Page 13 of All About Christmas

“Shit. It won’t open .” I place my pass against the lock once more and pull the door leading to the stairwell again. And again. And again.

Olivier shines his phone on the door handle. “Yep. Looks like it won’t open anymore now that the power’s off.”

I look at him, wide-eyed. “What now?”

The light shines dimly on his face, and I see a worried frown appear between his eyebrows. He shifts his weight to his heels for a moment.

“I’ll text Norbert to ask if he can come back,” he says.

“Well, you must be on good terms with your boss if you dare ask him that.”

Olivier looks at me inscrutably for a moment and makes no move to type a message.

“I’ll call Noor,” I say. Without waiting for an answer, I fish my phone out of my pocket and search for her name in the contact list. It rings several times before the sound changes to a beep. I heave a weary sigh and type a message after hanging up.

“Okay,” I say. “Try Norbert.”

Norbert does not answer his phone, nor does Pippin.

“Well, that’s just great,” Olivier grumbles, rubbing his face with both hands. “Now what?”

I shine my own phone flashlight at the office. “We can be glad we weren’t in the elevator when the power went out. I’m going to try to work some more.” I turn and walk toward my desk.

“Hey, wait a minute! I don’t have that much battery left, so I’d rather not use my flashlight.”

Something inside me wants to keep walking, but I stand still and wait until I feel him behind me before maneuvering through the office space, where the tables now resemble a maze.

As I sit back at my desk and flip open my laptop, Olivier studies his still-soaked shirt and blazer intently. “I think I’ll let these dry for a while,” he mutters, shaking his jacket off his shoulders before depositing it over the back of an empty desk chair.

I’m trying to focus on my screen, but Olivier has decided to pull a Chippendale and if I’m completely honest, it’s rather distracting.

My flashlight and laptop screen cast a dim light on Olivier’s actions.

From the corner of my eye, I watch him undo his shirt button by button.

The first lines of his pecs become visible, and it becomes increasingly difficult to pretend I’m still working.

By the time he’s undone the last button and hung up his shirt, my mouth is a little dry. Seriously, the man looks like he walked right off the cover of Men’s Health . All without an Instagram filter or a talented Photoshopper erasing every last minor imperfection from his skin.

“Can you see me?” I can make out the amused twitch around the corners of his mouth.

A rush of electricity travels down my spine, and I immediately sit bolt upright in my desk chair, my gaze fixed on my laptop screen.

“Yes,” is the first answer that flies out of my mouth, simply because I always tell the truth when caught off guard by an unexpected question.

I close my eyes for a moment and swallow.

When I open them again, I see in the dim light that Olivier is looking at me with a smug grin, his characteristic dimple adorning his right cheek.

“I mean, no,” I correct myself. Olivier’s grin gets even wider, and I’m blushing all the way to my toes. “I mean...”

“Yes?” Olivier tilts his head slightly, his eyes twinkling. “What exactly do you mean?”

It takes me a while to think of a comeback, but the only thing I can come up with is, “Oh, go eat a donut.”

The minutes turn into hours, and I try to kill time by engaging in the larger philosophical questions of life.

Such as: What exists outside our universe?

Is life possible on another planet? And: Is it possible to be attracted to someone you don’t like?

Why does your gaze wander to the almost Greek-sculpted upper body of your half-naked colleague every few seconds?

And why do you then feel strange jolts in your lower abdomen that are nothing like the tingles of irritation you’ve been experiencing over the past few days when looking at him?

A colleague who, by the way, seems to have no problem at all sitting at his laptop just in his pants. His pecs move under his taut skin as he writes something in his notepad.

“I think your shirt is dry now,” I mutter as I close my laptop. The battery is dead, and the power is still out. I think a fuse has blown somewhere, and Noor still hasn’t responded, so there’s no real chance of escape from Olivier Wolfs’ glorious chest yet, unless he puts his shirt back on.

