“Oh, he is. He’ll always be there.” She laughs. “I got you a vibrator!”

“A what?”

“The Womanizer Pro,” she says. “It’s a top of the line one that everyone talks about. Press that against your clit, turn it on, and it will make you orgasm in seconds. Trust me.”

OH. MY. GOD. My stomach drops to the floor, and I grip the edge of my bed—certain that this isn’t happening.

“I packed it with the best lube—” She’s still talking. “And I got you a card that I penned all by myself. It’s nothing like the impersonal cards I always pick up at the last minute. I was thoughtful this time.”

“Please tell me you’re joking right now…”

“Of course, I’m not.” She smiles. “You’re as thrilled as I am! I can see it in your eyes. I’ve heard good things about the updated settings.” She continues babbling, waxing poetic about the numerous orgasmic features.

“What did your note say?” I can barely hear my own voice.

“You can’t possibly think that I remember every word verbatim.” She shrugs. “Why are you looking so devastated about this? I did exactly what you wanted me to do this year. I was creative!”

“I know, I just—I thought I could rely on the predictability of your gift this time.”

“I’m not following.” She scratches her head. “Why did you want a sweater again?”

“Because I just re-gifted your present to my boss.” I mentally rewind the way he looked at me at the party. The way he strolled over to me with raw want and need in his eyes.

Our conversation about meeting in his condo has a whole new meaning now.

“I was planning to have you for hours.”

Georgia’s mouth is hanging wide open, and neither of us speaks for a while.

“Maybe he didn’t open it yet,” she says. “I’m sure you still have time to switch it out with something else tomorrow, right?”

I shake my head. “I saw him open it.”

“Are you sure he unwrapped it all the way? And I mean, hey, who’s to say that he knows what a Womanizer is?”

“He knows exactly what it is,” I say, then I narrow my eyes at her. “What the hell did you write on that note?”

Her eyes widen, and she picks up a sheet of paper, crumpling it between her fingers. “You’re breaking up now, Savannah,” she says. “I can’t hear you as well.”

“I can fucking see you, Georgia!”

“Oh, right.” She smiles sheepishly, and then she ends the call—disappearing from my screen.

I call her again, refusing to let her get away without telling me what she wrote.

There’s no way in hell that I’m meeting Garrett at his condo tonight. There’s no way I’m answering his phone calls or his texts, and I’m not flying with him to the office party either.

I have to find a way out of this. For real, this time.



This Christmas

Manhattan, New York

I let out a breath as I step out of my seventh cold shower of the afternoon. From the moment that I left the prep-ceremony, thoughts of fucking Savannah all over my condo have run through my mind.

I had to take the rest of the day off—a first in my career, to make sure we had everything we needed.

I’m more than ready to kill the tension that’s lingered between us for years, and I want us to stop playing games and just agree to date each other.

It’s the only thing that makes sense at this point, and I can kill the fraternization clause with the swipe of a pen.

Pulling on a pair of sweatpants, I walk down the hall and into my great room. I hit a button on the remote, and the shades on the panoramic windows slowly inch up and give me a perfect view of the city.

It’s the perfect surface to press Savannah against in a matter of minutes.

Where the hell is she?

I look over at the clock and notice it’s a little after ten.

This woman is never late, even when she oversleeps.

Confused, I pick up my phone and call my secretary.

“Oh my god, I thought you’d never call me back!” she answers. “I swear to God if I didn’t need the money, I would’ve quit this asshole’s office months ago.”

“Hello, Veronica,” I say.

She sucks in a breath, and the line goes silent.

“Have you seen Miss Grey in the building tonight?” I ask, completely unfazed by the way she answered the phone. “Is she in her office?”

“No, sir,” she says. “She went home after the prep thing and didn’t return. She did call half an hour ago complaining about a headache, though.”

“Did she leave a formal message?”

“Please don’t fire me.” The words rush out of her mouth. “I do hate working for you, but I really need this job.”

“Give me Miss Grey’s message. Now.”

“Right.” Papers rustle in the background. “She said that she’s finished all of her work, delegated tasks to the executives, and she’ll see you at the airport when it’s time to head to the office party in two days since she’s nursing a sudden migraine.”

“I see.”

“Okay, so back to me,” she says. “It’s a total pleasure working for West Media, and I must say that I’m so honored by the generous opportunities that you—”

I hang up the phone when she’s mid-sentence. I have more important things to do.

Sighing, I walk over to the coffee table and pick up the card from Savannah’s re-gift to reread it.

Happy Holidays!

Since you’ve always wondered what it’s like to ride your boss’s face, I decided to be a bit more proactive and help you out!

THIS will take care of all that tension that radiates off the two of you. I even had his name engraved on the side of it since you talk about him so much.

This is also more than perfect for all those times when you wished he would just “shut the hell up and just fuck [me] against the wall.”

(You said that in Punta Cana when we were drunk last year, BTW. I remember!)

Love, Georgia

(& your Boss! Bahahahaha!)

(I still got you a sweater, FYI. I’m sending it after New Year’s, though.)

I know there’s no way she initially realized what she gave me, but something tells me that she knows at this point. And she has to see that I’m more than onboard for this.

I always have been.

Beyond aroused and impatient, I send her a text message.

Me: It’s 10:20, Savannah. Are you on your way? I’d still like to discuss some things with you.

S. Grey (Mine): No. Something came up.

I know. Come here so you can see it. Those are the words I’m about to send, but a series of text messages from an unknown number cross my screen first.

555-8709: These text messages never happened. I do not know you, Mr. West, and you do not know me.

555-8709: **But** someone we have in common accidentally re-gifted something that you were never meant to see.

Me: I’m aware of that, Georgia. Hello. Hope you’re well.