Her Christmas Elf by Jax Garren

Author:Jax Garren [Garren, Jax]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Sweet Paranormal Holiday novella
Publisher: Valkyrie Books
Published: 2019-11-13T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 5

Carrie trudged to work on the day of the party, frustrated, exhausted and with untamed hair, i.e the lion’s mane. Even the pin curls she’d thrown in last night after eating something less tantalizing the rice pudding and before getting into a very cold bed hadn’t helped.

Usually avoiding a romantic entanglement was easy. And yet she had her phone in hand and was, once again, opening up the contacts to stare at Brett’s entry without doing anything about it. The screen was already on his information. He hadn’t needed to add “Elf” to ensure she could find him when she never changed the contact page to someone—anyone—else. But she would see him in person tonight. That had made it easy not to tap the call button.

Tonight she would visit her old house, chase old demons away and maybe find the strength to move forward. Then, after she’d had a chance to stare Lincoln down, she could make that call. But she had to get through tonight first.

Except for the massive problem that she still didn’t have a dress and probably didn’t have shoes or jewelry. And she now had two men to look positively ravishing for. At least her toes were painted.

Or they were, anyway, until ten feet from her desk, her editor practically teleported in front of her, and Carrie slammed her big toe into a cube wall.

“It’s amazing. Where did you get it?” Beth demanded.

“Get what?” Carrie slid her right foot out of her pump and checked it. No, her toes weren’t done anymore. So much for the three AM a.m. somnambulist paint job. At least it wasn’t bleeding. She took a closer look. She’d painted half her cuticles. The whole thing was a fail even before the toe-stubbing.

It was hard to paint toenails when experimental lox and all that went with it distracted her brain in increasingly tempting and erotic ways.

“The dress.” Editor Hard-ass Ass gave her a once over, disapproving everything she saw with the cock of an eyebrow and thinning of her mouth.

“Ha-ha. I still don’t have one.” Carrie smiled an over-bright grin, mimicking Santaland elves. “Can I have the afternoon off to look?”

“Ha-ha. Go look in your cubical. You can have the afternoon to fix your hair into something resembling human. However, you’ve got a review to turn in before then, and I have two pieces on your desk for rewrites. Chop chop.” She actually cracked a smile, her narrow lips twisting up like the Joker. “Princess.”

Carrie watched her go, wondering if a second cup of coffee would’ve made that exchange follow-able. Debating the merits of caffeine from the break room’s over-roasted and typically over-extracted brew—with powdered creamer, which, as far as she was concerned, was an insult even to crap coffee—she wandered into her cube and encountered a half-zipped garment bag with something white and gauzy inside.

She set down her purse and pumped sanitizer into her hands, rubbing them carefully as anticipation filled her chest. Brett hadn’t. Had he? She’d told him not to.

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