Sugar And Spice (36 page)

“I, ah, don’t do well with kids,” he said, leaning over to whisper in her ear.

“What’s to do? You read, you pull a few Sh-sh-shakespearean stunts here and there, and t-t-toss everyone a c-c-candy cane when you’re done. Easy as ch-ch-cherry pie.”

He grinned. “I don’t bake either.”

“Well, maybe someday, I’ll make you dessert.” She’d meant it as a joke, one of those offhand comments thrown into a conversation, but the promise inherent in the words held innuendo. Anticipation.

They were also the first words she’d spoken that hadn’t come out sounding like they’d been through a shredder.

Every time she got near Jake, she wanted to take the thoughts in her brain and put them into action, to actually act as aggressive as she felt. But the minute she opened her mouth and started stuttering like a car with a bad battery, her self-confidence went running.

“Come on,” Bobby said, impatient with the adults. He tugged at Jake, dragging him away from Natalie and over to the chair, with all the timing of a drunk rooster. Natalie would have liked to see where the conversation would have gone. Start with dessert…move onto the beefcake?

But Jake was already surrounded by children, like a bread crumb in an anthill. As soon as Jake sat down, the kids scooched and squished back into a semicircle.

Jake sent a helpless look toward Natalie. She gave him an encouraging grin, then stepped back, taking his place against the desk.

“Uh, this book is, ah, about…” Jake looked down at the slim colorful hardcover on his lap as if he’d forgotten Natalie handing it to him, “Santa Claus. And, ah, his favorite…ah…reindeer.”

Natalie bit back a laugh. Jake sounded more like her than he knew. For a man who could handle office politics with the finesse of a piano tuner, who managed to insert some calming sense into Brad’s insane bright ideas and who had done more for Lyons Corporation in the last five months than anyone had in the last five years, he seemed positively out of his element when it came to children.

“I believe in Santa,” Ariana said, her big brown eyes looking up at him. “Do you?”

“Uh, sure.” Jake flipped through the first couple pages to get to the beginning of the story.

“What’s he bringing you this year?”

Jake glanced at Natalie, “help me” clear in his eyes.

“Ariana,” Natalie said, “you know Santa only brings things to kids, not grown-ups.”

The little girl digested that, then turned to Jake again. “Then what’d he bring you when you were a kid?”

Ariana pressed on, a terrier with a Nylabone.

Jake cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “He, ah, didn’t come to my house.”

Natalie sat back against the desk, watching Jake and wondering what kind of childhood lacked a visit from the jolly red guy. As far as she knew, he was the kind of man who had everything—

Everything except Santa visits, apparently.

“Haven’t you seen the movie?” Ariana said. “If you have a house, he always comes. ’Cept not for me,

’cuz we don’t have a house now.”

“Well, ah—” He glanced up at Natalie, panic in his eyes.

She couldn’t let him flounder anymore, even if she was as curious as the children to know about the lack of a Claus presence. “Mr. Lyons traveled a lot as a child,” she said, throwing out the first excuse she could come up with that seemed to fit with what little she knew about Jake, “so sometimes it was hard for Santa to find him.”

The kids pondered this, connecting the information with all their Santa legends. “Does that mean he won’t find us here?” Ariana said.

“He will,” Natalie assured the children. “I’ve talked to him myself and let him know that all of you are living here for now.”

“Thank you,” Ariana said, her voice sweet and soft, and making Natalie wish she had twice the Christmas gift budget from Lyons Corp that she did. These children needed so much, beyond a few toys. They needed homes and help.

Despite spending most of her weekends and most of her time off there, helping the families with everything from job applications to welfare forms, Natalie realized she was only one woman and she could only do so much without big-time corporate support.

Unfortunately, Brad held onto every tax deductible penny like he had Super Glue stuck to his fingers.

Natalie glanced at the clock. “Mr. Lyons doesn’t have a lot of time, so we better start the story. Okay?”

The kids nodded, resettled themselves in position and looked up, expectant. “Do we get paid to listen to the story too?” Victor asked from the back.

“No,” Natalie said, then laughed and leaned down to whisper in Jake’s ear, taking her time with the words so they came out right. “I think you’ve created a monster.”

He chuckled. “At least it’s one driven by capitalism. We could be breeding future entrepreneurs here.”

