Page 2 of Santa's Dirty Secret
When it comes to work, I know there is no amount of arguing with him that will change his mind. So I’m forced to plaster on a fake smile for Dad as he retrieves his luggage from his room and wheels it to the door. He turns, and I expect him at least to give me some sort of heartfelt goodbye like,he's sorry he ruined my plans for the holidays, orthat he'll miss me. But, instead, he reaches into his pocket and hands me an envelope with money in it.
“Buy yourself something nice,” he says to me before looking around and taking in all my hard work of the morning. “And be sure to make sure this is all down by the time I get back.” He turns and walks out the door.
The urge to start grabbing the decorations I've spent hours setting up and tossing them on the floor sweeps over me, but I'm not a child. I'm a grown woman, and I will handle my disappointment in the way society deems appropriate—I'm going to get shit-faced.
“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” I say to myself as I head into the kitchen.
I find the most expensive bottle of wine off the rack and crack it open. He won't miss this. He doesn't miss spending the holidays with his daughter. So I don’t care if he’s going to miss some stupid bottle of wine from his collection. I pour a comically large amount of burgundy liquid into my glass, but some of the liquid dribbles over the side.
“Whoops! Holiday pour!” I say and lean down to slurp up enough wine so that I can pick up the glass.
I'm sure this bottle is something to be savored and sipped, not something to gulp down like I'm drinking a beer out of a red plastic cup. My lips and teeth will likely match the plum color of my dress, but I don't care. I want to drown my sorrows. I don't stop drinking until the glass is empty, and I empty the remaining contents of the bottle into my glass again. My brain is starting to feel fuzzy, and my limbs are tingly as the alcohol begins to do what I want it to do.
I pick up my glass and walk unsteadily from the kitchen into the living room, only spilling a little as I take a sip. My eye catches on the glass bulb from Nick hanging on the tree. Anger washes over me. Nick is technically Dad's boss. He's the reason that all my hard work and all my holiday plans have gone to shit. I take another large swig of wine from the glass in my hand and pull out my phone. My finger scrolls through the contacts, and I have to focus to see the names. When I find Nick's name, I press it.
The phone rings a few times on his end before his voicemail picks up. Great, another man in my life who is happy to pretend I don't exist. I open my mouth and unleash everything I'm feeling.
NICK
My phone begins to buzz in my pocket. I'm about to reach for it when my driver, Lucian, announces that we've arrived. I look out the window and see the crew standing near my plane in the hangar waiting for me. I'm late for the scheduled flight, and I don't like to keep people waiting. I demand a lot from the people in my employ, but that respect goes both ways. Their time is no less valuable than my own.
I got caught up in the details at the office, making sure everyone had cleared out for the holidays. I usually love the hard work and the dedication of my employees, but this is the season to be with family and friends. If I'm not there to herd them out of their offices, some people will keep working. My gift to the company is giving everyone time off through the new year, including myself. At least that is the plan after I fly to Vancouver to sign the papers for this new deal. Sure, I could have signed the documents and had them overnighted. But I believe that if you are doing business with someone, you look them in the eye and shake their hand to complete the deal.
“You don’t have to come with me, Gretchen,” I tell my assistant sitting next to me. “You should go home and enjoy your time off.”
“I go home when you go home,” she says, not looking up from her tablet. “Besides, we can take the time on the flight to go over some last-minute items on your schedule.”
“Oh, I can’t wait,” I grumble and get out.
"Good evening, sir," John, the captain, steps forward and shakes my hand when I get out of the car.
“My apologies for holding you all up,” I say to him and the crew. “I’ll make sure to keep this meeting brief to make up for the time.”
“Not a problem, sir,” John shakes his head.
We board, and the flight attendant sets our drinks on the table. I'm about to take a sip of my scotch when I notice the Christmas monstrosity in front of Gretchen.
“What is that?”
Gretchen smiles and lifts the martini glass with frothy brown liquid with marshmallow fluff and a tiny gingerbread man floating on top. "It's called a Gingerbread Martini."
“That can’t be good.” My lips curl in disgust.
She takes a sip. Her eyes close, and she moans. "That is amazing."
I’m suddenly reminded of my best friend’s daughter, Alexis. This drink is exactly something she and her mother would have made years ago, minus the alcohol, and insisted her father and I taste it. She got her love of the holiday season from her mother, Bella. But since Bella’s death, her father has avoided Christmas every year.
I had to drag him tooth and nail out of his grief after her loss. So pushing him to keep up Bella's traditions was out of the question. I've wanted many times to step in and try to help Alexis, but she is stronger than her father and put on a brave face to hide her grief. I guess that's why it was easier to step back and let her live her life. She doesn't know, but I check up on her from a distance. She's grown into a strong, independent woman that reminds me of her mother.
I can’t keep the corner of my mouth from curling up, thinking about Alexis the last time I saw her. It was at her college graduation, but I didn’t let her know I was there. If she wanted me to come, she would've invited me, so I kept my distance. She was so different now from the gangly teenager I remembered her to be. She took my breath away when I watched her take the steps up onto the stage when her name was called. I'd never looked at her as anything more than my best friend's daughter before that moment. She was different. She was a woman. Her soft dark curls were a stunning contrast to her alabaster complexion and pale blue eyes. Even in the shapeless gown, my mind wandered, wondering what I would find if given a chance to slip it off her.
“Did you hear what I said?” Gretchen asks, interrupting my thoughts.
Thankfully my rock-hard cock is hidden by the table. I shift in my seat, trying to ease some of the pleasurable ache, but it feels like only a cold shower will help tame my body's response to her.
“I said that you RSVP’d for two to the Give-A-Gift Foundation Christmas Eve Charity Ball. But since you cut ties with Rachelle, I need to find out the name of the person you plan on taking.”
I roll my eyes inwardly, thinking of Rachelle. She was just another social climber more attracted to what was in my bank account than me. So I was grateful when the gossip columns reported spotting her cozying up with her ex. It was the perfect way to cut ties with her swiftly and painlessly.
