All I Want For Christmas Is You - Vi Keeland Page 0,87
to me.
“Thank you,” I say, and I just smile as she walks out.
“You need to fire her,” Jax says, and I look at him as he gets up. “Fire her, and then you can have sex with her.”
“She’s the best assistant I’ve ever had.” Ignoring the fact that the thought of not seeing her every day is worse than I can put into words. He turns and looks at the tree and then back at me.
“Your tree is tilted to the side,” he says, and I look back at the tree.
“Yeah, it was draft,” I tell him, and he looks at me, his eyebrows going together.
“A draft?” he says, laughing. “What kind of draft is going to knock down a Christmas tree?”
“A strong one,” I say, and I look out the doorway to see Chloe at her desk typing away.
He shakes his head and walks out, giving Chloe a smirk. I watch her to see if she watches him as he walks out, but instead, she turns her back to him and goes over to the files she has next to her.
It looks like the same stack of files she handed me yesterday right before she left. The same stack of files I found her letter in. I open my drawer and see the letter. It’s crumpled from being shoved into Tiff’s pocket.
I grab a file and flip it open and see that all the pages in this one are wrong too. “Chloe.” I call her name, and she gets up and comes into my office. I watch her walk to me and see that her green eyes are a touch darker. “All these files,” I say, flipping the second one open, “are all mixed up.”
“Oh, no.” She comes to my side and looks in a couple of them. “Did you knock them over?” I look at her, confused. “I’m just asking. Maybe you knocked them over when you left, and the cleaning crew just picked them up for you?”
“I think I would hear files falling to the floor as I leave,” I tell her, and she tilts her head. “It must be that draft.”
Her eyes fly back down, and I can see she’s trying to think of something. “Why don’t I take these”—she grabs all the files in her arms—“and sort them and then bring them back in?”
“I’d be careful if I was you,” I say. She looks back, holding the files against her chest. “I just felt a draft.” She doesn’t say anything. She just nods her head and turns around to walk out of the room.
Chloe
Santa Baby
Unlocking the door, I walk into the apartment and see it’s almost pitch black in here. “Tiff?” I enter the living room and find her on the couch. “Why are you in the dark?” I turn on the light, and she looks over at me.
“I can’t move,” she says, pointing at her foot. I plop down on the couch before I even take my jacket off. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I just spent the past five hours fixing all the files that fell last night.” I look over at her face with wide eyes. “Oh, and he found his tree on the floor this morning.”
“What did he say?” she asks, her eyes wide.
“I blamed it on a draft,” I say, and she throws her head back and laughs.
“A draft?” she repeats. “What kind of draft knocks down a Christmas tree?” I just glare at her. “Like a monsoon.”
“What the fuck was I supposed to say?” I get up to take off my jacket. “Sorry, that was Tiff and me when we snuck in here to steal back a letter that I professed my love to you in.”
“I mean, I also broke my fucking foot for that stupid plan.” She points at her foot. “All you had to do was tell him that you want to bump uglies with him.”
I gasp. “I can’t tell him that I want to do that.”
“Why not?” she shrieks. “He must like you if he saw the letter, and he hasn’t fired you.” I just look at her. “Yet.”
“He’s probably ignoring the letter because he feels sorry for me,” I say, ripping off my jacket, “and then he’s going to fire me, and I’m going to lose my job and never see him again.”
“I don’t see that as a good thing,” she says, and I stare at her with my mouth open. “I’m on painkillers, so nothing I say makes sense.”