Page 59 of My Boss

More than you could ever know

Make my wish come true

All I want for Christmas is you…

My heart does a hop and skip and gets excited about the singing of my namesake. The phenomenon of this song amazes me. I’ve heard it year after year, since I can remember, and I always feel some sort of inexplicable squeezing sensation in my stomach. Maybe it’s because as a teenager during Christmas I used to lock myself in my room, put my headphones on, play this song and think about my dream boy who would sweep me away from my messed-up house and take me somewhere in the snowy mountains to a cozy cabin. We’d drink mulled wine, sit by the fireplace, until he finally confessed to me that all he wanted this Christmas was me, and kissed me in a way that took my breath away.

And they lived happily ever after…

“Piotr, change the station.” I am pulled out of my musings by Jan’s growl. He has a look on his face like he’s just eaten something he doesn’t like.

The guard obeys the command and George Michael’s singing resounds:

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart

But the very next day you gave it away

This year, to save me from tears

I’ll give it to someone special

Another phenomenon. I should be done with this song by now (and I think some people are indeed sick of it, like puking their guts out), and yet, when I remember the music video, and the ski trip to the mountains with friends, the dressing of the Christmas tree together, the Christmas dinner at the table, and that look on George’s face of infatuation with a girl who doesn’t belong to him, my heart turns to strawberry jelly… I want that too!

“Turn off that howling,” snarls Jan through clenched jaws.

Jesus, what’s bitten him?

“That’s Wham, though!” I throw him an amused look, but he doesn’t reciprocate. He looks like a storm cloud.

I wonder if I’ll ever see such a smile on his face again as when I gave him the Christmas gift of a surprise blowjob.

I glance at the security guy and see that he is struggling to restrain himself from rolling his eyes, but he politely switches the station, and there Grace Jones is intoningLibertango.

Strange, I’ve seen that face before,

Seen him hanging, round my door.

Like a hawk stealing for the prey,

Like the night waiting for the day

Oh yes, this text will definitely suit Jan better. Especially that hawk hunting for prey.

“Are you only annoyed by Christmas music or do you just dislike the whole holiday and everything related to it?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer. He pulls a key card from his pants pocket and touches the gate reader.

I pass first, and he is right behind me.

I can feel his breath on my back, smell his scent, his closeness. This is a complete novelty for me. Up there, we were in a bubble, in an unreal world, where we were ruled by sexual attraction, passion and desire. Here we are in the open, in reality, surrounded by other people…

It’s so strange, even surreal. He and I. Maria and Jan. I still can’t believe it. I don’t think this is really happening.

I reach for the chrome handle, but Jan anticipates me and opens the door in front of me. Well, what a gentleman he is.

“Thank you.” I glance at him flirtatiously, but he still has such a look on his face that it makes me feel sick to look at him.

What bit him?

What do you mean? His level of orgasmic hormones has dropped, and he is back to being himself—the boorish Jan. And what were you hoping for, girl? That you would give him a swallow-up blowjob, and he would turn into a prince on a white horse? Oh, Maria, such things only happen in American romantic comedies and Harlequin romances.

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