Page 9 of Yule Know It When You See It
“Prodigious,” I blurt.
“Nice one.” His eyes do this sexy squinty thing where the corners crinkle and little lines form in the skin below his gaze.
Why does his praise do unmentionable things to my stomach?
Desperate to change the subject, I tap my fingernail against the mug’s ceramic. “Youhave an accent.”
He begins removing various items from his briefcase, including a basic yellow legal pad, several pens, and a business card holder. “Andyouhave ears.Skål.”
My nose scrunches, and I have zero time to ask what in the flying hell this means before an intern approaches, holding out a shiny, glistening nameplate to Elevator Guy. “Here you are. Hot off the presses, Mr. Nord.”
“Thanks,” Mr. Nord replies, resting the nameplate at the front of his desk.
I lean back, squinting at the name printed in bold black lettering. “Axel Nord.” An inescapable snort blurts from my nose. “That has to be a pen name.”
“It was my grandfather’s name.” Axel raises both brows at me and presses his fingertips atop the desk, staring me down like a wolf challenging its prey.
I lean even further away, the mug pressed so tightly to my chest that now I can feel the heat seeping through my shirt. “Well, it’s a very strong name.”
“Thanks?” Axel’s gaze shifts away, and he punches his index finger on several buttons of the phone in the desk’s corner. His hands are the size of fajita tortillas, and it’s a wonder he can manage not to hit more than one number at a time.
I stand there silent and staring like a weirdo.
“You already made me late. Can I set up my desk now and get to work? Or did you want to make fun of my accent or beard next?”
I quite like both of those, to be honest.
“Carry on,” I say, lifting my nose and turning away as if he needs my permission.
“Wait,” he beckons, waiting for me to look at him. “You know my name. Considering we’re co-workers now, care to tell me yours?”
My lips part, ready to answer, but She-Dragon interrupts with a resounding, “Romance, my office. Now.”
Simone often refers to her employees by the columns we write versus our actual names. It’d been jarring at first, maybe even a tad degrading, but there were far worse things she could call us.
“Guess my name is Romance. Best to not keep the boss waiting.” Grinning at his bewildered face, I turn away and frolic to Simone’s office.
Axel mumbles something under his breath in a language I don’t understand as I enter Simone’s office. She looks extra Queenly today in her crisp burgundy pant suit and jacket ensemble. Her spiky black stilettos are so fierce they could double as concealed weapons.
She points a sepia-toned finger at the door, her perfectly manicured, pointy, burgundy fingernail also questionable as a weapon. “Close the door.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I shut the door behind me and sit in one of two chairs facing her massive, glossy, black executive desk.
Simone doesn’t sit, instead taking a power pose and leaning a hip against her desk. “I assume you’ve been wondering about your holiday assignment?”
It’s consumed me.
“It’s crossed my mind a time or two, yes. But figured you’d tell me soon enough.” I force a confident smile.
Simone takes a dramatic pause—long enough to cause sweat to bead on my neck. And the worst part? She knows what she’s doing. She always does.
“I wanted to wait until the new sports writer started.” Simone leans over her desk, snatching a manila folder and holding it out to me.
Blankly, I take the folder and cock my head to one side. “Axel?”
“Who’s Axel?”
I open the folder on my lap while blinking up at her. “The uh, the new sports writer.”
