Page 96 of Forty, Flirty & Fired

The scotch burns in my throat.

"Brad Kevensky!" Roberto continues, either oblivious to or ignoring my silence. "You know Brad Kevensky, right?"

I frown, memories of Mac's stories about missed promotions and "traditional values" making my fingers tighten around my glass. "Crying Corner Brad?"

"Um, sure. Well, he referred me to the opening at Drake Enterprises, Mr. Drake. You're now looking at your new Head of Accounting."

I blink, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably. Mac's words from her blog post echo in my head:I fell in love with a bad man. And he left in the worst way—as bad men do.

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm sure I didn't stammer." I set my glass down with deliberate care. "No."

"No as in 'I'm not your new Head of Accounting'?"

"Or you're a 'head', alright. The kind that comes on the end of a cock that, I'm guessing, is as small and flaccid as yours has to be."

Kathryn gasps. Roberto's face turns an interesting shade of purple as his carefully constructed image cracks.

"Now listen here—" he starts, but I cut him off.

"No, you listen." I stand, using every inch of my height advantage. "You had something real - someone real - and youthrew it away because you couldn't handle her strength. Her brilliance. Her everything." I turn to Kathryn, raising my glass. "Congratulations on the baby. And on preparing to marry the world's floppiest dick. Though I suppose someone has to take one for the team."

Roberto sputters, but I'm already pulling out my phone, sending three rapid texts:

To Emma:Cancel dinner with Dad. And get me La Famiglia's address.

To the guys:Bachelor weekend's off. You already knew that. Enjoy the yacht

To my Cartier contact:Need that emerald ring. Whatever it costs.

"Sir?" Emma replies instantly. "La Famiglia's already programmed in your GPS. And Keith's choir is standing by."

I smile, dropping enough cash on the bar to cover my scotch and Roberto's bruised ego. Because sometimes the biggest walls aren't the ones we build around companies.

They're the ones we build around hearts.

And I have 48 hours until Christmas Eve to tear them all down and prove to Mac that some patterns actually can break.

30

THE BEST CHRISTMAS PRESENT

MACKENZIE

There are exactly three things you learn working at your family's Italian restaurant on Christmas morning:

1. Marinara sauce has an uncanny ability to find its way onto every surface, including places you didn't know existed on your body

2. The people who come in for Christmas meals have the best - and sometimes most heartbreaking - stories

3. Love looks different for everyone, but it always needs somewhere warm to land

"Table twelve needs more bread," Lucia announces, expertly navigating between packed tables with a tray of steaming plates. La Famiglia glows with holiday warmth, every surface decorated with twinkling lights and garlands that somehow make even my marinara-stained apron look festive. "And Mrs. Shu is here for her usual Christmas meal."

I smile, already reaching for Mrs. Shu’s favorite wine. She's been coming here every Christmas for fifteen years, ever since her husband passed. "The usual table by the window?"

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