A Very Bossy Christmas - Kayley Loring Page 0,23

We behave ourselves at the office, and very few of our co-workers know about your obsession with me. Simple. Believable. Almost true.”

“Except the part about all of it.”

“Except the parts that haven’t happened yet.”

Exaggerated eye roll.

I turn to him and say, “I don’t feel very comfortable telling a lie of such magnitude.”

“Okay, then. If you want to get even closer to the truth…” He looks away, shifting around in his seat, before continuing. “We can just say that I had a crush on you from even before the first time I saw you. It started when you were still working for Artie. When I’d call to talk to him. For a little while, the best part of my day was chatting with you on the phone for about thirty seconds. And now, the only bad parts of my day are when you aren’t around. Or not responding to my texts.”

Stunned silence.

I wait for him to burst out laughing, give me a sly, toothy grin—something. But he doesn’t. Silence fills the gaudy, cavernous space around us, and it sounds something like the truth, only it’s not any truth that I recognize as ours.

“Would that be easier for you to sell, Maddie?” He’s staring down at his hands, and I wish I could read minds. I wish I could see into the future and know what would happen if I answered him with my lips and hands, because right now my whole body wants to tell him something that he deserves to know. Even if my own brain isn’t willing to acknowledge it.

“Umm…”

“Would it?” He finally looks up at me.

I shake my head because the lump in my throat isn’t going anywhere.

“Didn’t think so,” he says, shrugging it off like it’s no big deal. “We’ll figure something out when the time comes, I guess.” He holds his empty glass out toward me.

I reach over to pour the champagne, taking in a shaky breath and clearing my throat. “You still haven’t actually told me about your family.”

“Right. We’ll be having dinner at my parents’ house. Mary Margaret and Tony Cannavale. They still live in the house I grew up in. My mom’s from Boston. My dad grew up here. His mother—my nonna—is from Italy. She’ll be there tomorrow. She’s always here for the holidays. She’ll hate you, but she hates everyone, so don’t take it personally.”

“Does she hate you?”

“Nobody hates me, Cooper, I told you. But she isn’t nice to me. She isn’t nice to anyone. All my brothers and my sister will be there, and their families. Aiden, Brady, Casey, and Eddie. Casey’s the girl. Her daughter Penelope is my favorite person on the planet—try to contain your jealousy. Eddie’s my baby brother.”

“Aww.” I’m picturing some adolescent boy around the same age as Piper. “How old is he?”

“Twenty-six,” he deadpans. “He’s an ugly little fucker and not at all charming—you won’t like him. Women never like him,” he says, trying not to smile “So he won’t take it personally.”

“Poor guy. Who are you closest to?”

He blinks and then polishes off his champagne in one big gulp. “What do you mean?”

“Which sibling are you closest to?”

He frowns, resting the glass on his knee. “It changes.”

“Okay. What about now?”

“My sister, I guess. And Eddie. They’re great. But stay away from Eddie. He’s trouble.”

“Please. I’m your girlfriend—what am I gonna do? Hit on your brother at Christmas dinner?”

And that’s when any normal human would at least offer a polite fake laugh or a raised eyebrow perhaps, but Declan Cannavale’s mood shifts, and I swear, the neon pink lighting flickers and it gets a little bit darker all around him. Men are always complaining that women are impossible to read—like the Sphynx. But sometimes this guy’s thoughts are hieroglyphs written in invisible ink on papyrus and then folded up and shoved inside a flaming bag of dog poop. I could try stepping on the flaming bag of dog poop to put out the fire, but I’m still not going to be able to read that folded-up note inside.

“Is there anything else I should know about your family, Declan?”

He shakes his head. “If you have a specific question, just ask.” He places the champagne glass on the strip of counter beside him and opens up his laptop again. “Otherwise, I’ll be using the next hour of this drive to catch up on work.”

“You’re not going to ask me about the important people in my life?”

“Well, I already know about the most important person in your life.” He