Carrie Alexander – Christmas in His Bed: Talking in Your Sleep... / Unwrapped / Kiss & Tell (страница 22)
He’d left her with a kiss so hot she could still taste him; she closed her eyes and relived the moment. She wanted to rock his world, to ride him into exhaustion and give him the best night’s sleep of his life—it had become a personal goal.
She grinned secretly as she played out the naughty fantasy in her mind, imagining what it might take to exhaust Rafe. When a vibration buzzed softly in the pocket of her suit jacket, she jumped, emitting a little squeak of surprise, her face flooding with heat as everyone turned to look at her.
She plucked the cell phone out, smiling in apology and peeking at the most recent hot text message from Rafe. He’d been sending them all morning, part of his “all-day foreplay” plan. It certainly had spiced up her day, that was for sure.
Reading the current message, she wiggled a little in her chair, completely blanking out on the fact that she was being addressed.
“Joy? Are you with us?”
She blinked, setting the cell phone down on the table. Then realizing the people next to her might see the text message, she quickly snatched it up, fumbling it in her fingers, nearly sending it spinning across the table. Holding her breath, she managed to finally stick the phone back into her jacket pocket as it started vibrating again.
When she looked up, she saw that Ken was watching her impatiently.
She hadn’t been caught in a situation like this since she’d been bold enough to pass notes in fifth grade and had had hers read aloud to the class. She wondered if Ken would have read her text message aloud if he’d grabbed her phone, and her naughty smile twitched again.
“I’m sorry, what?”
Ken cleared his throat. “I know it’s the holiday and everyone is distracted, but I asked if you had worked out the media campaign for the Pearson project?”
“Oh, yes, of course,” she said, pulling herself together and distributing her copies around the room, then quickly starting to review the main points, when Ken interrupted her.
“Joy,” he started, and she looked up quickly.
“Yes?”
“What is this? This isn’t the right paperwork.”
She glanced down and realized that she’d made copies of the party-planning list for the shelter, not her media plan.
“Oh, I’m sorry—this is for another project….” she apologized, her naughty humor disappearing as she gathered the papers. “I can go over the budget verbally, I know it like the back of my hand, I’m so sorry for this, there’s a lot going on this time of year you know—”
“What project is this? I didn’t know we were planning a Christmas event,” he inquired.
“It’s pro bono work for a homeless shelter on the north side.”
Ken looked completely baffled. “Pro bono? What do you mean pro bono? We don’t do pro bono.”
“It’s a personal project.”
“How much time have you been putting into it?”
“It’s on my own time—I’m running event organization for them. It hasn’t cost you anything,” she reassured, trying not to sound too biting.
“Apparently, it costs us your focus on our work, and the projects we’ve put in your lap, I’d say,” Ken offered, and she sighed, having no real answer to that.
“You’re right. Sorry.” Yet was she? She didn’t feel sorry. She felt annoyed. She irrationally wanted to tell Ken to cram it, but she knew he was right.
“Well, mistakes happen. You can tell us the high points of the media plan, and we’ll want copies directly after the meeting.”
She didn’t know how she managed to do it, but she did, and when the meeting was over, she couldn’t have been more relieved. Ken didn’t leave the room, however, but went over to the door, closing it before she had a chance to escape.
“Ken, really, I’m sorry but—”
“Joy, you’re one of our best. Maybe the best among your peers at the moment.”
She hadn’t seen
“I mean it. You’re a strong contender for the new position, certainly the most qualified, but the question I need to ask you, is this the best job for you?”
“What?”
“There’s no debating you’re good at this work, Joy, but do you really want to do it for the rest of your life? The new position will take up even more of your time and energy, and while I don’t doubt that you have the mind and the talent for it, I do wonder if you have passion.”
“Passion?”
“Yes. You’re good at what you do, but I don’t often see you excited about it. Lately, that’s even more evident. I’ve worked with you for a while now, and you’re competent, efficient, but … it’s like you’re still holding something back. Honestly, if I had to choose, I’d go with someone who had more passion and fewer qualifications, because passion is what takes you the distance.”
