Boston was blessed—or cursed, depending on your outlook—with half a foot of snow the week before Christmas.

My Bentley handled it like a champ.

My dress shoes took it a little harder.

“Well this place just got prettier,” I commented as Charlie and Payton strode in the door of Titan.

“We’re out of watermelon soda upstairs and I thought you might have some,” Payton said as she crossed to the kitchen.

“I brought you these.” Charlie held out the tickets I’d bought for Titan to LIVE’s holiday event. Charlie had landed a top-shelf comedian from LA to perform and I wanted to support her, and do something nice for the team.

Payton ducked her head to inspect the contents of the fridge and I nudged her out of the way, reaching to the back for the lone can of watermelon and handing it to her.

“I also invited your girl.” Charlie’s voice said she knew she was dangling juicy bamboo in front of a hungry koala.

“What are you talking about.”

“Rocky.” She boosted herself up to sit on the counter. “She stopped by yesterday.”

“Is this Sam, the girl you and Max went to school with? Who’s working on Phoenix?” Payton asked, her gaze flicking between us.

“And the girl Wonderboy here has a permanent hard-on for.”

Payton lifted a brow as she took a gulp of her soda. “I’m so glad you’re seeing someone again!”

“I’m not seeing anyone,” I griped.

Since dropping Sam at the gallery Saturday, I hadn’t seen or heard from her.

I’d been trying to give Sam space, and keep some for myself. But it’d been four days since I’d kissed her in my office. Four days since she’d kept me waiting, then given in on a moan that was playing on a loop in my head, keeping me up at night.

I wanted to know what the hell was going on.

“Apparently she gets along better with my friends than with me.”

“Don’t get your panties in a knot. She sent some people to the club and I tracked her down to say thanks,” Charlie went on. “But it doesn’t matter, because she said she couldn’t come to the holiday party tomorrow. She’s busy.”

“With what?” I couldn’t resist asking.

“Family stuff. Her grandparents visiting for Christmas or something.”

“Her dad’s parents from Georgia?”

Charlie lifted her palms. “I don’t know, Ry. Do I look like your messenger? Unless you guys aren’t talking, and...” She raised her brows. “You guys aren’t talking. Interesting. Did you fuck?”

“No.”

“What the hell is wrong with you? You’re hot. She’s hot. You have a decade of sexual tension to work through. That’s not only an excuse, it’s a five-season reality show.”

I rubbed a hand over my face.

I’d replayed the day in my office over and over in my head.

The feel of Sam over me. Those fascinating eyes looking into mine. Her skin under my hands, mine under hers.

Until she got that call.

Then, I couldn’t even feel pissed about the interruption because of the horror of seeing months of her work, her passion, destroyed.

“Why don’t you call her, Ry?” Payton asked, interrupting my thoughts.

Because I wanted her to call me, damn it.

I wanted her to think to get in touch with me. To remember how insanely good, and wrong, and right, it felt when we’d kissed.

Which was unfair. But that was how it was.

“It’ll work out.” She stepped toward me, pulling me into a hug.

“Is this some maternal hormone thing?” I muttered into her hair.

“Nope. It’s a ‘that’s what friends are for’ thing.” Charlie’s heels clicked on the tile as she shifted off the counter and her arms wrapped around me from behind.

Muppet appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, freezing as he took the three of us in. “I can’t even get a girlfriend. Do you teach this shit?”

Normally I’d order lunch from a sub place around the corner, but today after Payton and Charlie left, I needed the walk.

After wrapping my coat around me and venturing out into the wind, I hit Sam’s contact in my phone.

“Hey,” she answered. Her low voice on the other end was enough to relax the tension in my shoulders.

“Hi. I wanted to call and see how you’re doing.”

I heard her expelled breath in my ear. “Surviving. Apparently there’s a lot of art fraud so I’ve been answering questions for insurance for days.”

That knowledge did something to soothe my bruised ego.

