Holly Garland on Santa's Lap [COMPLETE]

Chapter 30 : The end

So this is how it's all gonna end, huh?

After everything I've been through, I'm gonna go out like this?

On all four, under my desk, and in my underwear, no less?

I don't even get how a regular, plain-Jane girl like me ended up in such a crappy situation.

What a tragic fate!

No, scratch that—what a freaking shitty fate!!!

I can't believe I'm actually about to die. Right here. Right now.

But maybe the Universe had this planned all along?

"Miss Garland, I know you're here," Chatham's greasy voice snaps me out of my grim thoughts. "The guard told me you came in."

His tone gives me chills.

"Come on, why are you hiding?"

Why? What kind of question is that?

Maybe because I'm half-naked?

Or... oh yeah! Because he's trying to kill me. That seems like a pretty solid reason, you moron!!!

Unless... wait. Does he even know I know?

Maybe he's just here to grab a file or something, and he doesn't plan on hurting me. It's possible. A slim chance, sure, but possible.

Still, if these are my final moments, maybe I should face them with dignity instead of cowering under my desk like some chicken.

After all, wasn't it just yesterday I bragged in front of a whole room that I wasn't the kind of person to do this? Oh, the irony. I remember my exact words: "See, at the office, I'm always the one in control. I'm more about dominating a situation than bowing to it. I don't get on my knees for anyone, and for the record, I prefer to be on the desk rather than under it. It's a principle thing."

"Hoooollllyyyyy?" Chatham sing-songs as he steps further into the room. "Are we playing hide-and-seek now, hmm?"

He sounds like he's having the time of his life, knowing I'm scared. His obnoxiously high-pitched voice grates on me, practically daring me to reveal myself.

Not happening.

I set the phone on the floor, stand up, and turn to face him. He's not far from the door.

And he's holding a gun.

Okay, so much for the slim chance. He's definitely here to kill me.

"Well, well, well!" he exclaims, his eyes crawling over my half-clothed body. "Could it be that you were waiting for me?"

The lust in his glazed, beady eyes makes me sick.

"Keep dreaming, Chatham," I snap, crossing my arms over my chest and trying to look confident. Even though my legs feel like jelly.

"Shame," he mutters, running a hand through his slick black hair to push back a few stray locks. "Could've been fun, you know. Instead of just killing you, we could've kept making money off Paxton & Son. You and me? We'd make a great team. In the office... and in bed."

Gross. I feel like I'm going to puke.

He's, what, ten years older than me?

Sure, he's tall, well-preserved, and maybe even attractive—if you're into cologne-drenched hairy types—but can we talk about the whole scammer-slash-psychopath thing?

Some people might fall for the tall, dark, and dangerously manipulative type, but not me. Hard pass.

"I'd rather die jumping from the 24th floor."