She tensed at the criticism. “I didn’t know
“It’s not, but it’s something we all think about when we’re hiring someone to join the executive staff. A passion for the job, the company, the product. A personal connection. If you want this job, Joy, before we make a final decision, I need to know you really want it, and for more than the bigger paycheck. If this is what you want to do day in and day out for years to come. If you have—”
“Passion,” she finished for him, flatly.
“Yes. Exactly.”
Joy withered, sinking back into her chair, thanking Ken as he left. What could she do? It seemed passion was the thing lacking in her life overall, and she had no idea if she’d ever had it, or how to find it.
RAFE WAS GRINNING ear-to-ear as he pulled into Warren’s driveway. He stepped out of the car to see Bessie getting out of her own car across the street, starting to take out sacks of groceries from the trunk. Rafe trotted over to give her a hand. He liked Bessie, and she always fed him when he came over—it reminded him of his own neighborhood back home, where someone was always trying to feed him something. Thankfully his job and time at the gym worked it off.
“Hey, let me give you a hand with those,” he said, lifting the bags out of her arms.
“Well, now, they don’t make many like you anymore, Rafe. I hope that young woman across the street knows she’s found herself a real gentleman,” Bessie complimented him. He acknowledged the words with silence, secretly thinking that if this nice old lady knew what plans he had for Joy later that night, she might not think he was much of a gentleman.
“Lots of groceries here,” he commented, changing the subject as they walked up the steps. “Doing a lot of cooking this week?”
“Oh yes. Baking for church and for friends—among which you may count yourself—and of course my family will be here soon, so I need to start now. They all have good appetites, and I like to make everyone’s favorites,” she declared.
Rafe felt a little twinge of loneliness for his own family. His mother did the same. His favorite was the manicotti that was standard Christmas-Eve fare, along with the homemade custard-and-cheese cannoli. His mouth watered thinking about it.
“You can put those down on the table, thank you very much. Can I make you some lunch?”
He smiled and then shook his head. “Don’t tell my mother if you ever meet her, but your soup is as good as hers, Bessie. There isn’t much that would keep me from it, but I have a Christmas tree tied to the top of Warren’s car, and I need to get it down and inside the house to surprise Joy.”
Bessie’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, you’re a romantic one, too. I’ll send some soup over later—enough for both of you.”
“We won’t say no,” he assured her with a wink.
He returned back to his car, and before long had hauled the Christmas tree into Joy’s house, along with a boatload of decorations he’d bought at the store. He wasn’t going to decorate it for her, but they’d have some fun—and some
Still, he looked at his watch and wondered where she was. Time had slid by while he’d put up the tree, and he hadn’t realized it was already a half hour later than Joy normally came home from work. He knew this was a busy week. Maybe she’d gotten caught up in something. He was willing to wait.
Still, she hadn’t replied to any of his text messages after the first few, and he hoped he hadn’t ticked her off again. He sat with an old magazine and the undecorated tree until the sun went down and the Christmas lights were all blinking outside the windows. Finally he gave in to his worry and called Second Chance. No, Joy wasn’t there, and Pam hadn’t heard from her.
By the time he called her cell and left a message, a little chunk of fear had lodged itself in his gut. He’d seen the results of too many times when someone didn’t make it home one night, and it was hard for him not to imagine the worst.
Still, what could he do? He didn’t really know Joy all that well, certainly not enough to expect her to check in with him.
Worry turned to annoyance, which transformed into irritation and near anger again as he saw her headlights turn into the driveway, then relief took over. She was fine, just late. Going out on the porch, he met her on the steps.
“Hey, you’re home late,” he observed, unable to keep the slight accusation out of his tone.
“You were waiting for me?”
Something about that stung; they hadn’t had firm plans, but he thought it was pretty clear they were getting together that evening. The fact that she obviously hadn’t even given him a second thought put a big dent in the masculine ego.