Page 10 of All About Christmas

On Monday morning, I’m in high spirits. Absentmindedly, I sing a tune under my breath as I walk to my desk.

My backpack lands next to my chair with a thud and I sit down comfortably.

I cannot suppress the smile that has been playing around on my lips since last Friday.

Even the buzzing sound of my computer starting up makes me happy.

This is just going to be a really fun segment.

Olivier watches my actions closely. He even rolls to the side a bit so he can take a good look at me through his screen.

“Are you humming ‘We Are the Champions?’” he asks suspiciously.

I look at him innocently and put my hand on my chest, as if startled by his remark. “Oh really? Was that ‘We Are the Champions?’”

Olivier folds his hands under his chin and seems to grow more suspicious by the second. “How confident you are all of a sudden.”

“Hm. You think?” I smear some Blistex on my lips. It’s cold for September and it shows. “Have you had any luck finding candidates for your dating show?” I roll my lips together and Olivier’s gaze flashes to my mouth.

He tears his eyes away from my face, straightens his jacket, and refocuses on his work. “You’ll see that later at the meeting,” he replies brusquely.

“Hm. I’m looking forward to it.”

His eyes shoot in my direction again, and he seems momentarily torn between curiosity and presenting himself as an ice cube. In the end, he seems to choose the latter, and I’m not surprised. That man shows as much emotion as a silver Christmas bulb.

Silver ornaments are the dullest. Of all the colours, silver most closely resembles grey. The colour of clouds ruining a day at the beach, dreary industrial sites, and just about any random corner sofa in IKEA.

And the colour of Olivier’s shirt today. Not once have I been able to catch him wearing anything that exudes even a little personality. I bet his home looks like those pretentious interior design magazines: sleek and modern. But above all: characterless.

If he already has a Christmas tree, I can envision him not decorating it at all. Or maybe only with ornaments made of Swarovski crystals and Versace, just so he can show that his behind used to be wiped with banknotes instead of toilet paper from the local supermarket like everyone else.

My Christmas tree usually looks just like me: colourful and with lots of frills.

Today, I put on my sharpest pantsuit: emerald green and perfectly tailored. I want to give the presentation I’ve been working on all weekend in style.

It’s unusual to present something before you’ve verified that the participants are actually on board. But in this case, I didn’t have much choice, other than to assume that Olaf didn’t wink flirtatiously at the coffee lady and that he and Maggie are therefore still together.

I put the final finishing touches on my proposal and keep a close eye on the digital clock at the bottom right of my monitor. When it’s almost eleven o’clock, I disconnect my laptop from the monitor, gather my papers, and walk to the meeting room.

Norbert looks as happy as a kid on Christmas morning finding a year’s supply of presents under the tree. His cheeks are pale pink with excitement, and he has his meaty hands clasped together joyfully. “We’ve been nominated for the Golden Televizier Ring!”

“What?!” Gabriel, the show’s host, springs up a little from his chair.

It’s almost as if his baby blue eyes are already twinkling with the spotlight that will be on him that night.

“The Golden Televizier Ring?” His white-blond curls almost crackle with excitement.

“That’s fantastic! To experience that someday in my career.

” With his gaze at infinity and his eyes moist, he seems to be practicing his acceptance speech already.

Gabriel has always been a tad dramatic, which is ideal for the show.

For the people working behind the scenes, not so much. Since he is the face of the show, he wants everything done to perfection. If there’s something he doesn’t like, you’re bound to get told.

Norbert nods, smiling. “Yes, that is indeed fantastic. So, dust off your finest suit and gala dress.”

A jolt of excitement passes through my body.

“What?” I slide to the edge of my seat. I feel Olivier’s gaze burning a hole in my cheek, but I don’t care.

“We get to attend, too?” In my mind, I pull everything out of my closet and soon come to the conclusion that I need to go shopping. Something I don’t mind at all.

“Yes.” Norbert smiles. “Everyone in this room is invited.”

