Page 27 of The Christmas Trap

“I’ll think about thinking about it.” He turns back to his computer screen. “Dismissed.”

Grrr. I'm starting to hate it when he uses that tone. Like he’s royalty and I’m his lowly subject.

And my lurking around here isn’t going to change anything. At least, I got my points across. That’s got to count for something.

I pivot and head toward the connecting door which leads to my office.

I’ve found out the reason he has that strip of rope on his desk. Mr. Broody McNasty likes to untie then re-tie the knots as he talks on the phone. Some kind of relaxation thing, I gather.

I feel like I’ve been afforded an intimate glimpse into his habits.

Unfortunately, working with him this closely, I also know that he can often be a Grinch.I’m going to call him Mr. Bah Hum-bro-dy, from now on.

I chuckle.

“What’s that?” His low, dark voice reaches me.

Damn, did I say that aloud?“Oh, just thinking out loud. I need toget back to work and plan for the upcoming board meeting.” I shoot him a saccharine sweet smile over my shoulder.

Not that it matters, for he’s focused on his screen. “I sent you a few more things to add to your to-do list.”

Oh cool, cool.

If he thinks I’m put off by a never-ending task list, he’s wrong. I have no doubt all of this is part of his way of testing me. He wants to see if I have the mettle to stick with it without giving up. Well, he chose the wrong person to challenge. I can match him task for task.

Or not.

It’s been three days since that conversation about Christmas festivities.

It’s also the end of my first work week. It’s been exacting,andexhilarating.

My boss has set a brutal pace; I'm thriving. He’s led endless back-to-back meetings, many of which I’ve sat in on. He’s also asked my opinions on many work-related matters, some of which have led to the most intellectually stimulating exchanges I’ve had with anyone. We seem to bounce off each other’s ideas. Enough for me to realize we make a good team.

He must also realize it too because, after the first couple of days, I notice him pushing more of the detailed work to me.

I’m loving the additional responsibilities. Every time he challenges me, I rise to it. I feel myself stretching and growing. It’s been thrilling. I am so happy I took this role.

I’ve also begun to respect my boss more. He’s proved to be as hard a worker as he is a task master.

When I come into work, he’s in a conference.

When I leave, he’s on yet another call. The man is relentless. And has enough energy to make me feel like I’m not doing enough. And I’m pulling twelve-hour days myself.

The constant stream of things-to-do keeps adding to my list, and that motivates me further.

Of course, my perfectionist streak wants to cross everything off before I leave at the end of the day, but I’m practical enough to realize that’s not going to happen.

Instead, I make a fresh list before I leave work so it’s there waiting for me when I get in the next day. Heaven!

My one complaint is that my dreams are occupied by blue-gray eyes, and images of a tall, dark, moody, holiday hater. That, and my guilt at thinking about him so much, and my consternation at why I don’t dream about my fiancé instead, means I haven’t slept well this entire week.

I yawn and take a sip of my coffee, trying to stop my eyes from closing, when my phone buzzes.

I stare at the person who’s calling. Keith? I frown.

It’s a testament to how stretched I am by this job that it takes a few seconds to register that this is Keith.My fiancé.

The man I’m going to marry in a little over three weeks.