He raises an eyebrow. “Does it bother you?” he asks.

I try to keep my expression as neutral as possible. “Meh. It’s not really professional, is it? How would you like it if I took off my shirt when you spilled coffee all over me?”

A big grin appears on his face, and his eyes twinkle as what I just said sinks in.

“You know what,” I hasten to say, “don’t answer that.”

Olivier throws his head back and a deep laugh fills the room. Then he stretches, closes his laptop, and stands up. “I’ve had it for today. Do you have any idea where Norbert keeps his whiskey?”

I frown. “Yes, it’s in his office. But...”

Before I can finish my sentence, Olivier turns in his half-naked glory and strides toward Norbert’s temple, where the latter is just short of sacrificing fairies for good ratings.

“Hey!” I say and saunter after him. “What are you doing? You can’t just take his whiskey, can you?”

“He wouldn’t mind,” Olivier says, pushing open the door.

“And if he does, I’ll make it clear to him that it’s not very responsible to accidentally lock up your employees and then not answer your phone.

” He twists the crystal cap off the decanter and pours some whiskey into one of the glasses sitting next to it. “Would you like some?”

Hesitantly, I look at the thick glass Olivier dangles in front of me.

I heave a deep sigh. “Oh, what the hell.” I take the glass and plop down in one of the leather armchairs that are in the room.

The woody taste burns on my tongue. I close my eyes and lean back, enjoying it. “Mmm. This is what I was craving.”

Olivier follows my lead. “Good whiskey,” he murmurs.

The only light that keeps Norbert’s office from being completely dark comes from the lampposts outside. My heart sinks as I realize our building must be on a different power grid. The rain taps softly against the windows.

“So,” I begin, “how do you like the work so far?”

Olivier tilts his head slightly. The light casts a faint glow on his features—from his long eyelashes and straight nose to his full lips. “Just because we’re in Norbert’s office right now doesn’t mean we have to have a performance review.”

“We could also talk about that donut this afternoon.”

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, chuckling. His right arm hangs over the armrest of the chair and he swirls the whiskey in his glass.

I actually know very little about this man. He reveals even less than a magician does their tricks. For a few moments, only the sound of the ticking second hand of Norbert’s exorbitantly priced timepiece fills the room as I contemplate a rather adolescent proposal.

“Say,” I begin after a while. “Do you know Never Have I Ever?”

Olivier stops swirling his glass and looks at me. “That drinking game people always play in American teen movies where the jock runs off with the shy girl he’s had a crush on all throughout the movie?” He sips his whiskey. “Yes,” he says. “Yeah, I know that one.”

I cast him a faint look and raise my glass. “Fancy killing time?”

For a split second he looks at me in dismay, but then he heaves a defeated sigh. “Well, why not.”

“Exactly.” I sit back and look thoughtfully in front of me. “Never have I ever... deliberately taken the last tastiest donut from under the nose of a beloved colleague.”

Olivier looks at me dryly, the glass still dangling in his hand and not on its way to his mouth.

“Now you have to drink,” I explain. “Because you did.”

He smiles sweetly. “Oh, I understand the rules of the game,” he explains. “But you said beloved colleague. So, I haven’t.”

I clench my teeth and exhale heavily through my nose.

Olivier’s eyes twinkle with pleasure when he sees that I don’t have a good comeback. “My turn.” He looks thoughtfully at his glass, his long finger tapping against the rim, before he triumphantly raises his head. “Never have I ever... puked on someone’s favourite jacket and then lied about it.”

I look straight at him as I bring the glass to my mouth and take a sip. The alcohol burns in my throat, but I like it. It takes me a moment to formulate the next sentence. Then I look at him sharply. “Never have I ever... used my good connections to get a job.”

An indefinable look appears in his eyes that makes me feel like something is escaping me. He looks at the large clock on the wall for a moment before taking a sip of his whiskey. Then he turns to me again. “Never have I ever... really been in love.”