“Or bank r-r-robbers.” He laughed again, then she waved a flourishing hand in Jake’s direction. “Mr.

Lyons?”

He cleared his throat, then began the book. The first few pages were filled with the same nervous pauses, but then, just as the reindeer in the story found his footing, Jake did too, adding some flourish to his words, a few dramatic gestures and noises. The children leaned forward, rapt and still, as captured by Jake’s voice as Natalie.

Did this man have any faults? If so, she couldn’t see them, not right now, not while the six-foot hunk was crunched into a preschooler chair, making reindeer grunts.

Two minutes later, the shelter’s director came into the room, effectively ending the session in time for lunch. Jake rose and handed the book back to Natalie. “Thanks for rescuing me back there.”

She shrugged. “It was n-n-nothing.” Oh, hell, there she went again.

“This was fun. Really fun. I had no idea reading a book could be so…rewarding.” A smile crossed his face.

Not an ordinary smile, but the kind that socked her in her stomach, putting Tom Cruise’s famous dimples to shame.

“It is,” she agreed. “The k-k-kind of experience that s-s-stays with you.”

Much the way Jake was looking at her right now was going to stay in her memory for a long time.

“Those kids love you,” he said. “You must be here a lot more than once a month.”

“I help out. Th-th-the kids, they’re like f-f-family, I guess.”

He watched as the children filed out of the room, chattering happily about the upcoming holiday. Pots and pans clattered in the kitchen, someone’s name was announced on the loudspeaker system for a phone call on line two, but Natalie barely heard any of it.

All she noticed was Jake Lyons and the way he was staring at her.

“I can see that,” he said. “But you…you really wowed me today. You’re great with them.”

“Th-th-thanks.” Damn that stutter. She’d be better off taping her mouth shut.

He took a step closer, his deep blue gaze sweeping over her, as if he’d just noticed her—really noticed her—for the first time. “We’ll have to do this again sometime.”

“I’ll do it anytime with you,” she said, the words a whisper. Too late, she realized what she’d said.

Lacking a recall button for verbal idiots, she had to stand there, watching Jake’s lips curve up into a grin as the meaning hit him.

“You’re not what I expected, Natalie Harris,” he said, then chucked her under the chin. “See you around the office.”

Brad Lyons entered the front office of Lyons Corporation, stopping by the first cubicle in his notice-me light blue suit, the one that made him look more like Merv Griffin than Diddy. If Natalie hadn’t seen the family photos hanging in Brad’s office, she’d never have believed Jake shared a bloodline with his wannabee-pimpin’ cousin.

As Brad approached, Natalie ducked down into her cubicle and feigned busyness. Kind of hard to do, considering she, Angie, and Tim were all in there, sharing a Harry & David gift box that had arrived in that day’s mail.

The chocolate was a necessary medical intervention after her encounter with Jake earlier. The man she had a total lust crush on had chucked her under the chin, for God’s sake, like she was a five-year-old who’d presented him with a Crayola masterpiece.

Brad stopped in the center of cubicle world and cleared his throat. “Has anyone seen the effulgence of the lobby Christmas tree?” He pressed a hand to his chest. “I ordered it to be decorated myself. It has a certain joie de vivre, don’t you agree?”

Not one of the two dozen people working for Lyons Corporation did so much as pop up a gopher head out of their cubicle, long since unimpressed with Brad’s mangling of Merriam-Webster.

“I thought you blocked the Word of the Day from his computer,” Angie muttered to Tim, the resident techno-geek.

“I did. Suck-up Sam probably found a way around it.” Tim pushed off with his heels, sending his rolling chair across the puce carpet and back into his own square space.

As if on cue, Sam, an intern from Boston College who had clearly paid attention in Sycophant 101, stood and sent an air high five toward Brad. “Great word, boss.”

“Thanks.” Brad straightened his tie, proud as a dog who’d just unearthed a muddy tennis ball. “Or should I say, I extend my gratitude to your commendation?”

Natalie bit back a groan. She was all for increasing vocabulary, but not at the expense of perfectly good words.

“Tim,” Angie hissed. “If you don’t block that site from the servers, I swear, I will shove your gigabytes up your—”

“I know, I know. I’ll get right on it.” Tim turned to his computer. “I promise, by morning, Brad will be back to two-syllable words.”