I’m just shy of bouncing off my chair, and I’m not the only one. Everyone seems excited by this news.

Everyone except Olivier. He looks around quietly, letting the reactions of his colleagues sink in.

It is very irritating that he looks as good in profile as he does from the front. His nose is dead straight and perfectly proportioned to the rest of his face. He has high cheekbones and beautiful eyebrows, between which a slight frown now appears.

Just when I want to ask him why he’s not overcome with joy, Norbert claps his hands.

“Yes, that’s the reaction I was hoping for,” he says, smiling. When the excited chatter has died down, he continues, “I would now like to give José the floor.”

A chair is pushed back, scraping the ground loudly, and our editor stands up wearily. “Thank you, Norbert,” she says. José walks over to the laptop and plugs in the USB cable. She looks at us kindly and begins her story.

She explains that this year, like every other year, we are choosing a Christmas market to bring people together in a unique way. This season is set in Cologne. She then presents some letter writers they have selected and briefly explains what their story will be like.

Her presentation finished, she turns to Olivier and me. Her red-painted lips curve into a wide smile. “Good, now let’s hear what Holly and Olivier have come up with. Who wants to go first?”

Before I can even open my mouth to respond, Olivier has already stood up.

“Try-hard,” I mutter so softly that only he can hear.

The corners of his mouth twitch slightly. “I’ll go first,” he says and walks past me.

I have to restrain myself from sliding my foot forward a bit.

He stands behind the desk, plugs his USB stick into the computer and starts his PowerPoint presentation.

Under the Mistletoe is written in large letters across the screen.

“Well,” begins Olivier with a grin that wouldn’t be out of place in a toothpaste commercial.

“Every year, All About Love changes on the evening of December 24th to All About Christmas. And every year, we see the same thing on TV: couples reunited in the snow.” He turns hastily to José.

“Which, of course, is very beautiful and heartwarming, but I thought it would be fun to do something a little grander this Christmas...”

He taps the space bar, and the next slide appears on the screen, which says Blind Dating in very big font with pictures of participants surrounding it. “I want to turn my segment into a dating show.”

Norbert’s eyebrows creep towards each other, something I perceive as a good sign. “A dating show?” he says.

I don’t know if it’s because I hope it’s true or because it really is, but there does seem to be a bit of disapproval in his voice.

“And how do you propose to do that, Olivier?” he wants to know. “How will you differentiate yourself from every other dating show?”

“I’ll get to that.” Olivier straightens his tie and proudly sticks his chest out, confident and irritating.

“I want the letter writers to have a blind date with the person they have a crush on. Apart from the letter writers, no one will be aware that they are not participating in some new dating show, but in All About Christmas .”

The next slide appears on the screen, showing a room whose ceiling is hung with mistletoe.

The walls are covered with mirrors and Christmas decorations.

“After a successful date, the participants will have to consider—without knowing about the others’ true identities—whether they like each other.

If so, they meet again in the Mistletoe Madness room, after which they both agree to their first kiss on live television. ”

I fold my arms and look sullenly at Olivier, who looks back as if he has been on a hunger strike for ten months and has just been allowed to eat a lavish Christmas dinner all by himself.

The idea is a bit vulgar, trite and cliché, but in a way, it’s genius. People love guilty pleasures, and this could be one of them.

The show, I mean. Not Olivier, who still looks very pleasing despite his smug grin.

Well, maybe Olivier is a bit of my guilty pleasure.

Every time I look at him, I can’t help but think it’s a great success that he was the first seed to swim across the finish line—in terms of looks, that is.

Because when I look a little further than that, I see someone who is spoiled to the bone and has had everything handed to him.

My unwelcome thoughts are interrupted by Norbert clapping his hands enthusiastically. “Mistletoe Madness!” he exclaims. “Perfect find, Olivier, well done!”

A stab of disappointment goes through my stomach. No rejection, then.

