Page 21 of Yule Know It When You See It
Theodora Hackett—is an enigma. She’s a paradox of mixed signals, cute mannerisms, and enough back-and-forth commentary that my head is spinning. Just when I think she may be warming up to me, she denies my good manners. And it’s not as if I can easily stop what my mom ingrained in me since childhood. But I also didn’t want Theo to feel anything less for herself and forcibly took a step back.
And this is precisely why I don’t date or get invested in a woman. Because this particularkvinnehas me staring at a blank Word document for the past two hours. I’ve done nothing at work except swivel in my chair and click a pen nearly a thousand times. Distractions never help anyone,especiallywriters. It doesn’t help that I can alsoseesaid woman because her desk is ten feet away and she’s been equally productive. Instead of typing, she’s been writing in a yellow notebook for the past hour and has stolen a glance at me seven times.
On the eighth time, we lock gazes. Her spine straightens, and using her heels, she slowly turns her chair, so her back is to me. Slamming the pen on the desk, I bolt from my chair, taking the long way around the office to get to Theo’s desk to peek at what she’s been writing. Call me curious. Call me deranged. This woman had me feeling all of it. And honestly? I question whether I should befeelinganything at all.
I remain laser-focused on Theo as I weave between desks, glancing only long enough in front of me to avoid colliding with someone passing by. Theo stays with her back turned to my desk until risking a glance over her shoulder and bouncing in her seat when she notices me missing. When she starts scanning the office, I duck behind the water cooler. A man stands there casually, drinking from a paper cup with his other hand shoved in his pocket.
“How you doing?” The man smiles and nods, raising the cup. “Name’s Wally. You new? Don’t recognize you.”
“Yeah,” I start, my tone sounding far too distracted to my liking. “Axel. New sports writer.”
The nostrils of Wally’s wide nose flare wide, and he nods again. “Ah. The replacement for Lloyd. He was a peculiar one. Not very social. Never saw him over here once, come to think of it.” Wally shrugs and fills his cup with more water by pressing the cooler’s handle.
“Yeah. I’ll uh—” Spying Theo writing in her notebook again, eyes cast downward, I pat Wally on the shoulder. “—I’ll try to be better about that. Have a good one.”
Wally offers a thin-lipped smile, raising the cup to me again, and I’m back to my stealthy circling of the office.
“Axel. Axel Nord, right?” A high-pitched woman’s voice asks.
Pausing, I let my shoulders slump, whispering, “Helvete,” to myself before turning around. Standing there is a petite woman with bright blonde waves and sporting a blue and black sweater with Christmas tree lights, two squirrels busily chewing on the wires. “Yes?”
With a brightened smile to rival a moonbeam, she sticks her hand out. “I’m Mary. Office receptionist.”
I shake her hand but start to side-step us so that my back is in Theo’s direction. “Nice to meet you. Can I help you with something?”
“I wanted to give you this since you’re new.” Mary produces a postcard.
Taking it from her, I arch a brow at the elaborate holiday designs—a red square in the center surrounded by holly and evergreen branches with intertwining lights. Inside the square reads:Office Christmas Party. Friday at 6 PM until???
“Office party, huh? This usually a big deal?” I shove the invitation in my back pants pocket.
“Oh, yes. I pull out all the stops and haven’t had any employee complaints. I hope you’ll be there?” She blinks her big blue eyes and cocks her head to one side.
“Sure,” I reply, not remembering when the Hawks game is and hoping I haven’t committed to something I can’t uphold.
“Great,” Mary chirps, clapping her hands together. “I’ll let you get back to work, but glad to have you on board, Axel.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, continuing my office skirting.
Naomi slides in front of me, an arm draped over her chest, fingers twirling her dark hair. “Axel.” She frowns. “You still haven’t texted me.”
And I have zero intention of ever contacting her outside of the office. Zero. I don’t have what one would call a direct “type” when it comes to women, but one thing is sure—it’snotNaomi.
“You noticed that, huh?” I cross my arms.
Naomi blinks, obviously a bit shell-shocked by my response. “Is there a particular reason? Did you lose my number? I can write it down again.”
“Naomi,” I start, leaning forward to ensure she hears me. “I’m not interested.”
Her arms fall slack at her sides, her ruby lips parting. “Excuse me? I mean, why?”
Is this the universe’s idea of some cruel joke?
“Do you really want to get into particulars? Right here? In the middle of the office?” I swivel my hips and twirl a finger at our surroundings. “I don’t owe you an explanation. I’m letting you know upfront—I’m not interested.”
Her cheeks turn rosy, and she clucks her tongue against her teeth. “Fine. You’re too tall anyway.” She sneers at me before finally walking away.
Definitelynotmy type.
