Excerpt
Chapter One
"He did it again. Right on the bottom, the old fart." Meredith Donovan rubbed her green velvet-covered derrière. "The guy won't stop."
"You too? He got me on the thigh, just when I was lifting some kid onto his lap." Sandra took a bite of her sandwich. "I heard he squeezed Phoebe on her right--um--chest. Someone should do something about him."
"Well, I will." Merry stood up from the employee cafeteria table. "I'm going to go find the head honcho, whoever he is, and tell him his Santa Clause has to learn some manners. Any idea who the boss of this store is?"
"Moro. Somebody Moro...Joe, I think. His office is upstairs, third floor, in the corner, I've heard. Never been there, though."
"Where's the elevator?"
"Around the corner. Want some moral support?"
"Sure."
Sandra laid down her lunch and stood up, smoothing down her own green velvet skirt. "We elves should stick together, you know."
****
"Your Santa is a lecher,” Merry told the man behind the mahogany desk.
"What makes you say that?" Her new boss raised his head from his paperwork and looked at her.
Merry gaped. This was the CEO of Retro Department Store? This was one of the hottest corporate shining stars in California's Silicon Valley? This was the latest darling of the business community, one of the youngest centerpieces of the Chamber of Commerce?
Despite the tailored suit, Merry recognized him instantly. This man sitting at his shining mahogany desk was no one else but Jazzy Moro--Guiseppi, that is--from Ashfield High School.
"He keeps pinching us."
Jazz Moro, the hunkiest boy in school.
"All of the elves."
Jazz Moro, on whom she’d had a devastating crush for two years.
"On the bottom."
The one who all the cheerleaders panted after, and dated, and probably--given his reputation--slept with.
"And other places."
The Jazz Moro who had never noticed Mousy Merry, the perpetual wallflower.
"You're going to have to do something about him."
Jazz Moro who had never noticed her, except for that one time--that one wonderful, awful, exciting, humiliating evening Merry had never forgotten.
Yes, it was Guiseppi, all right, although the brass plate on his door read "Joe." Same curly black hair, same cocoa eyes with the devilish expression lurking within, same debonair mustache neatly trimmed just to the corners of his mouth. That he had been able to grow a mustache while still an adolescent had impressed all his friends, she remembered. Jazz had never been overly tall, but he was compact and muscular. And now, here he was, leaning back in his executive chair and looking at her with not a little interest.
Except--and Merry recognized this with a bitter swallow--it was utterly without recognition. So maybe Mousy Merry hadn't changed so much.
She gestured to Sandra, hovering in the background. "He's been pinching her, too. He's getting all the elves. You'll have to say something to him."
Sandra advanced into the room. "That's right, sir," she chimed in. "He's, er, squeezing all of us in, um, unacceptable ways. It really isn't very comfortable. Sir," she added.
Amazed that the usually erudite Sandra was stuttering, Merry glanced at her fellow elf. Sandra's cheeks were red and her eyes were glued to Jazzy--oops, Joe--Moro with a puppy-dog expression. But Joe was looking only at Merry. She felt herself flush, a miserable reminder of her adolescence, and dropped her gaze to the floor.
There was a moment's awkward silence. "Have you brought this matter to the attention of the Human Resources Department?" he asked.
Merry shook her head. "We thought you ought to know about it. First."
"Fine. Thank you. However, that's the HR Department's job. That's why they're there. Hire the best, that's my motto. Hire the best, and your job takes care of itself. I suggest you go talk to them and file a formal complaint. They're located just down the hall. They'll talk to Santa and instruct him to behave himself. Now if you'll excuse me, ladies, I have work to do."
Thus dismissed, Merry had no choice but to turn away from Joe Moro and walk out. Sandra followed. The old humiliation from ten years ago in high school came back with full force to haunt Merry anew. "He hasn't changed," she muttered. "Still high-handed, still thinks he's God's gift to women."
"Well, isn't he?" gasped Sandra. "My God, he's gorgeous!" She fanned her face with her hand, panting with exaggeration. "What a hunk!"
"But we're no better off than we were before," said Merry. After all these years, when she hadn't heard a thing about him, how could he come back into her life again? She had thought she was over him. She had thought that her days of infatuation were behind her. Yet, all it took was seeing him one more time...
She tugged the green velvet skirt lower over her thighs. "If I wanted to get harassment on the job, I'd still be working as a nanny. C'mon, let's go find the HR Department and see if they can put a lid on Santa's hormones."
****
"How's the Santa behaving himself?"
Merry looked up from the posted work schedule on the wall. She was in the back hall of the employees’ section of the department store, and the last person she expected to see was Jazzy Moro. Joe was looking at her with his seductive dark eyes. He was like a cat, sleek, sexy, confident, deadly to mice. Mousy Merry...the old nickname reverberated through her brain. Merry felt just as nose-pressed-to-the-glass around him as she had ten years before.
"I don't know yet," she replied. She was conscious of the low-cut and high-hemmed nature of the elf dress she was wearing. "I'm just coming on, so I haven't encountered him yet."
