28. SIERRA

CHAPTER 28

SIERRA

A fter enough drama to last me a lifetime, the annual SPORTY Christmas event is finally underway. The spiked eggnog is flowing, the canapés are vanishing into ravenous mouths, the games are being played, the gifts are being taken, and I finally have a moment of seclusion and peace all by myself in Gramps's office.

Do I feel bad for leaving Conor to the wolves? A little, but I just need five minutes to gather myself. I feel as if parts of me were scattered all over the place and that's why I can't function.

After securing the three booths from the convention center after Conor's accident, we spent the next two days installing them and decorating this place along with the help of some part-timers. Last night blended into this morning with all the finishing touches, and Conor and I took a nap in his truck before showering in the locker rooms, changing into our party outfits, and receiving the caterers.

That was when I realized we forgot to hire out the gingerbread cookie baker so we could have cookies to throw Conor's axes to in one of the booths.

After a moment of panic, I had to run around town visiting bakeries and supermarkets until I collected enough cookies to destroy tonight. By the time I came back to the rink, the first few guests were already arriving.

I couldn't even describe what all transpired after that. It's been a blur since of passing along information brochures but still having to explain everything anyway, to running around putting out figurative little fires here and there. I put on my comfiest sneakers for today and my feet are still so sore I can barely feel them.

I'm sure Conor feels just as tired and would love a respite, but he was surrounded by tipsy people the moment I found myself free, and so I ran for my life. I'll apologize with kisses when I can move again.

I groan to my heart's content as I place my feet on the coffee table and lean my head back on the sofa. I'm just closing my eyes when the door opens to a familiar voice.

"Has anyone told you that groan should be illegal?"

I crack an eye open. Conor doesn't look any less hot just because he's wearing a sweater with a massive reindeer at the front, complete with a red light-up nose. In fact, somehow enhancing his dork side makes him look even better. Not to mention, he somehow carved some time yesterday to trim his hair and beard and it's doing things to me.

"Has anyone told you that your face should be illegal? It makes a girl have naughty thoughts."

His eyebrows rise. "Oh yeah? Tell me more."

"Sorry, I don't have the energy to flirt more than this right now," I say with a weak laugh.

Clearly, he's not as drained as I am because he takes one look at the empty space beside me on the couch, and instead of joining me he offers a hand. "C'mon, save the adrenaline crash for the weekend."

I whine. "But, but… "

"We didn't put together this massive party to not enjoy ourselves too, right?"

"Kind of? I'm having tons of fun right now—ugh." There's nothing I can do but be hauled up to my feet by the power of his hands, although it's not so bad to land against his chest. I free my hands to wrap my arms around him like velcro and inhale the manly scent of his cologne. "Scratch that, I'm definitely enjoying myself now ."

His chest vibrates with chuckles and he runs those big, warm hands of his up and down my back in a quite respectful way. What a bummer.

"You do know that if we're gone too long people will start talking, right?" he murmurs against my hair.

"Let them talk."

"I thought you were annoyed by all the gossip about us this week."

I nod, which rubs my cheek against him. "I was until this very minute."

"Don't make me carry you on my shoulder."

"You wouldn't." My words come out in a mumble because one of his hands has found my nape and is giving it a little massage that is short-circuiting my brain.

"I would. You make me feel very neanderthal."

"Hmm." That's good to know, but I'll have to make use of that information later and for a completely different setting. "Fine, let's go." Sighing, I separate from him as slowly as I can.

Conor slides one hand down my arm until twining our fingers, and keeps me on the spot as he observes my sweater. A corner of his lips lifts. "Ironic."

My sweater is the body of a gingerbread cookie, its arms running down the sleeves and my head acting as its head. I snort. "I know, it was what reminded me that we had forgotten about the cookies."

"It's like we were on the brink of disaster everyday without realizing it." He tugs me out of the office and shuts the lights as we go.

