When I walked into the office the next morning, I was wearing a T-shirt and yoga pants with my hair pulled into a messy bun. Thank God for casual Fridays.
Marcus met me at the door with a coffee. “Extra-large double-shot frap with extra whip,” he said, holding it out to me, chuckling when I greedily grabbed for it and took a long sip. “And you look like you can use it,” he added as we walked toward the elevator.
“You have no idea,” I quipped, searching my mind for any part of the night I could share without looking like a certifiable mental case and coming up blank. “I was up really late,” I finished with a shrug. It wasn’t a lie. It had taken me hours to dismantle the tree, pack up all the decorations and vacuum up piles of pine needles, sprinkles, and glitter. Christmas was messy.
“Girl, same.” Marcus sighed, as we rode the elevator to the sixteenth floor. “I’d tell you about my night, but I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
He blushed when he said it, and I opened my mouth to tease him and ask what cute boy he’d hooked up with on Grindr, but something stopped me. Usually, Marcus couldn’t wait to tell me all about his crazy escapades and the parade of men in and out of his life. He always followed it up with, “Girl, you need to get out there and get you some! You ain’t getting any younger.”
I knew instinctively that this was not one of these times, just like I knew now that Marcus had not been behind my late-night visitor.
Santa’s crazed ramblings about naughty lists and peppermint mochas and Vixen the elf mistress came unbidden to the forefront of my mind, and I pushed them away as I looked at Marcus who was still blushing when the elevator finally stopped. What had Santa said? That he didn’t spank the boys? He sent Vixen the elf mistress to do that? I peered at Marcus, suspiciously as we stepped off the elevator. What if I hadn’t been the only one with an unexpected late-night visitor last night? I certainly wasn’t the only one acting strangely this morning and unwilling to discuss the events that had kept them up late the night before.
I said nothing, sticking my straw in my mouth and sucking to ward off the disturbing thoughts I was having as we walked down the hall.
When Marcus called out a jovial good morning to everyone we passed, including Cindy, the office bitch, I could no longer keep quiet.
“Either you had really good sex last night, or you have completely lost your mind.”
Marcus shook his head, looking straight ahead. He was definitely blushing. “Neither. I’m making an effort to be nicer. You never really know what a person is going through in their life. Sometimes a little smile, or a ‘good morning’ can make all the difference.”
Forget Vixen the elf mistress. Marcus had been abducted by aliens.
We parted with a hug then made our way to our separate cubicles, and I sat down at my computer feeling shell-shocked.
Vixen the elf mistress? Marcus was as gay as the day was long, but he was acting completely different. At least I had gotten hot Santa.
Hot Santa who had broken into my house somehow, spanked me, convinced the cops I was crazy, insisted I was his Mrs. Claus, blackmailed me into agreeing to a date by decorating my house like a department store window, and left as mysteriously as he had come.
He was crazy, apeshit bananas, and now I was going on a date with him, and I found myself dreaming about his rock-hard abs, and the generous package that his tight boxer briefs hadn’t been able to hide.
It had been a long time since I had been on a proper date, or gotten laid for that matter. No matter how hard up I was, I didn’t give it up before the third date, and I didn’t make it that far very often. Guys these days didn’t seem to be interested in doing things the right way, at least not the ones who were interested in me.
I should cancel the date, I told myself. Nice normal guys didn’t break into your home and start spanking you before you’d even been properly introduced. And this guy, Yule, he wasn’t nice or normal. But, he did have a certain charm about him, a mischief I could find endearing when it wasn’t aimed at trying to turn my life upside down over a stupid holiday. Plus, he was nice to look at. Okay, he was hot. Not that I would ever admit it out loud.
A proper date sounded nice, though, and I’ll admit I was curious to see what a “Christmas date” would entail.
He’s crazy, I reminded myself, trying to no avail to talk myself out of going through with it. Not that I really had a choice. He didn’t leave me his number, and I doubted “Crazy Santa Claus” was listed in the phone book.
Sighing, I began to leaf through my planner to begin my day, startled by faint chimes. I looked down at my wrist and smiled. The charms on my bracelet clinked together, and my insides warmed as I was reminded of the thoughtful gift.
