's not the venue we need," I say, leaning forward. "It's the booths you had during the market fair."

She blinks her perfectly made up eyes. "The booths."

"Yes, we need to rent them for our event. Our supplier had some issues and we're fresh out of booths."

"And it doesn't matter if the owners live far away," Conor adds in a rush. "We have a pickup truck and we can just go get them if you help us contact them. We're more than happy to compensate everyone generously."

That's right, screw our twenty percent budget savings.

The woman waves her hand. "That won't be necessary?—"

"But—"

"Because the booths are ours."

Both Conor and I gasp.

"There's only one problem," she continues saying. "They're already in storage along with five million other props and equipment, and they're also fully disassembled already."

"We're more than happy to find them and assemble them ourselves," I say.

"That's great, but we'll need our facility manager too and he's… kind of particular." She picks up the receiver of a landline phone, and presses some digits on the pad that eventually connect her to this guy. We can hear the droll of his voice from the other end, but the conversation ends quickly and if it wasn't for her nods, I'd fear he isn't willing to help.

However, some ten minutes later we stand next to the facility manager inside a large warehouse that is packed with floor to ceiling shelves. In turn, they're brimming with junk in all sizes from shoeboxes to whole crates.

The guy is less nice than the CEO, because he slaps some work gloves on our hands and walks off without even telling us where he stored the booth parts in the first place.

I glare at his retreating back before turning to Conor. "I guess we don't actually need his help. How hard can it be to find those big, super festive-looking booths?"

"So long as they're not wrapped, we should be able to find them easy enough." Conor tucks his winter gloves in the pocket of his jacket and replaces them for the neoprene coated ones. "Should we divide and conquer?"

"Good plan or midnight will catch us out here. I'll take the next aisle over and you check this one."

"Roger that." He salutes and I swivel on my heels. "Wait."

His hand closes around my arm and he pulls me towards him. My back lands against his chest and before I can react, his fingers tilt my chin back and his head obscures the overhead lights. His lips aren't perfectly aligned with mine but for some reason, that shoots tendrils of sensation down my entire body.

"For the road," he says as he pulls away.

I gape after his back, and it takes shaking my head like a dog to snap out of the desire to push him against one of these shelves and have my way with him.

"This freaking guy," I grumble as I march over to the next aisle. "He's going to give me a heart attack one of these days."

Anyway, I better get to work if only to distract myself from the tornado of hormones whipping my insides. I'm not sure how disassembled booths even look like but I remember that they were painted brown, with uneven white trimming and decorations that made them look like oversized gingerbread houses. I ignore everything that looks too small or has too much volume, and find a crate with a pile of flat sheets. I rush over to it, but it looks like a bunch of tables instead .

"I think I found something," Conor announces from the aisle behind mine.

"Oh?" I pick up speed around the shelves. "Should we call the facility guy?"

"No, I think I got it. All I have to?—"

But right as I round the corner, his voice cuts off and the shelf rocks dangerously.

I gasp—that's all I can do as I watch Conor take a step back to look up. But the movement causes whatever he's been pulling to come loose, and as it slides down it sends more junk tumbling.

"Conor!"

He puts an arm up but that's not enough. The piece of booth knocks a big box over and it falls on Conor's head.

The same head he once told me was a ticking bomb.

And down he goes.