Page 3 of Dark Holiday

He holds out his hand, and I give him back the incriminating evidence, wishing I could just eat it or something, anything to destroy all proof that I’m lying. “Just an overview is fine. You have the job; I just want to make sure all I’s are dotted and T’s crossed.”

“Well, I have a very hard work ethic. For most of these jobs, I came early and stayed late. Client satisfaction was my number one goal. I know for this job, it’s technically one client instead of several, but the means to the end are the same.” I flit through my brain, desperate to find something I can beef up, but how do I morph waitressing jobs and cashier work into something worthy of McMillian, Henry, and Nash?

Clearing my throat, I slide my hands under my thighs and continue. “No job was too big or too small. Whatever needed to be done, I did it.” I close my eyes, picturing all the times I had to clean the toilets even when it wasn’t part of my tasks for that day. If that’s not creative spinning, I don’t know what is.

I open my mouth to let more lies drip out when Mr. Robinson raises his hand to cut me off. “I have another meeting in a few minutes, so I’m going to stop you there, but you sound like you’ll be a great fit. Go ahead and turn left outside this door and walk all the way to the end of the hall to get to HR. They’ll get you set up with your paperwork then send someone to show you to your new desk. Oh, and don’t let Daniel get to you. He’s gruff, but he’s fair.”

Nodding, I shake his hand again, tremors flowing through my body. What the hell did I just sign up for? I don’t know anything about being a personal assistant, but more importantly, the man I’m working under is a grump? How will we even communicate? If Mr. Robinson had been able to talk more with my former employers, they probably would have told him that I’m one of those “cheerful morning people.”

If he’s going to be gruff, will we even get along? Lead fills my gut as I step out of the office, nearly colliding with John. He stands there, leaning against the wall like some damned GQ model as if he has nothing better to do than to follow me around. But why?

“So, dinner or drinks?”

Plastering a smile on my face, I shake my head before turning down the hall. “Neither. It’s sweet of you to offer, but I have a lot to do tonight to get ready for my new job. Raincheck?”

“I guess I’ll be seeing you around then.” The look he gives me isn’t hostile exactly, but it certainly isn’t friendly. Maybe I’m the first one to tell him no? If that’s the case, he’s in for a world of hurt. Just because his dimples make my stomach flip doesn’t mean I have to give in to my baser urges. Besides, with all the adrenaline flowing through me right now, I’m pretty sure I won’t be good company tonight.

Once I’m done with HR, I have every intention of going home to my friend’s house, soaking, and researching the hell out of personal assistants. Since it’s a higher position, I have to assume it’s higher pay, and that’s not something I can fuck up.

* * *

Everything is numb as I shuffle towards my friend’s house. Thoughts swirl in my brain at a breakneck speed and don’t show any signs of slowing down. The waffle from earlier is a distant memory, one that my stomach continues to remind me of, but I refuse to give in. I should be getting my next unemployment money hits my account tomorrow, and that will cover the overdraft fees and give me just a bit extra for the cab fare to and from work until my first paycheck gets deposited.

I still get a touch lightheaded when I think of those numbers. How in the hell am I going to pull this off? For what they’re paying me, I’m sure I’ll need to sacrifice my firstborn. That is if I even decide to have children. Bringing up my hand, I gnaw on my thumbnail, making sure I keep the rest of my nails as unchewed as possible. This is the one digit I’ll allow to look like crap.

What do I even tell my friend Brittany? She’s going to ask the moment I get home, and I can’t lie to her. She’ll know. She always knows. If this wasn’t at a law firm, I probably wouldn’t care as much, but can’t I get thrown in prison or, at the very least, get sued for lying! Would they believe me if I said it was an accident? Right. Because why wouldn’t they believe I just so happened to put in a resume that had everything they were looking for by accident.

Shaking my head, I pause, looking up at Brittany and Ryan’s house, yelling at my brain to make a decision, but I can’t. I’m frozen on the steps, rifling through my brain for excuses, stories, changes of subject.

“You gonna stand here all night or come in for dinner?” Fuck. The last guy I need right now. He’ll be able to take one look at me and know something’s up. I hoped to get all of this nervous energy out of my system before dinner, before any potential interrogations, but I guess not.

“No, Ryan. I’m going in. I just need a moment.”

My best friend since high school circles around, concern flashing through his eyes. I don’t need him to get all dommy on me, forcing me to spill my secrets with just a tilt down of his lips or a quirk of his eyebrow. He’s not even my dom, yet I still respond to him in ways that I detest. It’s not sexual, never sexual. He’s more like a big brother to me, but that doesn’t stop the feelings of longing I get when he’s being forceful with me, making me take care of myself when I refuse to.

I don’t want him, but I do want somebody like him. Too bad the dating scene is full of arrogant pricks or guys that feel like BDSM is just code for let me slap your ass a few times, call you slut, and nut inside you. I want more than the physical aspects. I want someone to just take me in hand, care for me, want me. I want what Ryan and Brittany have.

“Look, Cindy. I know things are really rough right now, but you have us. Always. Even with this new job, you’re more than welcome to stay at our house. We love having you. So don’t worry about that.”

Perfect! I can latch onto that side of my guilt. God knows I have it in spades. Dropping my head, I look at the ground, scuffing my toe along the concrete. “I can’t stay with you forever, you know. Eventually, I’ll need to find my own place.”

Ryan smirks and wraps his arm around my neck, pulling me in for an armlock hug before tousling my hair, just like a brother would do. The pang in my heart that started this morning at the restaurant blossoms until I’m unable to breathe. Pain slams into my heart as it beats a wild staccato under my breastbone.

Holding me just a touch longer, Ryan’s grip softens as he envelopes me for a moment more. We all grew up together. Went to school together. He was best friends with my brother. Though he never really paid much attention to me until after graduating high school, he was never mean. Unlike my classmates, he was at least kind.

The day my family died from that horrible, senseless car wreck, we all felt the loss. That’s probably why he’s looking out for me so much; he probably wanted to take me under his wing. Knowing my brother Jason, he probably made Ryan promise him to take his place as my big brother if anything happened. Like with all childhood promises, you never really expect them to be cashed in.

Though it was only five years ago, it still feels like yesterday, and having Ryan hold me right now feels far too close to home. I should have been with them. It was Thanksgiving, and they were seeing family. Unfortunately, I was far too sick to go. The fact that the flu saved my life still boggles my brain.

Ryan pulls me back, looking deep into my eyes for a moment. The overwhelming amount of grief I feel is mirrored in his depths as we stare at each other. His eyes mist over, and I pull away, knowing I’m going to lose it if he starts to cry. In all our years as friends, I’ve only seen him break down a few times; the last was at the funeral.

“Hey,” I manage to croak, setting my briefcase on the steps. “Enough of this. Today is supposed to be a celebration.”

“You got the job?” His eyes shift, lighting up as he swoops me into his arms for a giant hug.

I nod, not trusting to keep quiet about the small snafu. Perhaps once I’ve been employed long enough to feel safe, I’ll tell them I got promoted. If I say something now, Mr. By-The-Book-Dommly-Sir Ryan will pester me until I return to HR and make it right. I need the money too badly to do that.

It’s not a shame thing. Not really. They know things haven’t been easy or okay since I was let go, so that part’s not a problem. With so many businesses going under, it was bound to happen at some point. Part of me just thought all restaurants needed a waitress, but I guess that’s just a pipe dream.