I hadn’t been able to throw out the gifts with the rest of the Christmas paraphernalia he had left behind. Call it the curiosity that killed the cat, but I had needed to know what treasures were hidden in those brightly wrapped packages.
There had been five of them, each more perfect than the last. A gift basket with my favorite wine, chocolates, and bubble bath. A silver bracelet with charms that seemed generic but actually meant a ton to me. A teddy bear, a wine glass, a heart, and a dog. There was, in another box, a designer porcelain teddy bear dressed in a little Santa costume. I collect designer bears, and, of course, I didn’t have a Santa one. There was also a throw pillow that said Bah Humbug, which had made me laugh, and even a gift for Dixie. A bone, a squeaky toy, and a set of red-and-green bows for her ears.
How crazy Santa knew what to put in those boxes was just another one of his mysteries, and, ultimately, the thing that ensured I would not stand him up.
I’d received a lot of gifts from men over the years, and I knew well enough that choosing the right gift is a talent in itself, and if you find a guy who has that talent, he’s probably a keeper.
Dammit. I was going on a date with Santa Claus. Or a crazy person who thought he was Santa Claus, at least. And I was actually looking forward to it.
“Twelve o’clock cocoa break!” the voice of Rupert, my head elf, boomed over the intercom.
All work ceased around me as everyone scrambled for the break room. The elves took their cocoa very seriously, and, without it, they didn’t work half as fast.
I loved cocoa, too, but I didn’t drink it all day long as the elves did. During the break, I retired to my office and began to peruse my lists. I had lists for everything, a whole book of them, and keeping them organized and up-to-date was a full-time job in and of itself.
Opening the book to the current naughty list, I zeroed in on the only name that mattered. Crystal Angelina Turner.
Moving her name off this list and off the list of nonbelievers was my number one priority and a task that seemed impossible, given the fact that I had two weeks to accomplish it.
“So, how’s it going? You don’t have much time left, you know,” my father’s voice boomed, mirroring my thoughts, and I looked up to see him standing in front of me.
“Argh! Will you stop doing that?” I yelled throwing my hands up in the air. He was teleporting into my office daily, usually to tell me what I was doing wrong. “I’m Santa now, not you. If I needed your opinion, I’d teleport you here and ask for it. It’s not supposed to be the other way around.”
My father shrugged, looking sheepish for only a moment. “It’s an important job. I’m having a hard time letting go. I love you, Son, but I know you weren’t given much time. That’s why I spent the last two years trimming down the list in that age range for you. Crystal is the best there is. She will make a fine Mrs. Claus, but she’s gonna be a tough nut to crack. Speaking of, how’s it going with you two?”
“I don’t know why you’re asking when I’m sure you already know,” I grumbled. “It’s not going great. She hates Christmas, she called the cops on me, and I barely got her to agree to a date. Not to mention the fact that I have absolutely zero game plan for tonight and only two weeks to make her mine, or Christmas is… Well you haven’t exactly told me what happens, but I’m guessing it’s pretty bad.”
“It is. That’s why failure is not an option,” my father said, repeating his ominous statement from two nights prior.
“Well, you made it sound like it was going to be easy!”
“With your mother, it was.” My father shrugged. “If you had planned ahead and done your homework, maybe last night wouldn’t have been such a disaster. But then, you never were much for homework, were you?”
“Homework? What homework?” I shouted, wishing my father would stop talking in riddles, as the bell chimed signaling the end of the cocoa break.
“I’ve got to get back to work,” I growled. “Thanks for all your help,” I added, my voice laden with sarcasm.
My father smiled and clapped me on the shoulder. “Read her file, Son. Before your date tonight. The clock is ticking.”
Her file. Of course. We had one on everyone. Naturally, with her being over twenty, her file would be archived into storage up on the eighth floor.
Cringle crap. It looked like I would be spending the afternoon in administrative hell. Like I wasn’t behind enough. “Rupert,” I buzzed over the intercom. “Bring me the keys for the files for the twenty to forty-year-olds, and cancel our inventory briefing today. Email me the numbers instead. I’m on a mission.”
“Yes, sir,” Rupert squeaked over the walkie-talkie system that allowed him to respond to me wherever he was. “Right away, Santa.”