Do Not Open 'Til Christmas by Sierra Donovan

Author:Sierra Donovan [Donovan, Sierra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2017-08-02T04:00:00+00:00

So, do you really get cell reception in there?

As she turned up the volume on the Christmas CD in her car, Bret texted her back:

Yep.

With Bing Crosby and David Bowie for company, she drove away.

* * *

The next day, Bret stepped out of his office to brave a cup of late-afternoon coffee. He had the place to himself, so he hadn’t bothered making a fresh pot. He took a sip, grimaced, and added more creamer.

As Bret stirred in the powdered stuff, Mike Pellegrini came in from the lobby entrance and sauntered oh-so casually toward the rear door that led to the press room. It was far from the most direct route, and he’d certainly never cut through the newsroom before.

Bret sipped his nasty coffee and watched with a touch of wry amusement as Mike surveyed the half dozen desks, all unoccupied at the moment. “Can I help you?” Bret asked. “Or don’t you have something to press?”

Mike responded with a sheepish grin. “I came in early. Do you know where Chloe is?”

The guy wasn’t exactly leaving tongue marks on the carpet, but his intentions were pretty clear. “Out on an interview, I think.”

“Oh.” Mike shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his wheat-blond hair hanging a little over his ears in a careless look that made Bret think of the cool kids in high school. “Do you know if she’s seeing anybody?”

Bret fought the urge to say he’d heard Chloe mention something about an intensely jealous kickboxing boyfriend. It wouldn’t even be a lie.

Bret shrugged. “You’d have to ask her.”

But he didn’t like where this was going. For no reason, really. Based on limited observation, Mike seemed like a good-natured enough sort, although Bret suspected he wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box.

He gave Mike a brief nod and went back to McCrea’s office before Mike could ask him any more questions, like Chloe’s favorite color. And when Bret glimpsed a blond figure coming into the newsroom from the corner of his eye, he closed the door behind him. Stay out of it.

Intending to do just that, Bret settled behind his keyboard and pulled up the file he’d been working on. But of course, the door of the editor’s office was glass, which gave him a perfect view of the silent movie playing out in the newsroom.

Chloe walked in. Smiled at Mike. And had to step around him to get to her desk, where she stashed her purse in the drawer.

Bret busied his fingers typing. Chloe hadn’t sat down, but stood talking to Mike with what Bret would have described as a diplomatic smile. He took stock of the nonverbal cues: Mike’s shifting feet, Chloe’s straight posture, then a slight tilt of her head. The dimple below her smile deepened. No, don’t encourage him. Just send him on his way.

At least, that was what Bret hoped was happening. Not that it was any of his business. Yet something in his chest felt strange, like a wet rag being wrung by invisible hands.

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