This was a job for Em.
“I shouldn’t get anywhere close to him, right?” Rachel glanced at the ceiling in her bedroom as if Emily was right there.
Only there wasn’t an answer.
“You’re not helping.”
Still no answer. Not that she expected one.
She plugged her cell phone in by her bedside, turned off the light, and crawled under the covers. Even though her mind hadn’t turned off all day, she managed to fall asleep quickly, and when she woke up, the image of Jason kissing her lingered over her morning cup of coffee.
Jason knew Rachel was at her desk, and it took every ounce of willpower to not go over to see her himself. He knew if he started frequenting the marketing and PR departments, he’d churn the office gossip. He’d kissed her in a closed conference room without a witness, and he’d lay money that Rachel hadn’t told anyone about his advance, since she was hell-bent on not dating him. He hated that his head was torn with these thoughts. For the first time in forever, a woman sparked his interest beyond the physical, and she worked for him.
Yeah, he wanted to pretend she was managed by Gerald, or even Glen, but no . . . her living was made by Fairchild Charters, of which he was the CEO. A technicality of being the firstborn was complicating his love life. Truth was, being the firstborn had always complicated his life. The expectations, the pressure of keeping everything together after his parents had died. With both of his brothers married and settled, he’d stopped offering all big brother advice, which was often mistaken as parenting words of wisdom. Truth was, Jason had felt the need to step into everything his father had left behind. It was surprising he hadn’t had any major health problems.
So why did he wake up at two in the morning, trying to figure out how to make Rachel forget who she worked for? The fact that he thought about convincing her that he was dateworthy while at the same time concerning himself with who might have seen them kissing was enough to send an older man to the hospital with chest pain.
When he closed his eyes, he saw the flush that rose on her cheeks. The smile she tried to hide when she pulled away from his lips . . . the doubt in her eyes. He saw it all. While his head swam with the negativity of an office romance, his heart—and maybe another organ—suggested he continue the path he’d started down.
A knock on his office door interrupted his thoughts. His six-months-pregnant secretary walked in with his acknowledgment.
“I have today’s schedule.”
He grasped a pen to make notes while she took the seat opposite him.
“How is Junior today?” he asked.
“Kicking way too much for my taste.”
Jason couldn’t help but smile. Audrey had been his secretary for four years, and in those years she was always either planning a wedding or picking out colors for a nursery. Like many New York executive women, her pregnancy hardly showed through the stylish office clothing and coats. She’d finally settled into shorter heels at the pleading of her husband. But that had taken five months to make happen.
“Don’t push yourself,” he found himself saying.
“You’re sweet. I’m fine.”
She looked fine. He’d heard pregnant women had a glow about them, and he’d seen it for himself once Audrey revealed her status.
“You have a meeting with Chuck and Gerald to go over the new marketing plan at ten. You have lunch with Mr. Lewton at Fleming’s.”
Jason jotted that down with a moan. Lunch with Matt Lewton meant martinis, and the last thing Jason wanted on a Tuesday was a desire for a nap by two. Some clients needed his attention, and martini lunches were part of the job.
Audrey slid a paper across his desk with the heading Holiday Office Party. “I know you hate this, but it has to be done today. I tried to make it as easy as possible.”
The paper looked like a high school multiple-choice quiz.
The first bullet point had the words gold, silver, white, silver and gold, silver and green, and gold and green with check boxes next to them.
“What is this?”
“I made it easy. Just check off the box with your preferences.”
“It’s Christmas,” he said as if she didn’t know. “Red and green.”
“Nope, can’t do that. Remember the Starbucks cup debacle? Nineteen percent of the staff is Jewish. We don’t want to offend.”
He doubted anyone cared as long as they got free booze and a bonus.
“There has to be someone more qualified than me to do this.” Jason was pretty sure he’d said the same thing every year since he took over for his father.
“I suggested you hire a coordinator last October, but you put me off,” she reminded him.
“So hire one now.”
Audrey blinked a few times. “Every event planner in the city worth hiring is booked. Have been since the first week in November. Which was why I bugged you in October.”
He pushed the paper to the side, determined to put off the details again. His mother had always taken care of the office parties, and in the last year, he’d managed to enlist Monica and a couple of her family members to take care of some of the details for outside events. The annual holiday party wasn’t one of them, but maybe he could wiggle out of it now that Mary had been added to the family.
“I’ll take care of it.”
Audrey didn’t look convinced. “Today. I need to give the caterers the menu and the decorators a direction.”
“I got it. The first week in February, we hire an event planner.”
“I’ll be out on leave at the end of January.”
“So the second week in January.”
She took a note.
“Do we have your temporary replacement yet?” He’d put Audrey in charge of finding three in-office candidates who could fill her shoes for the four months she was planning on taking off.
“I will have a list for you before Christmas.”
“Perfect.”
She stood and clasped her notepad to her chest. “Remember, I’m leaving today at three thirty to see my doctor.”
Which explained his lack of afternoon appointments.
He grinned and tapped a finger on his holiday to-do list. “So this really doesn’t need to be back to you until the morning.”
She frowned. “Jason!”
He laughed. “Fine, but if I leave something blank, you make the decision.”
She turned and walked away. “I don’t take laundry to the cleaners, or buy flowers for girlfriends . . . or pick colors for Christmas.”
The first two he’d never asked of her, the last one, however . . . her argument in years past was that food allergies made her the last person to ask about culinary choices, and she blamed being slightly color-blind for her inability to oversee the other part of event planning.
“How about some coffee?”
“That I can do.”
He chuckled as she walked out the door.
The grocery store screamed Christmas, from the bags of candy on the end of every aisle to the music piped through the PA. Rachel reached for one too many sugary sweets and added eggnog to her cart.
She didn’t even care for eggnog. Still, like the obligatory fruitcake, one needed to buy it even if it just ended up in the trash on December twenty-sixth.
Her phone pinged, letting her know she had a text message.
She looked at Owen’s name and opened her messages.
Get frozen pizza
Rachel turned back toward the frozen aisle.