Page 14 of Miss Typed

After getting a price quote, I realized why she’d opted not to. Of course, the high cost might have been inflated because I was purchasing the ticket two days before Christmas. I set the return flight for the day after New Year’s, but she could always change the date if she wished to stay longer.

The truth was I wasn’t entirely unselfish in this gift. I’d already broken my rules and asked her personal questions when I’d sworn I wouldn’t. The problem was that as I got glimpses of her life, I became hungry for more. So having her in the office over the holidays didn’t bode well as far as my being able to stay out of personal territory. I’d rather have a few quiet days to myself.

I couldn’t figure out why I craved more information about her. Maybe because she was the first woman I’d encountered who wasn’t trying to give me her entire life story in the first ten minutes of meeting her.

Either way, I refused to analyze it. I was simply a boss about to give his assistant a Christmas gift. I’d asked Reid if it was appropriate to do so, and he’d assured me it was a common practice. Therefore, I rattled my credit card number over the phone to the travel agent. When Chloe appeared for our eight thirty meeting on Tuesday morning, looking stunning in a navy dress, I eagerly anticipated her reaction.

After going over my agenda, I paused. I’d never bought a gift for a coworker, let alone for a woman. “Um, one more thing.”

Her attention focused on me, making me fight the urge to zero in on her full lips. Lips I imagined doing very dirty things. Things which would probably scare the hell out of an innocent girl like herself.

“Yes?”

“I’m not adept at gift giving, but I’m hoping this is something you’ll enjoy.”

She smiled when I handed over the envelope.

I suddenly wished I’d thought to wrap it in a bow. Then again, I wasn’t exactly a bow kind of guy.

“Thank you.”

Shit. She wasn’t opening it here. She probably thought it was cash.

“You can open it,” I said.

She hesitated but then opened the seal of the envelope and slid out the paper ticket. They still printed them if you asked the right people.

“Holy shit.”

I had to keep myself from chuckling at her unguarded reaction.

Her wide eyes locked on mine. “I can’t possibly accept this.”

“Why not?”

Her mouth opened and closed as if she was struggling for the right words. “Be-because a business class ticket to Toronto had to have cost a fortune.”

Ah. When had someone I knew ever complained about money spent on them? For sure, not any of the previous women I’d dated. Definitely no one from my family or circle of friends back home. “It’s my gift to you. I used points,” I lied easily.

She was shaking her head and, much to my shock, handed it back. “It’s very generous of you, but it’s not all about the expense. I don’t want to go home.”

A flush creeped up to my face. “I apologize for being presumptuous.”

She gave me a sad smile. “No. You weren’t. It’s probably the nicest gift anyone has ever given me.”

“Is there a destination you’d rather go? It doesn’t need to be home.”

There was indecision in her expression, but finally she responded. “No. But thank you.”

“Who are you spending the holiday with?” Why did I care? Why did I want to get deeper into this? Maybe because my gut was telling me I was missing something here.

“I’ll be with my roommate. We’ll probably search out some beer and bacon and make a day of it.”

She was lying. She had a tell, which was that she suddenly wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Anyhow, thanks again. Truly. Hopefully, you can get your points back.”

“I’m sure I can. If you change your mind—say, if you prefer to go to a tropical island—we can change your ticket.” Jesus, I made it sound like I was inviting myself along. And suddenly I had a vision of her in a bikini on a white sand beach. Fuck. I needed her to leave.