Holly Garland on Santa's Lap [COMPLETE]

Chapiter 18 ~Hungry heart~

It's Monday.

Even though I was up most of the night and am seriously sleep-deprived, I still wake up right at seven on the dot—the same time my alarm goes off every day for work.

It's like my body and brain are just wired for it. Plus, I've never missed a single day of work, no matter how crazy things have gotten with my Christmas curse. Sure, we're in witness-protection-mode here, but I can't stop thinking about my job. About all the stuff I need to do, everything I'm missing, and the mountain of work piling up.

How is my team gonna survive without me? It's definitely not gonna be Paul Chatham, our boss, who steps up. And what if that jerk decides to fire me because I didn't show up without an excuse and nobody's around to handle his job too?

Oh, God! This is a total disaster!

I bolt up in bed, eyes wide open like I've just woken up from a decade-long coma.

I have to do something right now.

I roughly push Nick's head off my stomach, wrap the sheet around my naked body, and head for his closet.

I throw open the doors and start searching for the outfit I wore to the last office party. Usually, I send my work clothes to the dry cleaner since they're expensive and delicate. Here's hoping my beige silk blouse didn't get completely ruined by a round in the washer and dryer.

"Aha! Perfect!" I cheer, spotting my pencil skirt neatly folded on a shelf. Then—"Oh, crap!"

I grab the blouse off its hanger, despairing. It's a wrinkled mess and totally unwearable—unless I can rescue it with a steamer. But would Nick even own one?

"No. Whatever you're thinking, the answer's no."

I turn to see Nick, apparently awake now.

He's lying in bed, completely naked, calmly watching me with one arm propping him up.

"Do you happen to have an iron?" I ask, clutching my clothes and kicking the closet door shut.

"Ginger! I said no."

"Of course you don't!" I mutter, turning back to open another door in search of my new heels. Rich people don't own useful gadgets like that—they're way too practical!

I open yet another door, and finally, there they are. I add them to the growing pile on my arm.

"Oh well, these will do!" I announce as I start hunting for my underwear.

"What are you doing?" he asks, sitting up and frowning.

I cross the room, passing him to get to the dresser.

"Looking for my underwear. Where'd you put it?" I ask, pulling open drawers one by one.

"You don't need any of that."

I turn to him again.

"Easy for you to say, Mr. No Shame, lounging around with your bits on display!"

I try not to look at the "bits" in question, but honestly, it's hard.

"For the love of all that's holy, Nick! Cover up, you're indecent..."

"Hey, you're the one who's 'uncovered' me," he points out, nodding at the sheet I'm clutching to my chest, which trails behind me.

"Oh, right," I say, glancing at the sheet I'd totally forgotten about. "Sorry. I don't walk around naked, and I'm in a hurry to get dressed for work because—"

"You're not going anywhere," he says firmly, standing up to face me, hands on his hips. " I told you, it's dangerous!"

I hesitate, debating whether to shut my eyes to avoid staring or to uncover me to throw the sheet over him.