Page 29 of The Christmas Trap

I rub at my temple, not completely convinced about the intentions behind his actions. He’s saying all the right words and doing the right things. Like calling me and apologizing for ignoring me and sending me flowers. But somehow, the very fact that he’s doing this sends a whisper of unease up my spine.

He’s being thoughtful. He’s trying to make amends. I should be happy that he thought of me.

The gesture tugs at something in me I don’t want to look at too closely. I smooth away the feeling like brushing lint off my sleeve.

The connecting door between our offices swings open.

Brody steps in and comes to an abrupt halt, his expression thunderous. “Who sent you flowers?”

9

Brody

I take one look at the ridiculously cheerful bouquet on my executive assistant’s desk, and something like acid eats away at my inside.

“Who are you talking to?” I snap.

“I gotta go, thanks for the flowers.” She disconnects the call, sets the phone aside, then begins to tap into her keyboard.

I prowl forward. “I asked you a question.”

“I work for you. But my personal life is out of bounds.” She sniffs.

“And you shouldn’t conduct your personal business in company time.”

She scoffs. “I spend almost all my waking hours at work. Of course, I’m going to have a couple of personal conversations during that time. As long as I get my work done, it shouldn’t matter."

The cheek of this woman. I want to bark at her for talking to me in that tone, but she has a point.

She’s a grown woman; she knows her responsibilities. And knowswhat the deadlines on the job are. And so far, she’s delivered on them. So, I can’t refute her observation. The logic sharpens the edge of my anger.

I glare at her, though it’s wasted because she’s focused on her damn screen. And the fact that she most certainly was talking to the person who likely sent her those flowers twists my guts. I want to shove those flowers off her desk, then track down whoever was on the other end of the phone line and demand they back off from her forever.

Fuck, where has this possessiveness come from?

Even on a mission, when I was faced with flying bullets and brothers-in-arms being hit, having to carry them out of range of the enemy’s reach, I was cool. So much so that my nickname was Ghost.

I was stealthy enough to get in and out of enemy territory without being spotted. And could also disappear emotionally. I was calm under pressure. I never put a foot wrong. Then this curvy, feisty, ambitious woman walks into my life, and everything turns topsy-turvy.

A-n-d, she’s right. It’s none of my concern who she was talking to or who sent her those flowers. She’s my employee. My EA. And my demands on her can only extend to the work part of her life.

She studiously continues to avoid me, and that pisses me off somehow.

Damn, if I don’t want her complete attention on me. Which is a complete contradiction of how I want my employees to behave at work. I need them to focus on their jobs and not waste their time on idle chitchat. With Ms. Lark Monroe, though, my expectations are beginning to feel different. Which is…ridiculous.

Why did I come into her office anyway?I've forgotten about the task I had for her. That’s how distracting being in her presence is.

I’m about to spin around and leave when something else on her desk catches my eye.

“What’s that?”

She glances at what caught my attention and reddens. She snatches up what looks like a soft toy and opens her drawer and shoves it in. “It was nothing.”

I lower my chin, “Was that a…unicorn?”

Her flush deepens further.

“No,” she says too quickly. “That’s Mr. Twinkle my…horned productivity mascot.”