"That's kind of how the past month has felt," I counter, swinging his arm. "Except some really amazing stuff has come out of it."

"Like what?" Conor wags his eyebrows, no doubt hoping to hear his name from my lips.

Instead, what I say is, "Like ten grand and a promotion for me."

He groans. "I thought love was more important than money."

"Love, huh?"

I stop us at the end of the hallway right before the sprig of mistletoe we hung in the morning. Just beyond us, the party's roaring with hundreds of SPORTY headquarters employees and their plus ones. As Gramps is the owner of the venue and that allows him free pass, Conor gifted me his plus one ticket so that both of my parents could come. They're hanging out with Gramps somewhere, either skating or tasting the catering goods together as if today wasn't the first time they were meeting. As if the relationship between Conor and I wasn't moving at warp speed because it's so right. As if Conor and I weren't perfect for each other, in all our imperfections and our desire for the same promotion.

"Uh… Too soon, right?" He's rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks growing pinker the more I stare at him.

"Nope. Right at the Conor and Sierra pace." I grab a fistful of his sweater and drag him right under the mistletoe. We're both pulled by the same invisible string that tugs smiles on our faces right before we kiss, my arms around his neck and his circling my waist.

The people nearby break into hoots and hollers like they've been doing all night every time a couple finds themselves under the sprigs we tied here and there. I can't believe I was ever so against it when it found me what I didn't know I was missing.

Conor breaks apart enough to speak, though he keeps his forehead against mine. "So, you too?"

"Conor." His name comes out as a whine. "I'm pretty sure I was already halfway there when I thought I hated you."

"Let the record show I never hated you."

He lifts me up in the air and swallows my yelp with another kiss, this one open mouthed and so hungry that it makes my face flame up because there are still people cheering us nearby. I pull away with a gasp and Conor has the nerve to grin up at me.

"Never mind me, just marking my territory."

"Cave troll." I smack his shoulder but grin. "Let's go find a different mistletoe to make out under."

Laughing, Conor slides me down back on my feet and it's when someone starts wolf whistling that I figure we better get ourselves occupied with something other than each other, or we're going to start giving a show that will get HR on our case.

"Good job," one of the sales guys palms Conor's back as we pass. The wink he sends Conor's way suggests he's not exactly referring to the event.

"Ugh, that could've been me," a woman from accounting says with a glare directed at me.

I raise an eyebrow at Conor, who's not missing a thing but is pretending like he is. The only tell is that he keeps biting his lips to contain the laughter dancing in his eyes.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" I ask under my breath.

"Oh yeah, I want everyone to know that you're mine."

Then he does the same move from the catering test, when we pretended to be together for a moment. He circles his arm around my back, his hand settling at my hip in a very possessive way. I enjoyed it then as much as I am now, and only because this is a work event I don't slide my hand in his back pocket. I just hook two fingers on his belt loop.

We're following the circuit in reverse, stopping here and there for a quick chat with coworkers. Questions are still the main topic, but we keep being held up by people wanting to know how the biggest rivals in the company got together all of a sudden.

Conor takes care of those. He's really good at joking around without actually saying anything incriminating or useful, and still leaving smiling people behind him. It allows me to just rest my head against his chest and rest, and I admit this is way better than Gramps's office couch.

Eventually, we make it to the start of the circuit, which is the booze booth. There are tens of people lining up for a repeat attempt of the so called Guess the Spike game. It's basically just sipping from different eggnogs and if you guess what kind of alcohol they were spiked with, you win a ticket for more time at the ball pit to fish for gifts.

When it's our turn, the part-timers recognize us right away and I say, "Skip the spiel and pour me rum eggnog."

"The brandy one for me," says Conor.

We step aside after gathering our goods, clink our themed paper cups, and take hearty swigs.

"I have something for you." Conor leads me down the seats towards the ice rink.

"Huh?" I stay confused until he sits me on some chair at the front row, except it's not random because he pulls out a nicely wrapped box from right under it, and places it on my lap. "What?"

