Holiday Bridal Wave - Gwyn McNamee Page 0,2

entered the building and that he’ll be blowing in like a hurricane.

You would think the nice, long holiday weekend would have relaxed Archimedes a little bit, but as soon as those elevator doors open, he storms in, tosses his jacket at me, and barrels past my desk into his office.

The glass door swings shut behind him, and he slams his briefcase on top of the desk so loudly it reverberates through his office and even hurts my ears out here.

I cringe and stand to hang his coat in the small closet to the left of my desk.

It’s freezing out there this Monday morning. With winter finally descending on New York, big, fat snowflakes fall outside the floor-to-ceiling windows and blanket Central Park just beyond them.

It’s absolutely beautiful.

My favorite time of the year, the time when holiday joy spreads through the city and miracles can happen. Even though Mom died before I ever really got to know her, the memories of wonderful holidays spent with Dad still live on in my heart. The years since he’s been gone haven’t been easy, but having good friends with warm, open arms during the season and the overall cheer in the air helps me make it through.

I glance down at the two dozen Christmas-themed snow globes covering my desk and sigh. So pretty. So relaxing. So…crisp and clean. Like the world is waking to a fresh start and new beginning with every snowfall.

But not everyone loves the season the way I do, and if you hate it, it sure makes it a bitch when you have to go outside during a snowstorm.

Maybe the weather is what has Archimedes in such a shit mood.

It’s the only obvious reason. He had really been looking forward to the weekend. A few days away with one of his bed-buddy bunnies after Thanksgiving dinner with his family.

Vermont for skiing, if I remember correctly.

Or maybe it was Connecticut?

I scan my calendar notes. Vermont. That’s right—Connecticut is the upcoming Christmas vacation with bed bunny number two. Sometimes, it’s hard to keep them straight. The man goes through women the way most people do clean underwear.

“Blaire! Get in here!” Archimedes’ bellow reaches me even through his closed door, and I cringe once more.

So much for a nice, relaxing, post-holiday Monday workday.

I grab a notepad off my desk and make my way to his office. Even with the door shut, I can hear him mumbling to himself as he paces back and forth.

Archimedes doesn’t pace. Nor does he mumble.

He’s usually so put together. The perfect example of a Warren heir. Which is what he became after Artie essentially cut himself off from the family. When Archimedes Warren is in a mood, he rarely, if ever, shows it to anyone but me since I have an unfettered view of him in his glass-enclosed office. But he doesn’t get rattled much. I don’t think I’ve seen him like this more than three or four times in the year I’ve worked directly for him. It’s why the warning from security before he came up was so surprising.

Something really serious must be going on.

My gut churns the white chocolate peppermint mocha I guzzled this morning on my way into work and threatens to bring it up my throat as I push open the door into his office. “You needed me, Mister Warren?”

His head snaps up, and cool blue eyes meet mine. With his broad, muscular shoulders pulled tight and his jaw clenched so hard, I can practically feel the tension in his body and his teeth threatening to crack.

Dammit. That shouldn’t be so sexy.

The man is smoking hot as hell most days, but when he’s angry, he’s downright nuclear. The kind of heat that will burn you alive. It’s no wonder he has zero trouble finding someone to warm his bed…whether it be in New York City, Vermont, Connecticut, or anywhere else in the world.

Those looks and this kind of money and power are a real aphrodisiac for women. Other women.

Because I definitely don’t have a crush on my boss.

Nope. Definitely not at all.

That would be completely inappropriate. And I am always professional. My job means too much to me not to be. Yet, even after all this time, the fantasies of having him bend me over my desk and fuck me senseless still make an almost daily appearance—despite doing my best to keep them at bay. It might be easier to control if I were getting any, but aside from an upcoming blind date, my love-life