Page 1 of Dark Holiday

CHAPTER 1

Cynthia

Thick, white columns reach towards the sky, disappearing into the massive building. I blink against the glare bouncing off of the clean surface and swallow down the nausea threatening to bubble up. MacMillian, Henry, and Nash stand out in radiant gold, and again, I find myself breathing deep, forcing myself not to throw up all over the pristine steps.

A forceful buzz breaks me out of my thoughts, but my relief is short-lived. My stomach flops again as the number flashes across the screen. I don’t even have to think about who it is; I know this number by heart. The bank. I hit the side, ending the call. I could block the number, but what’s the use? It would only delay the inevitable.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have stopped for that waffle. What started out as sweet, pillowy goodness now sits in my gut like lead. Glancing back down the street, a soft smile tugs at my lips. It’s Monday, though. Monday is waffle day. At least I can go there now with a smile on my face instead of agony in my heart.

To think, years of waffle days wasted because I refused to remember the good times my family shared there instead of taking on the mantle of carrying on the tradition. Today was long overdue but hopefully will give me the luck I need. My phone buzzes again, setting my stomach to churning. I don’t care that waffle day made me overdraw; I needed my family. Clutching the worn briefcase to my side, I force one foot in front of the other, the trek more like walking to an execution instead of a job interview.

Perhaps it’s the desperation. Jobs have been so hard to come by that any chance feels like one-in-a-million. Unemployment can only get me so far. I need a job. A real one. Pulling up my phone, I glance again at the ad. Nowhere does it mention working for a law firm, but after triple-checking the online map, this is the location.

Plush chairs and friendly smiles greet me as I walk in, but the pure opulence of this place makes me pause, nearly dropping my jaw. Not one thing is out of place. Every available surface gleams as if freshly polished. Wrapping my fingers up to tug at the threadbare edge of my sleeve, I stare at the smart, crisp, power suits of the various women milling around.

Good thing I decided to iron this morning. I smooth the front of my jacket down as I shift from foot to foot. There aren’t any signs indicating where I need to go, and I don’t exactly relish the idea of bringing attention to myself by asking.

“You look lost, Ms….”

And there it is.

Whirling around to face the stranger, I school my features into a calm facade, exuding a confidence that I haven’t felt since being let go a few weeks ago. Plastering a smile on my face, I take a deep breath and hold out my hand.

“Lewis. Cynthia Lewis.”

“John Nash.” His handshake is firm but not rough like those dick guys that want to prove their superiority. A grin slides up his face, not quite meeting his hazel eyes. With tousled, dirty-blond hair and an exquisite three-piece suit, he looks more like he stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine and less like he belongs in a law firm.

After a moment or two, his smile widens, showing off boyish dimples because, why not. Though he sure doesn’t seem to mind that I’m staring, mortification slams into me, engulfing my face in heat. Once again, I tug at my sleeve, refusing to touch my cheeks, thereby acknowledging the flush.

“Nash, as in,” pausing, I gesture around the building.

“You would think that, but no. I’m not a named partner. Not even close.” Again, he flashes his megawatt smile, and my stomach flips.

There’s something cold, almost wolfish, about his smile. No matter how big it is, it never reaches his eyes, and there’s just that hint that he’s hiding something. He’s hot, though. There’s no denying it. Maybe that’s why he has me so unsettled? It’s that spark of predatory awareness in his eyes that keeps me from just melting right there on the spot. I’ve seen that look before, and I know it means trouble.

He wants a reaction. It’s clear as day from the way he angles his hips every time he leans back on his heels, but I’m not here for a dick appointment. I’m here for a job. Instead of rising to his bait, I clear my throat and show him my phone. “I’m supposed to meet with a Mr. Robinson? But I have no idea where to even start looking for him.” John tucks his hands in his pockets and looks around the place, acting as if he’s never been here before.

“You know, they should put better signs in here.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking.” A bubble of laughter tickles my stomach as he makes a great show of searching high and low. Perhaps I misread his signals. Could he really be an asshole if he’s this goofy?

“It would probably interfere with the decor, though. Here, why don’t you follow me?” He slides closer, enough that his warm breath stirs my hair. “Depending on how your meeting goes, perhaps I can take you to dinner to celebrate?”

I pause, glancing down again at his clothes. No doubt men like him eat women like me for breakfast, and not in a sexual way...well, maybe a sexual way. Again, my cheeks begin to feel like an inferno. Fuck. I hazard another glance and come face to face with his devilish smirk. His eyes zero in on me, pinning me to the spot. My stomach clenches again, and waffles threaten to resurface.

No, Cindy, you can’t throw up on his designer shoes. Just breathe. You’ll be fine. Fuck, why is he looking at me like that? Shaking my head, I glance down at my phone. I only have five minutes to find the guy interviewing me. I don’t want me being late to cause me to lose this job.

“Enough flirting,” he interjects, taking my elbow into his hand to lead me. I don’t exactly mind the touch, but it’s certainly unexpected. Electricity races up my arm to flutter down much lower. God, has it really been that long since I’ve had a boyfriend?

We walk in silence for a few moments before stepping in front of a plain, frosted, glass door with Mr. Robinson emblazoned on it in gold. It’s now or never. Leaning close to my ear, John whispers his well-wishes, causing goosebumps to erupt over my body. He knows it too. That smug smirk as he walks off is just what I need to get him out of my brain. I’ve had my fair share of pretentious assholes, and I sure as hell don’t need to go down that road again.

I give a tentative knock before reaching down to smooth everything out again. If I get the job, my first paycheck will have to go towards buying some newer clothes. If what I’ve seen so far is the level of expectation, then I’m far from ideal. But who am I kidding? Even if I have more money than God, I’m still not going to buy designer outfits…at least not brand new. Who knows when I’ll be out of a job again, and clothes don’t pay the rent.

“Come in.”

Easing the door open, I flash Mr. Robinson the most confident smile I can, and why shouldn’t I? It’s not like I’m applying for a high-level job. Anyone can be a receptionist, and my resume is proof of that.

“Ahhh. Ms. Lewis. Right on time. Please, have a seat.”