I shake my head very lightly. I still don’t understand how that’s possible. Unless there’s a big lump of ice in his chest instead of a heart, it seems pretty strange to me.

“Drink, Winters,” Olivier chuckles.

I raise my glass to my mouth. “How do you know what my last name is?”

“Because of your email address.”

“Hm.” I take a sip, the liquid disappearing down my esophagus to my stomach, where it begins to give me a rosy feeling.

Olivier’s glass remains untouched.

“Have you really never been in love?” I ask.

“Nope.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “What a loss.”

Olivier makes a jeering sound. “Why? What’s so great about falling in love?”

I open my mouth to answer, but he hasn’t finished speaking yet.

“It always ends in disaster, after which one of the two locks herself in her bedroom and refuses to get out of bed. Then that person neglects herself, having to pick up all the pieces again. Hopefully, with the help of someone else.” He looks at me defensively. Something sad lurks in his eyes.

Somehow, I feel that this situation is not as hypothetical as he'd like me to believe.

It does not escape me that he said “her,” and suddenly I remember the articles about the womanizer who fathered him.

His parents were divorced when he was young, and I suspect that—consciously or unconsciously—he experienced some trauma from that.

He’s silent for a moment, as if his own vehemence surprised him too, and he continues in a slightly softer tone, “That doesn’t sound very nice, does it? Or have you never had that happen before?”

Something in me wants to put an arm around him, but instead I decide to answer his question.

“Oh, yes. Too often. Your sex seems to take some kind of perverse pleasure in using my heart as a stress ball. And, of course, I don’t care for that.

” I tug at a loose thread in the hem of my pants.

“But the period when it does feel right...” A blissful smile appears on my face as my brain whips up the intense feeling that comes with being in love.

“Then it feels so wonderful. It’s like you can take on the world.

You’re intensely happy, and you can’t stop laughing.

It’s a kind of natural ecstasy.” I let out a deep sigh and look up again.

“It’s also sometimes not really a choice.

How has that never happened to you before? ”

Olivier still has a dark look in his eyes.

He shrugs his shoulders as casually as he can, but he still seems a little tense.

“No idea. I guess I just don’t have it in me.

” He coughs lightly to clear his throat and looks away.

It’s as if it’s all getting a little too close to home for him.

“Like I said,” he continues in an attempt to lighten the mood, “should that ever happen, you’ll get a heart-shaped box full of chocolate. ”

“The really good ones, though, right?”

“What?”

“Lindt’s,” I clarify. “Those are the tastiest.”

He chuckles. “You have experience with heart-shaped gifts, I gather.”

“Of course.” I let out a deep sigh. Somehow, I find it very sad that he won’t open up. “So, you’re going to remain a true love skeptic for the rest of your life, while bringing lovers together?” I look at him questioningly. “Are you sure this show is right for you?”

“I think...” begins Olivier, but he’s interrupted by my phone going off.

I let out a little squeal of delight when I see Noor’s name on the screen.

I swipe the green phone icon up. “Noor!” I exclaim.

“Oh, thank God. I’m stuck in the office with Olivier.

” It’s a force of habit that I pronounce his name as if I taste something nasty on my tongue. If he notices, he doesn’t let on.

Noor bursts out laughing. “Holly, you know you can just use the emergency exit in case of... well, emergency?”

“The... emergency exit?” I pronounce slowly. Olivier’s eyes widen a little.

“Yep. That one can always be opened from the inside.”

“Um. Yes. Okay. Thank you very much. We’ll try that.”

“You’re welcome. Let me know how it turns out,” she chuckles.

By the time I hang up, Olivier has already stood up.

“Well, it’s been a pleasure,” he says. He knocks back his remaining whiskey and sets his empty glass on the tray. His shoulders remain tense. He strides out of Norbert’s office, after which he disappears from view, along with his bare upper body.