A Holiday Temptation - Tiffany Patterson Page 0,16

yet another meal from a local restaurant. My mother was the cook of the family, and these days it barely looks as if she can boil eggs.

My specialties in the kitchen consist of making a pot of coffee or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Without delivery, I would have starved a long time ago.

“Food will be here in thirty minutes,” I confirm.

She lifts her gaze from the floor, another one of those ghosted smiles on her face. The move is so rehearsed I wonder if she even realizes she’s doing it. She always had to appear as if things were great when my father was around, even when they weren’t. Especially when they weren’t.

“Did you have a good talk with your Uncle Will?” she asks as if she weren’t seated here for the entirety of it.

I realize that though she’d been physically present, mentally she was probably miles away.

Clearing my throat, I take a seat on the couch next to her and grab for the remote. I can’t look her in the eyes as I lie.

“Yeah, good.”

“That’s good. He’s been good to us since H-Hank—” She breaks off, her voice quivering, but she doesn’t break out into a full-on cry. She doesn’t do that in front of people, not even me.

She refuses to let that wall down, and I refuse to inform her that Uncle Will was more so checking up on me to make sure I follow my father’s strict orders to stay away from the one man I have to work with these days.

The same man, once a sixteen-year-old boy, whose life I changed forever by paralyzing him.

Chapter 6

This shit is getting to me. I’m man enough to admit when shit is bothering me, and as I push through the doors of the office that morning, more Christmas music blaring through the speakers, I speak the truth to myself before anyone else can.

“There needs to be a rule about holiday music before December 15th or something,” I grumble.

Suzette enters the office behind me and giggles in that way I find endearing throughout the rest of the year but annoying as shit right now.

“That’s only ten days before Christmas. How could we limit holiday music to just ten days out of the year? I love it that Mr. Townsend gave in to the wishes of his family and allowed for the early decorating and music,” she says wistfully.

The serene expression that takes over her face informs me of just how much she’s enjoying this time of the year.

I hate it.

“Ba humbug,” I gripe.

She laughs as I roll around to my desk and turn on my computer.

“Careful, my family’s starting to think I’m rubbing off on you.”

Glancing up, I see Aaron Townsend as he stands in front of my desk, glaring down at me.

Snorting, I respond, “Maybe you are.”

He lifts an eyebrow but something like admiration, or dare I say, laughter moves through his eyes. In the blink of an eye, though, it’s disappeared, replaced by the usual scowl.

“My office, fifteen minutes.”

I nod in acknowledgment before he moves down the hall, followed by Suzette, who’s carrying his cup of coffee.

It’s Tuesday morning, which means my usual morning meeting with Aaron to go over the Cypress merger. Tuesdays also mean another late afternoon meeting with Jackie, which—aside from my usual grumpiness during this season—is the source of my current ire.

Fifteen minutes later, Suzette is moving past me as she exits Aaron’s office.

“Shut the door behind you,” he tells her, which she does.

I move to the long, boardroom-sized table at the far end of Aaron’s office, since that’s where our usual meetings occur instead of his desk.

“Let’s start with the updates on Cypress,” he starts in immediately, which I expected.

I give him the rundown on everything I have to update him on concerning the merger.

“According to Ms. Hinkerson, the counselors at Cypress are overworked and underappreciated, but they’re a committed group.”

Aaron’s jaw clenches. “Why do they stay?” he questions.

Uncertain if he was just asking out loud or speaking to me directly, I launch into a response. “Many of them have been with the company for years. They’re committed to the cause of serving others.”

“How noble,” he responds, staring at the open files in front of him. “And Ms. Hinkerson?”

A ripple of some unnamed emotion moves through me. My eyebrows dip into a V. “Yes?”

“How committed is she?”

Swallowing, I look my boss in the eyes, trying to discern whether or not he’s picked up on the energy exchange between Jackie and me. It’s