Page 18 of The Christmas Trap

I was so keen on seeing her, I too got in an hour before my normal starting time.

The truth is, I barely slept last night. I spent far too long thinking about her. About the way she looked when she smiled upon finding out she had the job. About the delight on her face when she saw me with Tiny in the park. And then I began to wonder how she’d smellfirst thing in the morning. About how her voice would sound if I woke her up with my hands on her skin.

So, when the clock ticked toward her start time, and she didn’t walk through that door, my mind went places it shouldn’t have.

What if she’d changed her mind? What if she'd decided the job wasn’t worth it?

I hated that the thought sent a rush of something like fear through me. That I wanted her here so badly. That I missed her before the day had even begun. And I don’t even know her.

I let my fears get to me, and fuck, if that didn’t frustrate me. I told myself that I made a mistake hiring her. That she's unreliable. That she’s playing games. That shewantedme to worry. That I should have known better than to let myself care.

I’m pissed off at her for making me feel so much.

I’mmorepissed off at myself for needing her in the first place.

And I’m both taken aback and affected by her choice to help someone in need. She knew it might make her late on her first day of a job that clearly matters to her. But she chose kindness.

That kind of instinct matters to me. It is why I became a Marine.

Seeing that facet of her stirs something deep in me, something I’m not ready to examine closely.

I shove those strange, unwelcome feelings aside and focus on the irritation I felt when she didn’t show up early. It is easier to hold onto anger than admit I already rely on her.

I bite out, “While you’re at it, you can explain to the board why I had to move the board meeting from this Friday to next week.”

“But I don’t know the reason,” she protests.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

I catch the flicker of tension in her jaw.

Without waiting for her acquiescence, I continue, “Push it back to next week. Then bring me a coffee. Black. Scalding hot. Try not to spill it.”

She stills, enough for me to know I hit a nerve. She won’t let it show, but I see the impact.

My demands are unreasonable, and the way I’ve thrown them ather is downright rude. I’ve been a complete arse, even by my standards. Short-fused. Sharper than I meant to be.

She doesn’t say a word, but the darkening of her eyes tells me she’s hurt.

I shove aside the regret that blooms in my chest.

I know I sound like a bastard.

Regret flickers through me. A quick, unwelcome tightening in my chest. I shouldn’t have snapped. Not at her.

For a moment, I consider softening, offering something that resembles an apology. Something human.

I shut the thought down.

I pay her enough to keep up. I hold her to a high standard because I need someone who can keep pace with me. Someone exceptional.

So, I push. I pile on the pressure. I throw her into the deep end. If she’s as good as I believe she is, she’ll swim.

I’m testing her to make sure I didn’t make a mistake in hiring her over the other more qualified candidates.

If she passes, I can finally let go of this constant micro-managing. I can shift my attention to the big picture. The things only I can do.

So yeah, it’s a trial. For her. Also for me.