All I Want For Christmas Is You - Vi Keeland Page 0,85

don’t have the letter?” I shriek as she gets the cast on her foot set. The doctor looks up at me. “Sorry,” I say to him and then turn back to glare at Tiff.

“I’m saying I had the letter in my back pocket, and now it’s not there,” she tells me, and I pace in the middle of the hospital room. “Relax.”

I look over at her, and she laughs. “It could be anywhere.” Closing my eyes, I don’t say anything else to her because it’s no use. She’s been loopy ever since they gave her the pain pill. “Shit,” she says, and I look at her. “I could have dropped it in his truck.” I don’t say another word to her.

“This is worse than I thought,” I say when the doctor walks out of the room.

“How much worse can it be?” She looks at me. “He obviously read the letter.”

My stomach sinks down to my feet. I put my hand to my stomach. “Nothing you’re saying is helping,” I tell her. “Nothing.”

“It’s finally out of there,” she says. “Yay,” she cheers with her hands, and I close my eyes and pray for the floor to open and swallow me whole.

I tossed and turned all night, dreading coming into work today. I step out of the elevator and see Sharon at the desk with a Christmas light necklace and dangly snowman earrings. “Ho, ho, ho,” she says, and I just smile at her.

“Morning.” I nod and make my way to my desk. The office looks very different from last night. I put my purse on my desk and see that Zach’s door is open, meaning he’s in. I shrug off my jacket and make my way over to the closet to hang it.

I’m on my way back to my desk when Zach comes out of his office, and I stop walking. His black hair looks like he just ran his fingers through it. His white button-down shirt is already rolled up at the sleeves, showing off his silver Rolex. “Chloe.” He addresses me, and his blue eyes are darker today.

“Morning,” I say, my stomach flipping. On the first day I started here, he was wearing a blue suit, and I kept thinking about how good-looking he was. Every day, we worked side by side on mergers, and I learned so much from him, but I ignored my feelings for him. Yet when our hands touched by accident or he put his hand at the base of my back when I walked ahead of him, I couldn’t ignore that I had fallen for him.

“If you have a minute, I’d like to talk to you about something,” he says, putting down a file on my desk. He turns to walk back into his office, and I follow him.

“How is Tiff?” he asks, and I stand there with my hands in front of me.

My heart starts to beat faster and faster. “She’s okay,” I say. “She broke her foot.

“What were you doing here?” He looks at me, putting his hands on the desk.

“Um,” I start to say, “I work here.” I try to play it off as if nothing.

“Last night.” His finger taps on his desk.

“Oh.” I try to steady my breathing and pray I don’t have a full-blown panic attack. “I forgot my key,” I tell him, trying to be as cool as can be, “to my apartment.”

“Don’t you live with Tiff?” he asks, and my hands get clammy again. What is he, Sherlock Holmes all of a sudden?

“She lost her keys,” I lie, hoping it doesn’t sound dumb, “and we were at dinner, so I came here to get mine.”

He nods his head. “It’s funny because I was here too,” he says, and I swallow, but my mouth is suddenly dry. “I was here a couple of minutes before, and I didn’t see you.”

“We must have just missed each other,” I say. “We also went to the bathroom.” I snap my fingers. “We must have been in the bathroom when you were here.”

“Is that so?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.

“Well, where else would I have been? I obviously wasn’t at my desk, so I must have been in the bathroom.” I laugh nervously, putting my hands on my hips now.

“When I came in this morning,” he says, “my Christmas tree was knocked over.”

“Oh, no,” I say. “That is so weird. There must have been a draft,” I say, thinking that was the dumbest thing I have ever said. “I