He's kneeling on the floor and motions at it with his chin. "Open it."

"I know we've moved quite fast but it's too early for a ring." I joke, knowing full well there isn't a ring this ginormous in the world. The box is kind of heavy and I won't try to shake it, but I hesitate to open it. "Conor, I didn't think about getting you a gift."

"Don't worry about it, this one is for my own selfish purposes." He tilts his chin toward it once more.

I'm the kind of monster who takes her sweet ass time unwrapping gifts, trying not to tear the paper. I can tell Conor's losing his ever loving mind on the inside by the way his eyes keep widening with impatience. Chuckling, I decide to free him from his misery and tear the paper the rest of the way.

"Hah!" I lift up the box and laugh now that I can see what it is—a brand new pair of skates. "I get it now."

Grinning, Conor reaches under the next seat and pulls out a sports bag. When he unzips it, it reveals his own well loved pair. "Now we can have tons and tons of skating dates whenever we want."

"You ice dork." I lean to place a peck on his lips. "Guess I know what to get you for Christmas now."

"Something baseball related, isn't it?" he asks as he does much quicker work of changing out of his shoes and into his skates than I possibly can.

"You know it. I'll make you the best beer leaguer in town. We start training next week."

"Looking forward to it."

Conor helps me finish my laces and then doesn't let go of my hand as we set out for the ice.

A group of tipsy people tumble into each other like bowling pins and one of the part-timers immediately skates over to assess the situation for any damage. We watch as the part-timer collects their names and after they go, he feeds them into a walkie talkie for the booze booth part-timers to ban them from further spiked eggnog. Assigning people for this duty was a stroke of genius from Conor after the incident with the booths, when safety became of the utmost importance .

Said genius gifts me a bright smile after that whole little episode. I elbow him gently. "Good job, Conor. Without you, this whole thing would've been a disaster."

"Oh." He blinks as if taken aback. "Well, I wouldn't have managed any of this on my own to begin with."

"We both deserve the ten grand and this." I curl my finger at him and he takes the hint right away, sliding closer and leaning down for a kiss.

Except someone else clears their throat and says, "But only one will get the promotion."

Conor and I jerk away by reflex. Thankfully, the boards are right behind me and I don't fall flat on my derriere. Richard, our boss, has a smile on his face that makes me nervous. Given that he's been a strong supporter of this relationship before it was even born, I'm not too concerned with what he just heard or almost saw. It's more about what he just said.

"Oh, hey, Richard. Having a good time?" I ask as I recover my balance with the help of Conor's arm.

"Absolutely, you both truly put together the immersive experience you promised. Thanks to the eggnog and the games, I feel both like an adult and a child at the same time."

"That's great." Conor smiles with way more ease than I feel. "We're so glad it met your expectations."

"And then some." Richard makes a pause. "Both of you did. And I really wish HR had approved two promotions instead of just one."

"We're sure we can't split the promotion?" I joke but at the same time I wish it was possible.

Richard shakes his head. "Alas. Now, do you want me to tell you who's getting it now, or will that spoil the night's fun?"

Conor turns to me and I look up into his eyes. He's serene, and I don't know him to be the kind of person who masks his thoughts or feelings. This must mean he's fine either way and, surprisingly, so am I .

The Sierra of a month ago would be dishing out barbs to relieve the panic rising on the inside. Right now I feel nervous for sure, but I'm not scared. If Conor gets the promotion, I'll be thrilled for him because I know how hard he's worked to put together this event. It's opened my eyes to understand that's the same mettle he's given his job at SPORTY ever since he started.

I'd be sad for myself because I've worked damn hard too, but that wouldn't take away from his accomplishment. His success doesn't take away from mine. In fact, if it makes him happy, I'll be happy too.

I hug his arm tighter and turn back to Richard. "I think we can hear it now."

"All right." Richard takes turns observing Conor and me, and finally opens his mouth to announce who's getting the promotion.