Page 53 of Screwged for Christmas

Rockefeller center is my favorite place this time of year, even if I do skate alone. The idea of returning to palm trees, sand and sun is less than inspiring.

I hadn't planned on babysitting this eve or being anywhere near my boss this close to Christmas and with the current thoughts running through my head I should probably go home, take care of my fantasies and then relax in a long, hot bubble bath.

But what’s a girl like me do instead? I pull up the picture of Logan again and think about my crazy wish. A one-night stand with him? Sign me up for two, but I’m more likely to see my on-screen idol strut his Scottish self down 5th Avenue naked, honestly.

I don't have time for fantasies when the real world trashes wishes like they smash little girl's dreams. I learned my lesson growing up with a workaholic mother and a disappearing father.

I type out a quick reply and hit send.

I’m gonna shove my thoughts and wistful desires into a tiny box inside my heart and do what’s right. It takes money to pay school bills and my boss isn't a man to easily say no to anyway.

He makes sure of it with the healthy paycheck which goes a long way toward paying for tuition. I half think he enjoys adding a couple of zeros to keep me on stand-by, as he puts it, but he swears up and down to only doing so to ensure no one else steals me away from him.

I admit, my insides fluttered at hearing him say it like that when I asked last week.

“Sugah, everything alright?” I look up from my phone to see that Noella has already slipped outside, leaving me alone with Pandora.

My new acquaintance appears concerned and I’m touched by her soft tone and gentle hand to my shoulder. “Huh? Oh, yeah. Thank you for the warm cup of tea and for listening to us gripe about our problems. I guess I need to go too.”

I turn to make my exit but quickly look back thinking I see a twitch of a hand and something fall from her fingers. Something dazzling white and sparkly, but it has to be a trick of the light from all the twinkling lights draped across the bookstore. Right?

“I’m sorry did you say something?” On top of thinking I’m seeing things; a slight murmur of words carries over the faint Christmas tunes playing in the background.

Her smile is bright and she draws me in for another hug. Pulling away she winks a perfect lash. “Don’t be a stranger, m’k. Come back any time.”

I huff a small laugh at myself. “Thanks, that actually sounds like a good idea.”

Right after I get my head together. Maybe it’s the whiskey or whatever we just drank. Has to be. Or I’m just overworked.

“Merry Christmas, Pandora.” I wave my goodbyes as a familiar black town car slides up to the curb. Noella is on the phone, with her mom from the sound of it, and I give my friend a quick peck on the cheek.

Using my thumb and pinky I sign to my friend to call me and turn. One step and I nearly face plant in a broad, solid chest covered in the softest white cashmere I’ve ever laid hands on.

Logan Sterling. Handsome, depressingly gorgeous, and my boss.

And I don't use two of those terms lightly either.

He belongs on some magazine toting sexiest man alive. A pure man’s man with shoulders of a gladiator and firm pecs that bounce when he’s clapping at something his little niece accomplished. Noella is wrong when she says I didn’t go for the muscles and good looks. It just depends on the man. With how my body is firing alive I’d say it was safe to say this one, in particular, does it for me and very well.

I hold back a grown and the flash of memories of seeing him naked and spread out on the bed pleasuring himself.

And that smile. God help me. Charmingandpanty-dropping.

I admit right here and now, one word from him and I’d pull them from me and hand them over.

The gold tie he’s wearing stands out from the black suit lending to the aura of strength and power radiating off him. A natural leader people want to follow. Makes sense with what he’s built for himself from the ground up.

He looks nothing like a man who would fall for a girl my age. He’s in his late thirties and there’s no way a man as successful as he is would want anything to do with a twenty-two-year-old college girl who barely has her shit together. Come to think of it. I don’t really know what kind of woman would look good on his arm. In the time I’ve worked for him he’s been on one date. A CEO of some rivaling company with long tanned legs, perfect tits, and enough degrees to plaster a bathroom wall with.

Don’t judge, but I had to check. Worst night of my life that ended with way too many empty wine bottles and tissues. How could I compete with someone like that?

Most girls my age are off on sky trips with the hot college football players and hooking up over the winter holiday. Not my scene. Fumbling younger guys don’t do it for me but Logan Sterling with this sculpted arms, and hard cock—I know, I’ve seen it—if only.

I wince. “Mr. Sterling. Sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

“Ms. Kendall,” he draws out with a half-smile. He clears his throat, looking down at my hands plastered against his chest.

Shit.

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