Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

HOLLY

A t work the following morning, I take my camera and tour the office, interviewing people about how their Secret Santa is going. Most people are keeping everything casual as they should be. Nobody mentions nicknames or about becoming borderline obsessively curious about their Santas.

Nobody mentions wondering if their Santa is their brother’s best friend.

What am I basing that on? He said, “ Fake it until you make it .” That’s a common phrase. He talked about my body-image stuff and called it “black-and-white thinking”—again, a common phrase.

Somehow, I wish for it to be true while knowing I shouldn’t. Dan has been much happier and less stressed since Asher came home. It’s not like he was miserable before, but he’s got an extra spring in his step now.

When I swing by the product design department, Asher is elsewhere, having a meeting. Derek sees me and rushes over. He seems less OTT than usual. I feel sympathy for him. Sometimes, I think he’s just trying his best to be friendly.

“Working on a new project, Holly?” he says.

“I’m interviewing people about their Secret Santa,” I tell him.

“Wow, that sounds awesome,” he grins. “Do you want to interview me? I don’t mind. I’ve got a free ten minutes. You don’t have to.”

“Uh, sure.”

Why did I say that? I couldn’t think of an excuse quickly enough. Also, I want things to be normal with Derek. I don’t want to lead him on either. It’s not fair that I’m thinking like this.

He sits at his desk, takes a comb from his top drawer, and methodically combs his hair. I don’t want to be judgmental, but it has American Psycho vibes—so much for not being judgmental.

I switch on my camera.

“Aren’t you going to use a tripod?” he says with a frown.

“I want a more naturalistic look,” I tell him, annoyed he’s telling me how to do my job.

“Oh, okay.” He puts his comb down. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m prepared to give you the best interview of your life … to really knock your socks off.” He grins. “Maybe even impress you so much you’ll let me ask you on a date. Hey, what are you doing?”

People around us are looking, no doubt wondering why Derek’s being so weird.

I switch off my camera. “Derek, I’ve talked to you about this. I’m not interested in going on a date with you. I’m sorry this isn’t the answer you want, but I’d like to keep things professional between us.”

“I was just making a comment ,” he says in disgust. “There’s no reason to overreact.”

“I don’t see this as an overreaction,” I say brusquely. “You’ve asked me several times, and I’ve said no every time. I’m not sure why you think this time would be different, but it’s not. I’m going to interview somebody else.”

I interview one of his colleagues on the design team. Her name is Mia. Before I turn on the camera, she mutters, “I’m sorry about Derek. He can be a real ass.”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

She gives a good interview with usable footage for sure. The only hitch is that Asher returns from his meeting about halfway through. He strides across the office with long, confident steps. Mia looks up as if she can’t take her eyes off him. Jealousy makes me want to scream.

I push it down and continue my work, but I can’t ignore it.

When I finish the recording, I see Derek has just left Asher’s office. Asher stands at the door, his hands behind his back, his built form filling the frame. His Christmas cheer from yesterday seems to have evaporated.

“Holly,” he calls out to me. “Can I speak with you for a moment?”

Derek glares at me as I pack my camera away. I’m also far too aware of Mia ogling Asher. I like her. She gave me some great footage, but her focus on Asher annoys me.

“What’s up?” I say, joining Asher in his office.

He closes the door, meaning he brushes close to me. I can smell his cologne— woodsy with a side of manly musk. Yesterday, when he grabbed my hips, I almost lost it.

“What’s with that Derek guy?”

“What do you mean?”

“He was just in here whining about you recording the video. He said you were being too loud, distracting everyone from their work. Apparently, he asked you to be quiet, and you snapped at him.” Asher smirks. “Somehow, Snowflake, I find that difficult to believe.”

“Oh, God. This is just getting silly now.”

“What is?”

“He’s been asking me out for months. I’ve told him no, but he won’t quit. When I came to record some videos today, he volunteered, but then he got weird about it. I ended the interview. I guess he didn’t take it well.”

“He’s harassing you?” Asher asks, his hands curling into fists.

He looks as jealous as I felt when I saw Mia ogling him.

“I wouldn’t go that far …”

“How else would you describe it?” he counters. “He’s got no right to do that, that bastard. He needs to back off. If you say no, you mean no . What part of that doesn’t he understand?”

