I smile as I put my hand over Daniel’s on the table. “You’re a good man, you know that?”
“Well, there’s only me this year—my sister’s deployed and won’t be home until February.”
“She’s in the navy, right?” I ask.
He nods proudly. “She’s a badass. Could totally kick my butt.”
We chuckle.
“You’re having Christmas Day lunch here for your brother and sister, right?”
I nod. “It sounded like a good idea at the time.”
“Not so much now?” Daniel asks.
“Ugh, I haven’t even thought about what I’m cooking. It’s all just too hard.”
“Well, I’m only going away for two days and then I’ll come back and help you prepare the food. I don’t leave to go home until Christmas Eve, and we could have most of it done before I go.”
“You don’t have to do that.” I smile.
“Babe, what else am I going to do? Being at home for more than two days drives me crazy and tomorrow is my last day at work. We can work out a few recipes over good wine.”
I smile, grateful for my new friend, and turn my attention to Rebecca. “What are you doing for Christmas Day again Beck?”
“I’ll be refereeing fights with my dysfunctional family.” She sighs.
We smile as she continues.
“You know, you would think that when your parents get divorced the shit show stops. But no . . . they get new fuckwit partners and you get to have a double shit show with whipped cream and extra topping.”
We all chuckle.
Daniel raises his glass and we both touch it with ours. “To Christmas, the ultimate shit show.”
“To Christmas.”
It’s just gone 11 a.m. and I sit down at my desk with a cup of coffee. My email pings.
Elliot Miles.
Hello Kathryn,
I’d like a meeting with the ITM team please.
All of you in my office in thirty minutes.
Elliot.
“Shoot.” I get up and walk into the office next to mine. “Bob, did you just get the email from Elliot?”
Bob looks up from his computer. “I haven’t checked, hang on.” He opens his email and scrunches up his nose. “Yep.” His eyes come back to me. “You think it’s about the internet crash last week?”
“Of course it is.” I roll my eyes. “I’m not in the mood for this today.”
Bob exhales heavily and then Joel pops his head around the doorjamb. “Did you two get the email?”
“Yep.”
We all stare at each other for a moment. When you get a private email invitation to Elliot Miles’s office, it isn’t for a tea party and cake.
You are about to get in deep shit.
“If he starts on me today, I’m telling him to stick it,” Bob snaps.
“Stick what, exactly,” Joel teases.
“His stupid fucking job up his stupid fucking ass,” Bob replies.
“Yeah, yeah, tough guy,” Joel replies. “You know the drill, just let Kate do the talking.”
Bob nods in agreement.
Wimps.
Great . . . just what I need.