Page 12 of Under the Mistletoe
“They could cause a lot of trouble for us if they get ground support. Asia is one of our keyhole markets. We have clear market ownership there.”
I shake my head slightly. “I don’t think they will.”
“How can you be so sure? Jasper has been going downhill, but they’re tenacious with their negotiations…”
“When I heard the news yesterday, I looked at the Asia market more closely. They’ve bought smaller establishments, but I saw some industry fluctuations that have been happening that indicate this kind of move into Asia might’ve been on the cards and may be more of a logistics play, rather than specifically taking market share.”
His eyebrows rise.
“Here, let me show you.” I grab my laptop, and the two of us sit at his desk, side by side, as I show him the mapping I did last night.
“You did this? Last night?” He’s impressed, but all I can focus on is how close we are. We’re practically breathing the same air. My pulse kicks like a warning. I should shift away, but I don’t. It’s like his body is a magnet, and I couldn’t move if I tried. But I should. He’s my boss, and I really want this job. The two can’t mix.
“I saw the announcement. I wanted to get on top of it before this morning.”
He hasn’t stopped looking at me, and even as I feel his gaze hot on the side of my face, my eyes remain focused on the screen, my hands tapping the keys, trying to do anything other than look back at him. Then his leg hits mine as his attention moves to the screen, and I almost jump. Tingles from the quick connection travel up my thigh as he leans in to look closer. Breathing in his familiar fresh scent, the aroma has me salivating.
My eyes flick over his desk, noticing a small crystal bowl filled with chocolate-covered somethings, too small to be nuts. I’m not sure what they are, but Donovan grabs a small handful and throws them in his mouth, his eyes not wavering from the screen.
Like he senses me watching him, he turns, his gaze latching on mine.
“Chocolate-covered coffee beans. Would you like some?” He grabs the bowl, pulling it closer.
“Oh, no… one coffee a day is my limit.”
Three sharp knocks have me nearly jumping out of my skin.
“Enter,” he barks absentmindedly, putting the crystal bowl back as I bring up the new analyses I developed overnight, the ones that show real-time data of what I predict will happen over the next week.
“Coffee, Donovan.” Ashley glides in, walking like she’s on a runway with a tray in her hand, which she slides onto the desk, depositing the two cups.
“It’s Mr. York,” he says firmly, and I look up at her, seeing her squirm a little as he corrects her in front of me, her plump lips pursed.
“Of course. Will there be anything else, Mr. York?” She watches Donovan closely, but his eyes stay firmly on the screen, looking right over my shoulder, completely oblivious to her and entirely in my space.
“No. Thank you,” he murmurs, lifting his hand in a small, dismissive wave, and her narrowed eyes catch mine before she turns and walks out, closing the door behind her.
“This is…” Donovan shakes his head in awe. “Did you get any sleep?”
“Not really. Once I get tunnel vision for something, I find it hard to break away,” I admit.
“I’m the same. I live and breathe this business. I search for anything I can do to ensure success. I want to grow.”
Our work ethic appears to align, and I smile. He returns it with a small grin before leaning over, grabbing my coffee, and passing it to me as he stands and starts to pace his office.
I take a moment to drink him in. His suit fits like it was cut just for him. Probably was. Every move is calm, controlled, except for the crease between his eyebrows, which tells me he's still thinking about my data. Something inside of me tightens at the thought that he hasn’t looked away once this morning, not from the screen, and not from me.
I try to center myself and look down at where I sit, bag open, laptop out, like I hit the ground running. But my hair still hangs wet across my shoulders, my feet a little damp, my clothes almost stuck to me but slowly drying.
“Do you wear contacts?”
I look up quickly, seeing him now stopped, watching me.
“Oh, um, sometimes…” I hate contacts. They scratch, irritate, and make my eyes water most of the time. I know my glasses are ugly. I wore Coke bottles most of my younger life, so I’m glad the ones I have now are thinner and more flattering.
“You’re wearing Dior today.” He looks down at my dress, and my eyebrows rise.
Dior is classic, the cut familiar to a trained eye, yet I had no idea Donovan would be so attuned. I have no idea who would donate Dior to a thrift shop, but I don’t question Mabel. She said it would look great on my frame, even if all I could think about is how the retail price could pay my rent. Forever thankful to her, I took the dress home, and it sat in the back of my wardrobe, waiting for the right time to wear it.
