Page 3 of Candy Cane Chains

Ilean back in my leather chair, fixing Xander with an icy stare as he lingers in my office doorway. The bastard knows exactly what he's doing, playing the friendship card to drag me to this ridiculous holiday gathering.

"You can stop with that shit-eating grin. I said I'd go. Doesn't mean I have to like it." I straighten my tie, a habit born from years of maintaining control in every situation.

Xander's smile only widens. "Come on, boss. It's just one drink. Maybe two. The girls at O'Malley's bar throw a mean party. You could at least look like you aren't going to fucking court instead of a bar."

"It's a fucking Secret Santa exchange." The words taste bitter. I stand, adjusting my suit jacket. "Since when do men in our position play Christmas games?"

"Since you owe me for Calgary." He crosses his arms, knowing he's got me cornered. The Calgary job would have gone sideways if not for his quick thinking. "Besides, you need to get out more. All work and no play-"

"Finish that sentence and I'll shoot you myself."

The floor-to-ceiling windows behind my desk reflect our contrasting expressions - his amusement, my cold irritation. Downtown Chicago sprawls below, a maze of lights and shadows where we conduct our real business. Not this holiday bullshit.

"Car's waiting downstairs." Xander checks his watch. "Sophie will kill me if we're late."

I grab my coat, the wool as dark as my mood. "Two drinks. That's it. And if anyone tries to make me wear a Santa hat-"

"You'll make them disappear?" Xander chuckles, falling into step beside me as we head for the elevator. "Noted. Though I'd pay good money to see that."

The elevator doors close on his laughter, and I fight the urge to slam his head against the wall. But he's right - I do owe him. And two drinks won't kill me.

Probably.

The back door is open when we reach the ground floor and I slip into the back seat. The leather seat creaks as Xander slides in next to me. The privacy partition rises with a soft whir, sealing us off from the driver.

"Explain to me again why we're wasting a perfectly good evening on this?" I tap my fingers against my knee, watching the city lights blur past the tinted windows.

Metal glints as Xander pulls out a silver flask from his jacket. His grin stretches wide, all white teeth and charm. "Because, my friend, I am the goddamn life of every party." He takes a long pull from the flask. "Where there's drinks and beautiful women, I need to be there. It's practically my calling."

I roll my eyes. "Your calling is security operations, or did you forget who signs your checks?"

"Speaking of beautiful women..." He offers me the flask. I wave it off. "You could use some action yourself. When's the last time you got laid?"

"Christ." I lean my head back against the seat. "Is that all you think about?"

"Hey, I'm just saying. You're wound tighter than a fucking spring. A good fuck would do you wonders."

"Not all of us need to stick our dick in anything that moves."

"Now that's just hurtful." He presses a hand to his chest in mock offense. "I have standards. High ones."

"Your 'standards' include anything female with a pulse."

"Haven't slept alone since I was sixteen." He winks, taking another sip. I don't fucking doubt it. "Can't help it if the ladies love me."

I stare out the window, jaw clenching. The whole thing - sex, dating, the endless pursuit of flesh - feels pointless. Empty. A distraction I can't afford and don't want. Women are just drama, and I have no interest in that.

That's something that Xander will never understand.

I turn back to him. "Some of us don't need that constant validation. That endless chase."

"Validation?" He barks out a laugh. "Boss, it's called having fun. You should try it sometime."

The car rolls to a stop outside O'Malley's. Christmas lights frame the windows, casting multicolored shadows across the snow-dusted sidewalk. I adjust my coat one final time, steeling myself for the next hour of forced socialization.

The warmth hits as soon as we step inside. The scent of cinnamon and whiskey hangs thick in the air. Bodies pack the space, voices raised over whatever generic holiday music blares through the speakers.

And then I see her.

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