Page 8 of Yule Know It When You See It
I sigh, defeated, and watch the numbers fluctuate for each elevator car, none of which are close to the lobby floor. Glancing at my watch, I let out another sigh. Great. It’s my first day on the job and I’m going to be late. All because of a greedy elevator thief.
I’ve never been late for work. Ever. So, imagine my surprise when I fail to insert the charging cable in on my phone the night before, and it dies. What does this mean? No. Alarm. And I’d love to think I’m the type that has this crazy internal clock situation, wherein I wake up automatically at the same time every morning, but alas, I do not. I’m a night owl. Ihatemornings despite my forced willingness to face extremely early ones at times to hit a deadline.
So, here I am, sprinting down the street with a donut hanging out of my mouth, only concealer and mascara on my face, and my hair in complete disarray. A street performer unironically playsRun, Run, Rudolphon the saxophone, and I let out an actual snarl upon passing him. When my palms fly into the revolving door of the office building, I have precisely two minutes to make it to the elevator and fly through Celestial Magazine’s entrance.
“Please let there be an elevator waiting in the lobby.Please,” I say in silent prayer to myself, my boots thudding against the marble floor, arms poised at my sides to keep myself steady with the occasional slip from wet soles.
Answering my pleas, one of three elevator doors pings open right as I reach them, a man in a trench coat yelling at someone on his cell phone storming out of it. Performing a mental celebration dance in my head, I leap into the elevator, press number seven, and let out a relieved sigh. That’s until a man in a knit cap with a Viking beard charges towardmyelevator with an outstretched hand.
Oh, no. No. No. No. What if he picked a floor below mine? It would add another minute to my already ticking time. Not to mention, I’ve always hated being stuck in an elevator with only one other person. Talk about unbearable awkwardness.
Quickly, I press the close button, offering him a sympathetic expression even when he asks me to hold the door. At least, I thought it was an apologetic face, but judging by the crease in my forehead, it may have looked more like the need to pass gas. The doors shut, denying him entry, and the last thing I see are his widened Robin’s-egg-blue eyes staring at me through the gap.
“Finally,” I say through a breath and lean on the back railing, waiting to reach my floor.
I step into the office at 8:00 AM on the dot and feeling pretty damn good about myself, I drop off my coat and briefcase at my desk and make an immediate beeline for the coffee room. Usually, I’d wait for Bernice to put on a pot, but today, why not? I toss coffee grounds into the filter, check the water is filled to the tippy top, press the brew button, and fold my arms, waiting. The room fills with the aromatic scent of coffee, which never fails to trigger memories of my dad reading the Sunday newspaper and handing me the funnies as a child. The thought makes me smile as I grab a mug from the cabinet, closing the door to see a man passing by with—a beard. He’s holding a blue knit hat in his hands.
That couldn’t be Elevator Guy, could it? I’d only seen him for a few seconds, and the hat made him look different. But then he backpedals to the entryway, pauses, and looks directly at me. There’s no mistaking those ridiculously blue eyes. Itishim.
Crap.
Look busy.
There’s a chance he doesn’t recognize you and needs a caffeine fix.
Act casual.
I clear my throat and pour coffee into myStar WarsChristmas mug—Darth Vader wearing a Santa hat and the words “I Am Your Father Christmas.” Grabbing two sugar packets, I rip them open simultaneously and pour them in, trying desperately to ignore the looming shadow suddenly standing beside me.
“You didn’t hold the elevator for me.” Elevator Guy’s voice is beyond deep. It’s downright gritty baritone. And it’s accented.
I gulp before first looking at him, or rather hischest. Lifting my gaze up, up, and further up, I finally look him in the eye. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, sir.”
“Yes, you do. And I saw you hit the close button repeatedly. Whatever happened to common courtesy?” He points at me with his hat, his stance wide and imposing.
His nose bears a perfect slant, his cheekbones carved like marble, hair a mix between light and medium blonde with both sides shaved, the middle part longer and slicked back. His beard, falling to his collarbones, is perfectly sculpted, brushed, and matches his hair color. And those damn glacial eyes. Why did he have to be so freaking attractive? He is the illegitimate love child of Ragnar Lothbrok from the showVikingsand Chris Hemsworth, for crying out loud. If, scientifically, two men could conceive. But seriously, it isn’t evenfair.
“Oh, I remember you now.” Playing it cool, I sashay to the fridge, snatching the creamer. “You’djustmissed the elevator. Tough go, huh? Whatyousaw was me pressing the open button. But I couldn’t keep those determined doors from closing.”
“Really? Because your face suggested otherwise.” Those turquoise eyes narrow at me.
After pouring a smidge of creamer into my coffee, putting it back, and snapping a stirring straw into my mug, I brush past him. “Face? Sorry. I make all kinds of faces.” I exit the room and head for my desk without letting him continue the conversation.
Hefollowsme.
Abruptly, I stop, clutching the mug to my chest. “Why are you following me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. That’s my desk.Rightthere.” Elevator Guy points at the vacant desk across from mine.
Arching a brow, I hitch-step toward it, poking a finger against the wood. “This desk. Right here. Isyourdesk?”
“That’s right.” Elevator Guy plops a briefcase onto it. “Say hello to your new sports writer.”
For the love of—why me, world? Why? Not only was I unknowingly cruddy toward a new co-worker, but I also made him late on hisfirstday.
“A new writer.” A nervous laugh erupts from my chest. “Great. Fabulous.”
A brief flash of white shines through his beard as he gives me a lopsided grin. “Any more synonyms you care to add? Terrific, maybe?”
