Free The Boss's Mistletoe Maneuvers by Linda Thomas-Sundstrom Page A

you’ll trust me to set things straight?”
    “Hell, no. It’s bribery for you to leave me out of whatever happens from this point on.”
    Chaz decided right then that he really did like Brenda Chang.
    “Will she shoot me if I show up at her place?” he asked.
    “I would.”
    He smiled. “I suppose following her seems desperate.”
    “Completely.”
    “Okay then, wish me luck.”
    “Boss, you are so going to need it,” Brenda declared as Chaz headed for the street.
    * * *
    Kim’s feet were killing her. Stilettos required a lot of downtime and motionless posing, not trotting down New York sidewalks, contrary to what TV shows might have everyone think. The shoes were impossible, especially on the icy sidewalk.
    She waved down an oncoming taxi, waited until it stopped, then ran in front of it to cross the road, assured of not getting hit when the taxi blocked traffic. The driver grumbled, and might have extended one finger in a rude gesture. She didn’t wait to see.
    Thankfully, her apartment was around the corner from the agency, at the end of the block. Though close in terms of actual distance, she’d still have to soak her feet when she got there, and also work with her fractured ego.
    The heels made sharp pecking sounds on the sidewalk as she threaded her way between other pedestrians. She’d left the office without her coat, and the red dress garnered a few stares and catcalls from men she passed.
    “Imbeciles.” What kind of man gave a woman a whistle on the street that she could hear?
    She was shivering, but she’d had to get out of the agency building. Since Monroe had followed her into the hallway, he might have continued to the office. If he had pushed his way into the elevator with her, filling the tiny, confined space with his musky, masculine maleness, there was no way to predict what might have happened. Plus, there were cameras.
    Any more time spent in Chaz Monroe’s sight would be bad, and how much worse could she feel?
    She walked with her gaze lowered, having set up her mental block against the windows in the stores she passed that were decorated with December finery. Some of them presented animated holiday scenes. Others showcased giant trees decorated with everything under the sun that could fit on a branch. It was especially important she didn’t view these things in entirety; not after dealing with Monroe.
    She was already on edge.
    With great relief, she made it down the block without seeing a single Santa suit on a street corner—a sight that would not only have filled her with the old regrets, but also reminded her of what she had told Monroe.
    She wanted Santa....
    Yes, she had told him that.
    Well, okay. So she had been impulsive enough to use Brenda’s ridiculous excuse in a moment of panic and extreme need. Therefore, could she really blame Monroe for thinking her an idiot?
    She wanted Santa.
Jeez...
    Feeling sicker, Kim rushed on. She nodded to the doorman of her building and whisked by without the usual benign chitchat. Six floors up and down one long hallway, and she was home free. No one had followed her. No pink slip waited on the floor by her door.
    Kim stood with her back to the wood as the door closed behind her, only then allowing herself a lungful of air. She really did feel sick. Tonight she had been possessed by her mother’s teachings. She’d been set back a few years with the flick of a tape recorder switch.
    “There’s no going back. No taking it back,” she muttered.
    The guilt tripled with her second breath of air. Even from the small front room, not much larger than her cubicle at work, she smelled the cookies she had dared to bake the night before.
    Christmas cookies.
    Her first disloyal batch.
    The damn cookies might have been some kind of terrible omen. She had looked up the recipe in secret, and baked them as her first baby step toward freedom. Now her new boss had whispered fantastical things in her ear without realizing how much she’d love to