I grab Asher’s arm when he rushes toward the door. “What are you doing?”

“What do you think?” he snaps. “I’m going to teach him some manners.”

“What, you’re going to hit him?”

Asher spins to face me. His chest is heaving, smoke practically coming out of his nose. I’ve never seen him this angry before. “You should be able to do your work without some asshole harassing you.”

“This isn’t your choice to make.”

“So, you’re okay with it?”

“No, I’m not,” I sigh, “but I’m handling it. You don’t get to run out there and humiliate me in front of everyone. What will people think if you go out there like this?”

He takes my hand. “What are you saying?”

“Look at you, Asher. They might get the wrong impression,” I say, waving my other hand in his direction.

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re angry because you’re a good guy. You don’t want a member of your team acting inappropriately. I get all that, but if you go out there like this, people will think there’s more going on.”

“Stop dancing around it, Snowflake,” he snaps back.

“Do you need me to spell it out? They’ll think something is going on between us, Asher. So leave it, okay? I can handle this myself.”

I push past him, meaning to open the door and quickly leave. His arm shoots out and wraps around my waist, hauling me to him like yesterday. Only this time, he pushes me against the wall. I gasp when his lips are suddenly on mine.

Is this happening? It’s like a dream.

I know I should stop.

Instead, I slide my hands up his arm and feel his muscles and heat. He groans as our mouths open, my onetime bully kissing me with so much passion that I light up like a Christmas tree. His touch sinks hungrily into my hips.

His manhood pushes against my belly through his pants.

What are we doing? I push against his chest.

“Stop.”

He takes a step back, shuddering. Suddenly, his expression fills with panic.

“Holly—”

“I know.”

“I didn’t plan on doing that.”

“I know,” I whisper, wiping my mouth, wanting to kiss him again but understanding I can’t—ever. “This never happened, Asher.”

“I …” He reaches for my hand but stops halfway. “You’re right. This never happened.” It sounds like it’s difficult for him to push these words out. “Snowflake …”

“No more Snowflake . No more confusion. This never happened, and that’s that.”

I leave the office, my heart threatening to break out of my chest. When I return to my desk, it all feels like a dream. Years ago, I imagined kissing Asher. Then he returned, but I never imagined it would feel so perfect.

That evening, Asher eats at a restaurant. I think he’s avoiding the apartment. I get it.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the kiss all day. He grabbed me like he owned me and wanted to unwrap me like a gift, spending the entire day obsessing over me. When he stepped back, I knew he wanted to do it again. He was struggling to maintain some semblance of control.

My phone buzzes. No, not mine. The Secret Santa one.

Surely, this proves that it’s not Asher. He wouldn’t be texting me after what happened if it were him. I thought he was going to stop me from leaving his office, grab me, and kiss me again. I told him I didn’t want him to, but I wouldn’t have been mad if he had. That’s pretty messed up.

My Secret Santa: Are you going quiet on me?

Me: I’ve already told you I need to know what you want for a gift, I reply.

I can’t flirt with my Secret Santa anymore. Well, I’m not sure I was ever flirting with him. I don’t want to flirt with anybody who isn’t Asher, so I’m destined to become a spinster and never find a man.

I don’t want anybody else if I can’t have my brother’s best friend.

My Secret Santa: You seem different .

Me: How could you possibly tell that through a text? I hammer the touchscreen keyboard so hard; it’s a miracle I don’t shatter it.

My Secret Santa: Texting can reveal more than a person might think, both in what they say and what they don’t. You usually seem filled with Christmas cheer.

Me: Perhaps I’m tired of faking it until I make it. Maybe I don’t want to be the human equivalent of a greeting card anymore. Sometimes, life gets complicated, and I don’t feel like performing for you, myself, or anybody.

I study the text, then delete it. Whoever this is, they don’t need me lumbering them with all my baggage.

My Secret Santa: You can get me a T-shirt, he texts.

Me: I thought that was a joke.

My Secret Santa: It doesn’t need to have a Christmas logo or slogan on it. We don’t need to text anymore, either.

Me: Are you pouting as you type this?

My Secret Santa: I don’t want to bother you if you don’t want to be bothered.

Me: Again, Secret Santa, I’m not sure how you know that— unless he is Asher.