The others present nod in agreement, and José also seems intrigued by the idea. All those approving looks toward Olivier make me feel uncertain. So uncertain that my hands shake a little as I stand up and start passing out a document to everyone.

“There are Christmas trees and hearts on the handout.” Olivier, who is sitting tall and proud again in his chair, frowns at the piece of paper I’ve just placed in front of him. “Why on earth are there Christmas trees and hearts on a handout?”

Stoically, I continue my distribution, giving a document to Norbert, José, Noor, and the rest of my colleagues. Only when I reach Gabriel, the last in line, do I look up. I straighten up and look at Olivier dryly. “Why wouldn’t there be Christmas trees and hearts on it?”

“Um, I don’t know? Maybe because this isn’t the third grade?”

I moisten my lips, and, for a moment, he seems distracted by that action.

“This show is about Christmas and love, Olivier.” My tone is a touch condescending.

“Hearts and Christmas trees fit those themes perfectly. Besides, it brightens things up a bit. As far as I know, no one has ever been made less happy by a little bit of cheer on a piece of paper.”

Olivier brings his fist to his mouth to disguise his open smile.

He turns the document over and he lowers his hand again, revealing his grin.

“Well, there’s a first for everything,” he says meaningfully, clearly hinting at the fact that he thinks I’m missing out on the promotion just because I stuck some illustrations on the document.

Once again, I breathe in deeply through my nose and out through my mouth.

Olivier’s grin widens. “You’re fantasizing right now about crumpling this piece of paper into a ball and shoving it in my mouth, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

I feel the puzzled looks of my other colleagues on us.

Olivier sits up for a moment, his gaze somewhat defiant. “I’d just spit it out again, you know.”

I smile sweetly at him. “And that’s when something useful will finally come out of your mouth.”

His gaze darkens slightly and the corners of his mouth sink back down. From my right side, I hear Pippin quickly mask a laugh with a cough.

“Well, now,” Norbert intervenes soothingly. “I understand that you are experiencing some rivalry, but this is going a bit far.”

“You’re right. Sorry,” I say. Bolstered by Olivier’s lack of a rebuttal, I turn around again and walk to the laptop. I plug the HDMI cable into the port and make preparations to begin my presentation.

Tap, tap, tap.

I close my eyes for a moment and breathe deeply for the second time in five minutes.

I hate it when Norbert taps the tabletop with his pen when I’m speaking.

It breaks my concentration, and it’s like he doesn’t take me seriously.

As if he wants me to finish as quickly as possible so he can get back to looking at Marketplace ads of bright green convertibles to compensate for his receding hairline.

“For starters, I want to present a slightly different segment this year than...”

Tap, tap, tap.

I turn my head toward Norbert, but I see that he has his arms crossed and is looking at the whiteboard with interest. Then I slowly turn my head toward Olivier, who is tapping his pen against the table with a devilish smile on his face.

Jerk. He’s doing it on purpose.

But I refuse to let him ruin my presentation.

I straighten my back and continue my story.

I talk about how I want to organize Olaf and Maggie’s Christmas-themed wedding in the small church where they met.

When I am finished, I let my gaze slide over my colleagues.

They all seem very engaged with the story I am telling, and there is now even less left of Olivier’s smug grin than the chocolate bar I bought yesterday.

It is José who breaks the silence. “Wonderful, Holly,” she says with an encouraging smile. “This promises to be a heartwarming segment.”

My shoulders roll back a little, and I can’t help but feel a little proud of the compliment.

Norbert also nods approvingly. “Yes, nice,” he says. “This is also something different from what we normally do, but it fits well with the show in terms of atmosphere and coziness. Olivier’s idea is a bit more daring, but also definitely good. I think some variety in the broadcast can work well.”

“Thank you,” I say, smiling. “Does anyone else have any questions?”

A few hands go up in the air and a brief moment of questioning follows.

When I have answered everyone, I pull the cable back out of the laptop and plop back down in my chair.

Olivier looks like there’s pickle juice in his coffee cup, which only makes me feel extra pleased with myself today.