I breathe out a sigh of relief. Okay, maybe I do have a bit of a savior complex… but only when it comes to the pretty redhead I can’t stop thinking about.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
The best Christmas surprise
Mindy
After my littlebreakdown in Mr. Hale’s office two days ago, I’m starting to come to terms with losing the last items I owned that belonged to my grandmother, Juanita Espinoza.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m in no way saying what Roger did was okay. I’m devastated by what that absolute doorknob did, but at least I don’t feel like bawling my face off every two minutes.
I only wish I hadn’t broken down and cried all over my boss, despite obviously needing to get it out of my system. And he was so freaking nice about it.
Another thing that’s made me feel a little better is that Twatface has apparently been hacked. He called me crying like a little bitch this morning because he couldn’t get into any of his accounts.
The idiot tried to blame me, but I reminded him he took me off all the accounts at the same time he changed the locks on the house so there was no way I could have done it. Next, I very sweetly informed him I could have gotten him into the accounts so he could change his passwords back if he hadn’t acted like such a bastard. Then I hung up on him. It was one of the most satisfying moments of my life.
I’m at my desk when Mr. Hale comes in, wearing one of his power suits and an actual Christmas tie.
“Well, good morning, Father Christmas,” I say cheerfully. This is the last day of work before Christmas, and the air in the building is electric and festive.
A smirk creases his face. “Is that your way of calling me Daddy?”
Oh. My. Was that a flirt? Yeah, definitely a flirt.
My cheeks heat, but I keep my tone neutral and give him a dismissive wave of my hand. “You shouldn’t walk around with that beard and those suits if you don’t want women getting Daddy vibes from you.”
His grin only increases. The cocky fucker looks incredibly pleased with himself. We’ve been playing this little cat and mouse game since that thing—whatever it was—in the bathroom a couple weeks ago. No inappropriate physical contact… only words and looks that border on suggestive.
“Noted,” he says. “When you get a second, come into my office. I have a gift for you.” He holds up a large red gift bag with green tissue paper.
“Oh, thank you,” I say, a little flustered because I didn’t expect him to get me anything. “I got you something too.”
Remi’s eyes soften around the corners. “You did?”
“Of course. You’re in charge of whether or not I get a raise,” I tease.
He laughs heartily, a sound I don’t hear much from him, and goes inside his office, leaving the door cracked. I don’t want to look like a present whore, so I don’t rush in immediately behind him, but I’m dying to know what’s in that bag. So I wait one minute. Two minutes.
And I’m done, quickly standing and taking a gift bag and a large bakery box from the closet behind my desk. Then I press a button on my office phone to let Amanda know I’ll be away from my desk for a few minutes. With that sorted, I head inside, my heart in my throat.
It’s not easy picking out a gift for a literal billionaire. They can buy whatever the hell they want, so this makes me nervous.What if he doesn’t like it? What if it’s not up to his high standards?Pushing all that away, I force a smile onto my face.
Remi is sitting on his office couch with the gift bag on the low wooden table in front of him. Crossing the cream-and-forest-greenrug, I take a seat beside him on the leather couch that’s so dark green it’s almost black.
He eyes the gifts in my hand, probably already guessing what’s in the bakery box. I know he’ll like that one; it’s the other I’m worried about, so I set down the bag and hand him the large box.
“Hmmm, wonder what this could be,” he muses, making me laugh. He opens the box, and his eyes pop wide at the selection.
“I know you like the peach pie cookies, so I played around with that a bit,” I say pointing out the variety. “These have apple filling, and then I tried out a chocolate pie recipe, using meringue instead of pie crust for the top. They both still have a sugar cookie bottom crust though.”
“Chocolate pie cookies?” he asks with awe in his tone, easing one out and taking a bite. “Oh my god. So good,” he mumbles with his mouth full and his eyes rolled back in his head.
I giggle. “Is that your new favorite?”
His face takes on a pained look, like I’ve offended him. “You expect me to admit that in front of the peach ones? I would never insult my first love.”
“I thought you’d enjoy an entire box to yourself.”