“It’s strange when you think about it. In Europe you see these five hundred year old frescos, untouched and perfect. Most of the paintings in this show didn’t last a year.”

“They can’t be saved?”

“Watercolor’s a bitch. I should’ve picked oils. You can practically scrub the canvas to clean it.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway. Thank you. For your support.”

“Sure.” I stopped at a traffic light, waiting for it to turn.

She hesitated, and I didn’t want to hang up just yet. It sounded like she didn’t either.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” I asked.

“My grandparents are coming from Georgia. My dad gets to drive them to and from the airport, which I think is the highlight. He’s starting back on shifts the week after Christmas. Just one surgery a day for a few weeks. But he’s giddy, like a kid. What about you?”

“Annie’s coming home, and Grace and Jeremy will be at my parents’ with their daughter Emily.” I reached the door of the sun shop and paused, holding it so a group of kids could go in first. “I should go. But I wanted to say Merry Christmas, Sam.”

“Merry Christmas. And Lee?” I would've waited forever when she called me that.

“Yeah.”

“Thank you. For calling. For everything.”

I wanted to be there for her, to do more for her, but didn’t know how to help her grieve.

I returned to our building with my sandwich, striding in the front door of Titan. The coders were at their desks, a few occupying the beanbag chairs by the conference room. Max was leaning over Muppet’s workstation, arms crossed as he read code over the guy’s shoulder.

An idea occurred to me.

“I need something that belongs to you,” I told Max, unwrapping my sandwich.

“I drive a late model economy car and my condo is full of Montessori books,” he said, eyeing me up as I took a bite of the sub. “What could you possibly want?”

After chewing and swallowing I told him, and his eyes narrowed. “I bought it for Payton. It’s her Christmas present.”

“I’ll make it up to her,” I said between bites. “Come on, Max. When have I ever asked you for anything.”

His silence spoke volumes. “For her, huh?”

“Yes.”

He glanced at my sandwich. “That pastrami?”

“Smoked meat.”

He took it out of my hand. “Fine.”

I gladly relinquished my lunch. As far as trades went, this barely counted.

“Thank you,” I said, and meant it. “You should get out of here. Enjoy the time with your family.”

“My parents are arriving from Florida tomorrow and Payton’s mom is getting them at the airport. They’re here until Boxing Day. It’s going to be intense. They’re going to start asking when we’re getting married again.”

“What do you say?”

“I drop the pre-nup word. Talking about lawyers always shuts everyone up.” He must’ve seen the stunned look on my face because he went on. “Come on. I’m kidding. If Payton ever left me I’d give her half of everything I own willingly. She’s already half of everything I am.”

“As your lawyer, I can tell you that is not a helpful strategy. As your friend… I need to tell you that is some sappy shit.”

“Women have a way of doing that to you.”

I thought he was going to say more, but in the end, he just turned back to the screen, taking a bite out of my sandwich.

I made some calls to our partners and contractors, then finished up paperwork that needed to be done before the end of the year.

The coders were working down to the wire to get rid of bugs in the new game, and I admired their single-mindedness, their ability to focus on not just their task but on one project.

It made me think about Phoenix.

Did Epic have a team of people working to deadline today like our developers were? What were they working on—the script, the casting, the locations? There had to be a mountain of decisions on a new film. I wanted to know what they were, how they got made. My fingers itched to call David, to hear something, anything about the movie.

I forced it out of my mind to finish my own work. Tomorrow would be our last day in the office until mid-next week.

I was just packing up to leave for the evening when my phone rang.

“Ross,” I told our accountant and payroll guy. “You’re working late.”

“Trying to finish up before the holidays. Listen. We have a problem. I was reviewing account balances for the next few weeks, and… there was an oversight.”

I listened to his apologetic voice, and the smile fell off my face. “How long do we have to fix it?”

My eyes fell closed. “No. Don’t take out a line of credit. And don’t tell Max. I’ll deal with it. Yeah. Happy holidays.”