Page 55 of Bad Boy Bachelor Christmas
Considering his question, I played back a loop of Christmas gifts I’d received in the past before landing on one that popped up like a red flag just as it had when I opened it on Christmas Eve. “I’ve got it! My last boyfriend from when I was nineteen bought me a razor.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Yep, you heard me right. He bought me a new razor, along with the generous add-on of some razor blades, with asweetlittle note about how there were no more excuses for furry legs during the winter months.”
North blinked before putting a hand on his chest and laughing uproariously.
“It’s not that funny.” I scowled. “He was an ass. Do you know how much work it is to maintain a fresh shave when it’s the dry season? And how itchy it gets?”
He wiped mirthful tears from the corners of his eyes with his thumbs. “Sounds pretty on brand for a nineteen-year-old.”
“A nineteen-year-old punk maybe,” I grumbled.
“And a brazen punk at that. I can’t imagine giving a woman a razor as a gift. What did you get him?”
I looked out the window at the Clydesdales to hide my smile. “A custom Bluetooth stereo for his stupid car that he liked so much.”
North only laughed harder. “You poor thing. You did such a good job and you got a not so passive aggressive message to shave more often.”
I shot him a dark look but couldn’t stop the grin from stretching my cheeks as his eyes danced with mirth. “Laugh it up, North Waylon.”
CHAPTER25
NORTH
Christmas, Four Years Ago
Pacing my office, I growled into the phone. “You’re not hearing me. That’s unacceptable. These clients have paid top dollar, and the last thing we’re going to do is give them mediocre service. Have you spoken to Marge about this?”
My coordinator, a new hire who’d been scrambling to make ends meet for the past three weeks, squeaked like a mouse cornered by a cat. “No, not yet, Mr. Waylon.”
“Call her. She’ll have a solution. Offering them a refund is not an option on the table right now. Do you understand? That tree goes up and gets decorated. I don’t care if the team is there until the crack of dawn to get the job done. My name will not be on shoddy work.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Keep me updated.”
“Yes, sir.”
I hung up the phone and shook my head before falling into my chair and running my fingers through my hair. Why was good help so damn hard to find these days? If another employee screwed up my carefully managed schedule, I was going to rip my fucking hair out. Some of them may not have understood why a Christmas tree was so important, but I did, and I wasn’t going to let tradition slip through the cracks to cover their sloppy work.
There were layoffs coming at the beginning of January. I’d already started working on a list of names of people who weren’t meeting my standards.
A knock came at my home office door.
I looked up.
My wife crossed her arms and leaned on the doorframe, her smile as crooked as her leaning posture. “Is everything all right in here? I heard you pacing. You’re going to wear those floorboards out, you know.”
“They’re testing my patience.”
“Isn’t that supposed to be my job?” Veronica flashed me her pearly whites before tipping her head down the hall. “Why don’t you step away from work for a minute and clear your head? I just took butter tarts out of the oven. Your favorite.”
“Maybe later. I have too much on my plate right now.”
“It’s Christmas Eve, baby. You always have too much on your plate.” She pushed off the doorframe and walked languidly into my office, pausing to run her fingertips over a smiling photograph of us from our engagement several years ago that sat on my desk. “A break would do you some good. And I miss my husband. I’ve been alone all day cooking for the party.”
“We should have canceled.”