Natalie asked herself for the hundredth time why she still worked here. She’d spent a year at the supersized accounting firm, stuck in a box no bigger than her apartment’s bathroom, shuffling paperwork for billion dollar businesses. When she’d come to work for Brad, he had promised her a position overseeing the nonprofit side of Lyons Corp.

A side that had never materialized. The closest Brad had come to philanthropic work had been his support of her shelter reading program, something she had spent six months lobbying for, pestering him on a daily basis until he’d relented, agreeing only if she made up every hour she invested in the program.

Since she’d started volunteering at the shelter, Natalie had finally started feeling like she was doing something that had meaning. That she was repaying, just a little, all that had been done for her.

Still, it wasn’t enough. She wanted to do more, to accomplish more. The taste of charity had created a need in her for a life that was more. More fulfilling, more adventurous, more than just an existence.

To that end, it was time to move on, to find a job that was more meaningful than a Kleenex.

And to take a chance with her love life instead of being so held back by her stuttering issues.

Natalie’s gaze strayed across the room to the man sitting behind the glass walls, and she knew why she was still here, stuck in a dead-end job working for Brad the Buffoon.

Because of the view. A bird’s-eye one of Jake, all day, every day. He’d started here five months ago, just when Natalie had started dusting off her resume.

And promptly put it back in the drawer the first time Jake talked to her.

Today, after they’d finished at the shelter and she’d returned to the office, she’d hoped Jake would say something—anything—to explain his new interest in her reading abilities and to capitalize on her growing lust for a man who could bond with kids as easily as he could send her heart racing.

But he’d hopped in a separate cab, telling her he had a meeting. By the time he came back to the office, she was busy sorting out a client’s depreciation mess and didn’t get a chance to talk to him, never mind brush by him at the watercooler. He’d been holed up in the glass office ever since.

Besides, it was clear the man had no interest in her, Natalie told herself as she popped a fourth chocolate truffle into her mouth. He clearly found her about as sexy as a pair of fuzzy dice.

“All right, everyone, attention on me,” Brad said, straightening his maroon tie. “I have a couple of announcements that will surely bedazzle the holidays for all you office drones.”

The gopher heads popped up. “Everyone gets a raise because it’s Christmas?” said Joe, who hadn’t mastered a thing in the office except FreeCell. Above him, one of the fluorescent lights flickered like a strobe at a cheesy disco.

The boss laughed. “Good one, Matthews. I’ll have to remember that for April Fool’s Day.”

Angie groaned and popped another handful of Moose Munch into her mouth. “Asshole,” she muttered through the crunching.

“First,” Brad went on, “we’re going to instigate a Secret Santa exchange.” He raised his hands as if warding off objections. “I know, I know, all of you want to amass the presents on me this year, but in the spirit of the holidays, I’m going to share the wealth.”

“Damn. There goes my Fruitcake of the Month idea,” Angie whispered.

“Each of you will retain and will become a Secret Santa. Tomorrow marks twelve days until Christmas, so we’ll embark on a Twelve Days of Christmas theme. Isn’t that a brilliant initiative?”

“Technically, Mr. Lyons,” Natalie said, “the Twelve Days of Christmas fall after Christmas and lead up to—”

“I say these are the twelve days before Christmas.” He eyed her, daring her to disagree.

Angie handed her a Post-it with “Monster.com” written on it. “You and me, we’ll make a break for it,”

she whispered.

Natalie glanced again at Jake, on a call in his glass-walled office. He was standing, talking into the earbud of his cell phone, commanding attention, even across cellular lines. She was crazy to think she’d seen interest in him earlier. And she was even crazier for hanging onto a sucky job just because she had a crush.

“Do you want to draw names?” Sam said, rushing toward Brad, nearly salivating with enthusiasm. “Here, I can put them all down.” He grabbed a yellow legal pad off Natalie’s desk.

“Hey! Those are my notes.”

Sam ignored her, tearing the yellow paper into tiny pieces, scribbling the names of everyone in the office on them, then dumped Natalie’s deep—and full—in-box onto her desk. He thrust the names inside the now-empty mesh container, then rushed over to the boss, like the simpering fool that he was.