Page 14 of Yule Know It When You See It
She lurches forward with taut fingers. “That’s not what I meant. On this Friday every month, I get that exact truffle sandwich as a treat to myself.”
“I see.” I sip my coffee and nod. “And you couldn’t simply, I don’t know, wait untilnextFriday to get it instead?”
“But I—” She stammers, those peat moss eyes as wide as planets. “I have a system. This hiccup will completely throw me off my game.”
Well then, we’d be on equal playing ground, sweetheart because the wrench she’s become being my partner on afirstassignment has thrownmefor one hell of a loop.
I step forward, towering over her like a giraffe with a rabbit. With extreme exaggeration, I open my mouth, watching her nostrils flare, eyes darting to the sandwich. “I may have been inclined to give this to you—” I bite down, tearing the corner and using my tongue to shovel it in, rotating my jaw like a damn steer, chewing, and gulping it down. “But I couldn’t keep my mouth fromclosing.”
An audible gasp escapes her throat, anger wrinkling her forehead, eyes forming slits. “You won’t let that go, will you?”
I dab my beard with a napkin, ensuring no sauce dribbles onto it. “Sure, I will. Because now?” Leaning toward her, I take another bite. “I’d say we’re even.”
Theo deeply inhales, her jaw tightening at the smell wafting from my sandwich. “You’re a butthole.”
“I can see this newly formed working relationship going well.” A lop-sided grin pulls at my lips, and I raise the sandwich between us. “I’m going to enjoy this at my desk and start reviewing paperwork. Enjoy your BLT, grilled cheese, or there’s a McDonald’s across the street.” I point at the window.
She gives a deranged smile and pageant waves at me, mumbling as I leave, “I hope you choke on a mushroom.”
Such holiday spirit.
Back at my desk, I finish the sandwich with one hand, while scrolling through the hockey game schedules with the other, pausing to jot down dates. The plan is to approach this diplomatically. I’ll take the technical sports side of the article, and she’ll stick to the fictional. But then, Simone specifically stated this was to be a combined piece. That part still confuses the hell out of me. I ball the paper and toss it in the wastebasket, hitting it off the rim.
“Two points there, slugger,” a woman’s voice coos behind me.
Peering over my computer monitor reveals a buxom brunette leaning on my desk, the top three buttons of her pink dress shirt showing enough cleavage to be sensual without teetering on sexual harassment.
“Thanks,” I clip, moving my eyes back to the screen.
She waltzes around my desk, using two fingers to walk them on the surface, and leans a hip against the wood. “Naomi,” she says, extending her hand.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Axel.” I quickly shake her hand and return my attention to the schedules though all hopes of concentrating have flown out the window.
She rests one hand in her lap, the other supporting her at her side. “Axel. It certainly matches the accent. Norwegian, right?”
Not many people in America ever guess right. Though all Scandinavian accents sound very different, most say Danish above all else. Sometimes I stop correcting them because it becomes exhausting, and I roll with it.
“Good ear. That’s right.”
“Confession.” She crosses her nylon-covered legs and bends forward. “I used to go once a year because of a—well, that’s neither here nor there, but I had an advantage.”
I chuckle and open random windows, scanning the office for anyone witnessing this exchange. “Still. Good ear.”
She smiles—endearing and carefree. As if whatever she sets her eyes on is a sure thing. “You have something right here, by the way.” She points to the corner of her mouth and then at me.
Swiping a napkin, I dab it and arch a brow at her.
She shakes her head and points at the same spot near her lips. I wipe the other side, and she laughs, holding out her hand. “May I?”
Does she know I can see through her little act like damn cellophane?
I hand her the napkin. “Please.”
She leans down, knowingly exposing her cleavage again, using her forearms to highlight herassets. After several swipes over my beard, she sits back. “There you go.”
“Thanks. I can’t tell you how many shirts having a beard has saved, but I can’t always feel if something’s on it.” Smirking, I turn back to the monitor, thinking that was that.
Naomi slides from my desk and pushes a business card under my keyboard. “Pleasure meeting you, Axel. I’m sure we’ll see a lot more of each other.”
