A Very Bossy Christmas - Kayley Loring
Chapter One
DECLAN: You at the office?
DECLAN: Cooper. You there?
DECLAN: Seriously, you need to respond. No matter where you are right now.
DECLAN: But you’d better be at the office.
MADDIE: Yes, Your Highness. I am at the office. Are you on your way in? Because I thought I felt the temperature drop a couple of degrees just now.
DECLAN: Haven’t left home yet, but a lot of women display physical signs of a slight drop in temperature when I’m approaching, Cooper. It’s adorable that you’re so excited to see me.
MADDIE: Please refer to every eye roll I have ever executed in response to half of the things you say because I’m too busy organizing your life to find the emoji.
DECLAN: Set up a quick call for me with Drucker before my meeting with Shapiro so he can update me on the Branson Residences deal. Just a phone call. I don’t want him stopping by my office.
MADDIE: Yes sir.
DECLAN: Please refer to every eye roll I have ever executed every time you call me “sir.” But also keep calling me sir.
MADDIE: Anything else I can do for you before you grace us with your presence, Mr. Cannavale?
DECLAN: Everything else, Cooper. And coffee served with a special holiday smile.
MADDIE: Fa la la la la la la la--be right back with your order, hon.
Two
Declan
FROSTY THE BOSSMAN
The drive up Madison Avenue is slower than usual this time of the morning, but it’s satisfying to lean on the horn when some asshole in an Impala tries to cut in front of me. I flip the driver off as I pass him, and he does it right back, but he looks confused when he sees me. He’s clearly not a tourist, so I don’t know what’s confusing about a driver giving another driver the finger in Manhattan. Then I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the rearview mirror and realize I’m smiling.
I have a big dumb grin on my face.
For no reason.
No reason other than I’m on my way to work and I love my job.
Okay, I like my job.
But I love to work.
And I like to work with people who can actually keep up with me.
Okay, I love it.
It’s rare.
It’s almost as satisfying as leaning on the horn when some asshole tries to cut in front of me.
It’s a lot more satisfying than watching women cry after I’ve calmly explained to them exactly what they’ve done wrong and questioning their ability to perform the most mundane tasks.
Not that I enjoy making women cry.
I hate making women cry.
Especially when they should be answering my phone and redoing whatever mundane task I’ve asked them to perform.
But I don’t have to do that anymore.
Because Maddie Cooper is competent.
Maddie Cooper can handle me.
Maddie Cooper can give as good as she gets.
Maddie Cooper is hot and claims to hate me.
It’s problematic.
But she’s one problem I’m not willing to solve.
Not yet, anyway.
And just like that, I’m frowning again.
You happy now, Impala?
Yeah. This feels right. This feels like my fucking life this year.
I lean on the horn again because fuck you, everyone in front of me.
I’m about to call Cooper, just as my sister’s name and number come up. She’s not supposed to try me on my work phone unless it’s an emergency.
Shit. Now what?
“Casey?”
“Are you coming for Christmas or not?”
“Seriously? That’s why you’re calling me on my work phone? During business hours?”
“Also to say good morning, asshole.”
“Good morning, asshat, and not. But don’t tell Ma—I haven’t called her yet.”
“I knew it. Declan...”
“I have to work.”
“I thought you started in-house lawyering so you could have a better quality of life.”
“I did. And I have a much better view from my office now.”
That is true in ways that I will not be explaining to my sister.
“Dec. Don’t be glib.”
“I’m not being glib. I only work fifty-five hours a week, and I get six hours of sleep a night on weekends. I’m practically a slacker. I can’t help it if New York honesty sounds like superficial insincerity to people in Ohio. And what makes you think the quality of my life would improve if I went home for Christmas this year? I’m dying to see most of you, but I can’t. It’s not like it would be easy for me either way…”
Boom. There it is. Saying things without saying things and attempting to elicit sympathy. It’s the only way I’ve been able to talk to the women in my personal life since I was five years old.
My sister sighs, loudly, because she