explanation.
"It's the holiday season in Germany too," he counters. "I'd have thought the idea of seeing the inspiration for Reindeer Falls at its most magical time of year would appeal to you."
He's not wrong there. It should. It does.
It's the idea of being in his company for the better part of a week that makes me uncomfortable. Uncomfortable in all the wrong places.
I drop my gaze to his desk before launching into the next excuse on my list.
"You probably don't know this, but the Food Network is filming The Great Gingerbread Bake-Off in Reindeer Falls this year, and my sister has an excellent chance of winning. I have to be here for that."
"The finale's being filmed live on Christmas Eve from the town square," Nick counters without hesitation. "I assure you I'll have you home before then." His fancy chair makes nary a squeak as he bounces in it, just an inch or two while he watches me. He's loving every moment of this.
But also…
Son of a nutcracker, how did he know that? How does he know anything about The Great Gingerbread Bake-Off? I was counting on him not having a clue about the local holiday calendar. I quickly move on to my next argument.
"I don't have a passport," I announce. I even manage to add a little fake sadness to this fake news.
Nick stares at me for a long time, the silence hanging heavy in the air between us until I'm nearly fidgeting with the lie. Jittery from his attention. Hours pass. Eons. Cookies for Santa are baked from scratch, cooled, and plated in the time Nick spends staring at me, waiting for me to crack.
"Should I assume then," he finally asks, his words slow and deliberate, "that you snuck in and out of the country illegally last month when you needed three days off to attend your cousin’s wedding in Mexico?"
My eyes widen and I flush. I'm positive I never told him that wedding was in Mexico. I look at the wall behind his desk. The floor. The framed poster of a wooden toy set the company introduced in the ‘70s. It's one of our most popular toys, still in production. Mostly I look anywhere but at Nick.
"My boyfriend has a very important Christmas party I'm meant to attend," I blurt out. This is a little off script, but to be fair I wasn't expecting to have to dig this far down my excuse list and I'm flustered.
"You don't have a boyfriend," Nick replies, and when I risk a glance in his direction I see his eyes have narrowed and the fingers on the arm of his chair have tightened.
"You don't know that!"
"What's his name?" he asks, tearing my attention from the carpeting back to his face.
Um, think, Holly, think. A man's name. Anything but Nick.
"Sant… ana. Santana," I recover. "Like the band."
"What does he do?" I think I detect the hint of a smile on Nick's face but it's hard to be sure because he so rarely smiles.
It could be a grimace. Or gas.
"He's in a band." I want to die. I did not just say my fake boyfriend Santana is in a band. But dealing with Nick is like dealing with a killer dog. It's best to show no fear. I place a hand defiantly on my hip and hold my ground. I bet Santana is really nice to me and smiles all the time.
"Holly." Nick says my name on what is nearly a sigh. His eyes close briefly, his head tilted toward the ceiling as if he's summoning strength from the overhead lighting. He doesn't often use my first name, instead having some kind of a weird preoccupation with calling me Miss Winter. I sort of prefer it to be honest, because when he says my first name he always says it in a tone that makes me think about sex.
Sex with him.
Which is disturbing on so many levels. So, so many. Why would anyone want to have sex with someone they don't like? With someone mean? He'd probably critique the way I lifted my hips or demand I come on command. He'd probably request a spreadsheet with pivot tables documenting my range of flexibility by limb. He'd want sketches showing exactly how close my knees could get to my head.
Goodness, the idea of that is sorta hot though. The bendy part, not the mean part.
I wonder if Ebenezer Scrooge was attractive when he was a young man? If he caused turmoil in the hearts