Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 36367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 182(@200wpm)___ 145(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 182(@200wpm)___ 145(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
Dear Mr. Luge (aka Scrooge),
I’m writing this letter to let you know I quit. I quit so bad. I’ve taken a new position with your biggest competition, Pulse Gaming.
Finally, I’ve got a job as a marketing executive and I will no longer be your lowly assistant who is tasked with fetching your coffee or whatever you deem necessary, but is truly ridiculous.
Sure, you’re some big computer genius who invented this new gaming technology and everyone falls at your feet, but not me.
Oh no, not me.
I’m no longer the girl you’ll call at all hours of the night to belittle and degrade.
And yes, I’m so grateful that you played along as my boyfriend when my mother ambushed us that one night.
My family loved you as you performed the part of the perfect boyfriend to a T. Oscar-worthy. However, I know the truth.
You may be one of the most gorgeous men on the planet, and smartest. You may have this beard that puts all other beards to shame. And the prettiest eyes that sparkle when you walk into a room.
But I’m not fooled.
I know the real you.
The one who’s not pretending to care about me. Even when you kiss me and it feels so stinkin’ real. Even when you hold my hand and sparks zap all through me.
No, I know the real you.
And I’m outta here.
Sincerely,
January Frost, your ex-assistant.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter 1
January
* * *
Baby Jesus is judging me. And I don’t blame him a bit.
“If my boss wasn’t a Scrooge incarnate, I wouldn’t be leaving my job,” I whisper to the tiny ceramic figure lying in a manger. “If I tell him now, it’ll ruin Christmas.”
The truth is, I haven’t turned in my notice to my boss yet because I’m a coward. I’m sure baby Jesus knows this. Which is why I quickly tuck him next to his little lamb friend in the manger scene on my desk. It won’t be hard to miss, set beside a tempting plate of sugar cookies that shimmer with edible glitter.
I step back and admire my handiwork.
Everything looks perfect, from the Charlie Brown tree on my filing cabinet to the twinkling lights around my office door to the animated Santa in the corner. Even I’m a festive vibe, dressed in a fuzzy green cardigan with golden bows. I’ve paired it with a slim red skirt and heels.
All of this to remind my boss, Nicolas Luge, aka Scrooge, the holiday is upon us. And he can’t come up with a last-minute request to ruin my holiday plans, like he’s done in the previous years.
I'm being proactive. Just not about turning in my notice.
I’ll wait until I return from my trip, because he’s just so darn grumpy. I don’t think his face has the muscles needed for smiling. What’s that famous saying? Use it, or lose it?
Well, Mr. Scrooge has definitely lost it. I don’t think he even knows this is supposed to be the most joyous time of year.
It’s like his genius brain cannot process happiness.
As I round my desk, the small bells dangling from my ears jingle with each step. It’s annoying, but it’ll be worth it. This seemed less psycho than dressing as a ghost to scare him into realizing people have lives and families who expect them to ski down a snowy slope at the Mountain Goat Resort in Aspen this holiday.
This weekend, I’ll be drinking peppermint mochas by a roaring fire, laughing as my cousin, Lorraine, tells the family one of her infamous stories about traveling the globe.
“Do you have that report I requested?” Mr. Luge asks as his tall frame barrels into my office without so much as a hello.
I don’t know why it shocks me that he never says hello. He’s all business all the time. He just barges in asking for a report like I can read his mind. And I can. It’s my job.
“Of course, I do,” I say with a forced smile. “I’m the personal assistant to one of the most influential media moguls in the gaming industry.” A fact he never lets me forget.
His dark eyes dart around my office, stopping to linger on the cookies, but he makes no comment.
I pick up a file folder from my desk. “Here’s the file with all the specifics you asked for on SpectarCloud.” I hold out the manilla folder. “Would you like a Christmas cookie?”
“No.” He might as well have said bah, humbug as he takes the folder from my hand. This week he’s been extra crotchety, working on a new fantasy game where dragons will battle each other for supremacy.
As his eyes scan the contents, his face sets into a frown, and I get mesmerized watching the way he twists his lips, concentrating. The way he lifts a hand to scrub at his beard. The way his suit jacket strains against his broad shoulders as he does.
Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention one highly important point—Nicholas Luge isn’t a grizzly old man. Quite the opposite. He’s thirty-four, and strikingly handsome.
Every aspect of his appearance draws me in, even though it’s wrong. The strong jaw, the rugged cheekbones and straight nose, the perfectly messy dark hair. The way his white dress shirt stretches across his chest. Even the high-priced shoes that hide his quite possibly perfect feet. I’ve never seen his feet, but I bet they’re impressive. They’re large. And you know what they say—
I shake my head and snatch a cookie from the tray. Why am I thinking about the size of my boss’ feet?
I’m sure baby Jesus is judging me, thinking I have a foot fetish, but I don’t. And I don’t have a fetish for my boss. He doesn’t need my admiration anyway. As one of the youngest men to make the Forbes Billionaires List, he gets enough from the world around him.
He glances over at me as I finish my cookie and his eyes track the movement of my tongue as I delicately lick any glitter residue from my lips. “Now that you’re done eating that cookie and jingling incredibly loud, can we go over the quarterly reports?” he says, eyes still on my mouth.
And that’s a prime example of my issues with him. Despite all that pretty packaging, I can’t get over his gruff attitude. It’s like he’s mad at the world, or he’s mad at me.