Page 12 of Tangled in Mistletoe

“I like this for you, boss. Not that it matters, but we adore Zeva.”

“I’m glad I have your approval,” I grunt.

“You aunt likes her too,” he says with a chuckle.

I grunt again. My aunt had made her opinion known when she signed Zeva and I up to be Mr. and Mrs. Claus. And she is known for getting her way, even at my exasperation.

“Did my aunt put you up to this?” I raise a brow.

“No,” Liam says with a smile. “But she charged me to make sure you got home at a decent time.”

I glance around the busy restaurant. Nearly all the tables are filled. “As much as I’d like to take you up on that offer, we are short staff, remember and what kind of boss would I be if I left you along during the busiest time of the year?”

“We’re two hours until closing. We’ll be fine. Most of the tables have already been served.” He snags the table from my hands. “And what kind of assistant manager would I be if I can’t handle two hours?”

Commotion at the entrance gains our attention. What’s going on?”

Liam curses, moving around the front desk. “It’s Finn and Shelly.”

In July, Finn had won a kiss from Shelly in a kissing auction, but the UK celebrity had won more than a kiss that day. He’d won love. I clench my teeth as a camera flashed, aware of just how damning the media can be, especially since my own run in with a local gang after Zeva’s story. “Keep the media out. Those two deserve a meal without the paparazzi dogging their every move.”

“I’m on it. Now you go home.”

“Thanks.”

Liam nods. “Merry Christmas, Andreas.”

“Merry Christmas, Liam.” I turn to leave, then pause. “In the office, there are envelopes in my drawer for all of you.”

He frowns. “You’re celebrating Christmas? Giving us presents?”

“Now, why would you accuse me of such a thing?” I say leaving, but couldn’t help my lips from twitching into a smile. “Everyone knows the big man in red is way too jolly for me.”

My uneasefrom earlier settles like a stone in my stomach as I pull into the driveway and find my house in darkness. It isn’t like Zeva to not have my house lit up like an ugly Christmas sweater, especially the day before Christmas. Yet, the decorations, the lights, and holiday cheer grew on me.

I rush through the front door, hoping for the smell of cookies or her cooking to tease my nose, but neither does. Did she change her mind after promising her heart to me? No, I decide. Another woman, maybe, but not Zeva. Her actions are guided by her code values to mend wrongs, not inflict pain.

I run upstairs and check every room, hoping to find her doing something ordinary, like sleeping, but each room I enter is vacant until I find myself standing in the kitchen. Ingredients line the island and a half chopped onion sits on the cutting board on the counter.

Think, Andreas. Taking a stilling breath, I decide to turn on every light, making the house a beckon. As I do so, I check my phone for miss calls or messages, knowing damn well I haven’t heard from her in hours.

Nausea rises in my throat as her phone rings from the living room. She can’t answer my calls with her phone stuck in her purse and I can’t track her. I comb my hand roughly through my hair.

Think, Andreas. I’m halfway out the door to do what any man in my position would when the women he loves isn’t where he left her … knock down the neighbors doors, threaten the doctors until I see the hospital records, or go after everyone that looked at her the wrong way, but a note hanging from the Christmas tree stops me.

We have your old lady tied up under our tree.

Join us so we can all have a merry Christmas or else.

Or else what? I flip the note over, but there are no more words other than a phone number, which I have no intention of calling just yet. I don’t negotiate when I’m pissed. I inflict damage. Fury like no other blinds me and I dial a number that I’d long deleted from my phone.

“I know you’re not calling to wish me a merry Christmas, Andreas,” Gavino Scarpa, manager of Golden Gates Financial says.

“No.”

“Huh,” he grunts in disappointment. “Which means you have no choice.”

I don’t flinch. “It’s time I don’t have the luxury of.”

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