Spirit (Blackwood Security, #10.5) - Elise Noble Page 0,4
within myself.
CHAPTER 3
A MONTH LATER, I opened the first door on my advent calendar. A friend had sent it to me from England, and each day came with a miniature bottle of posh gin. Hmm, should I have regular tonic or Mediterranean?
“No, no, no.” Bradley snatched the bottle out of my hand. “Not for breakfast. I need you in tip-top form for our Project Mistletoe brunch.”
“What’s this ‘our’ business? This is all on you.”
“Stop complaining and go to the conference room.”
Over the past four weeks, Bradley had managed to find three local organisations brave enough to let him mastermind their Christmas celebrations. Crossroads provided shelter for homeless women and kids, many of whom had escaped from domestic violence. Dan already spent time volunteering there, and I only hoped they’d forgive her for what Bradley was about to unleash. UCan was a youth group for children from low-income families. Think sports, music, life skills, and an annual camping trip. And now glitter plus, if Bradley got his way, a special matinee performance of The Nutcracker. The third lucky recipient of Bradley’s attention was Appletree Acres, an assisted living complex in a suburb of Richmond. Apparently, the residents were really getting into the Christmas spirit. Last week’s “best decorated wheelchair” contest had been a tie between an octogenarian fairy and a guy dressed as King Melchior.
Two weeks ago, Bradley had installed Christmas trees at each location and invited people to hang their wishes on the branches in tiny gift boxes. Yesterday, he and Tia had collected the notes, redecorated the trees, and vacuumed up several million pine needles. Oh, and he’d managed to get tree sap in his hair. Believe me, we all knew what an absolute catastrophe that was.
“I have a meeting.”
“What meeting? It’s not on your schedule.”
“A last-minute video-call.”
“With who?”
“The president. Something about national security.”
“What something?”
“Sorry, you don’t have the right clearance to hear the details.”
Bradley tried to stare me down, his blue eyes to my violet ones. What an amateur move. I never blinked first. And I also planned ahead. Today, Dan and Mack had agreed to take one for the team by attending the meeting, and in exchange, I’d promised to cover some of their shifts in the office over Christmas—we arranged a rota so at least one member of the senior management team was on duty at all times.
“Fine,” Bradley said. “Fine. I’ll email you your tasks later. Where’s Black? He’s late as well.”
“Sierra Leone.”
“What? But he knew we were having a meeting this morning.”
“Pretty sure eradicating child slavery is more important.”
Bradley just huffed because he knew I was right, but as he turned to stomp off, I caught sight of the back of his head.
“Uh, dude? What the hell happened to your hair?”
“It was the tree sap, okay?”
“Tree sap gives you bald patches?”
“No, I tried to freeze the tree sap out—you know, like you do with gum—and the hair broke off at the roots.”
“What the fuck did you use to freeze it? Liquid nitrogen?”
Bradley’s mouth flattened into a sulky little line. “I thought it would be faster. Hey, it’s not funny.”
Oh, but it was. I practically choked as I jogged along the hallway. Liquid bloody nitrogen? It was a wonder he hadn’t frozen his entire brain. Come to think of it, that wouldn’t necessarily have been a bad thing.
“Stop laughing,” he yelled at my retreating back.
If only I’d known that Bradley would in fact have the last laugh, perhaps I’d have shut my damn mouth.
CHAPTER 4
MY EMAIL PINGED as I was chatting with James—President Harrison to you. Okay, so I might have told a tiny fib about the national security part. James was taking some “executive time,” which was politician-speak for doing fuck all. Although to be fair, he did deserve the break today because he’d spent the past week touring Japan and the jet lag hadn’t been kind.
“The red tie or the blue one?” he asked.
At this moment, he was standing in his bedroom in a dress shirt and a pair of boxers, trying to decide on an outfit for the White House’s Christmas photo shoot. He’d propped his tablet on a table, and now that he’d stood up, my view was more crotch than face. Good thing Black had gone to Africa.
“I’m really not the best person to offer fashion advice. Have you tried asking Diana?”
Much as I hated to admit it, the First Lady had impeccable taste.
“She’s downstairs with a group of schoolkids.”
“Hmm. What colour are the tree decorations?”
“Uh…”
“You don’t know? They’re in