Joe checked his watch. "You'll be there for the press conference, I assume?" he asked. "All the elves and Santa are required to be present."
"I'll be there."
"Good. What's your name, by the way?"
"Mer-Meredith," quavered Merry.
"Meredith," smiled Joe. He held out his hand. "I'm Joe. We didn't properly introduce ourselves last time."
Merry slowly placed her hand in his.
"Well," said Joe. "It's nice to meet you, Meredith. I'm glad to know that the HR Department is hiring such attractive elves."
Merry snatched her hand away. He was flirting with her, the bastard. Flirting as he had never done in high school, when Mousy Merry was far too mousy to notice. She lifted her chin with a firmness she had never possessed in her adolescence.
"Can it, Mr. Moro," she snapped. "I expect professional treatment whether I'm wearing this damned miniskirt or not. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a Santa to fend off."
She sidestepped him and marched away, regretting that it was hard to look cool and sophisticated while wearing white fluffy pom-poms on her shoes. She heard him chuckle as she shoved open the swinging wooden doors into the main floor of the department store.
She stopped in the Furniture Department and collapsed onto a solid-oak rocking chair. She dropped her head into her hands and willed her heart to slow down. She'd snubbed him. She'd snubbed Jazz Moro, her high school crush. Worse, she'd snubbed Joe Moro, owner and CEO of Retro Department Store, and her boss. She shook her head. Damn it, why couldn't she just be indifferent to him?
Though it was only mid-September, Retro, a department store which featured reproductions and antiques dating no later than the 1940’s, was having a kickoff celebration for its new Toy Department. As a promotional event, they had hired the lecherous Santa and a flock of elves to promote its opening. That's why, despite it being only September, Merry found her job description included a uniform of green velvet with white faux-fur trim.
Today, nearly two weeks after unofficially opening the Toy Department, Joe Moro was holding a major press conference with no less than four television stations covering it. The news stations were eager to cover the event, eager to interview Joe Moro, eager to present anything at all on the man. The public was hungry to know all about him.
With a sigh, Merry stood up and headed for Toys.
Santa seemed a bit subdued, although he did manage to slip in a suggestive wink while everyone hustled about getting ready for the media blitz. Merry caught up with Sandra.
"Has Santa been behaving himself?" she asked in a low voice.
"Yes," Sandra replied. "He still looks, but he hasn't touched. I guess the HR Department did its magic."
"Good. One problem solved."
Sandra looked at Merry. "One problem? What other sorts of problems need solving?"
Merry shrugged. "Oh, just the usual bunch," she replied. "Where I'll be working in the future, finding a decent place to live, that sort of thing."
"You really were a nanny before this?"
"Yep."
"Why aren't you nannying right now?"
"The last place I worked had a father who was as lecherous as ol' Saint Nick here. I quit, but he filed a complaint with my agency, saying that I had conducted myself unprofessionally, that sort of thing. I've explained the circumstances to the agency, and they're inclined to believe me, but there's some sort of snafu, so I'm on the waiting list for the time being. If Santa behaves himself, I wouldn't mind staying here until after Christmas, then starting up a new position after New Year's."
"Not me," replied Sandra. "This is just a part-timer for me. I'm just supplementing the alimony. Now, if Mr. Retro would notice these fabulous legs of mine, maybe I wouldn't have to be an elf anymore, and my boy could have a new dad."
Merry chuckled. “Good luck, then.” She knew that Sandra was divorced, mother to a ten-year-old boy who was the light of her life. She worked hard and needed her fantasies.
Merry had none, especially where Jazz Moro was concerned.
"Ready, ladies?" called the Toy Department manager. "Santa, please take your seat, and if the elves could cluster around him, that would be fine."
Merry watched the cameramen making last-minute adjustments on their equipment. Conscious that she would be on television, she had taken care with her appearance. With her auburn hair and green eyes, she knew she looked both sexy and wholesome, the perfect Retro elf.
Adjacent to Santa's throne, now occupied by the lecherous impostor himself, was a cushioned chair for Joe Moro. A large table was placed nearby with a selection of toys on it, for Joe to demonstrate to the cameras.
There was a few minutes' wait, since the press conference was going to be aired live. Merry wiped her palms on the back of her costume. Sweat pooled on her brow and trickled along her hairline. She glanced at Joe who appeared as cool as he always did, in control, confident, assertive. She swallowed her own nervousness, glad that she was half-hidden behind Santa's high-backed chair.
With a twenty-seconds-to-air-time warning, a hush fell across the good-sized crowd of store employees and shoppers. The cameras focused alternately on Joe and on Santa.
Five seconds to air time,” one of the reporters said quietly. “Four. Three. Two. Ready?” He nodded at Joe.
"Here at Retro," started Joe smoothly, while the cameras whirred and the bright lights shone around him, "our customers have been asking for toys of an old-fashioned nature. This month we are proud to announce the opening of the Toy Department. Our kickoff includes visits with Santa--a bit early, of course--and some old-fashioned prizes and refreshments. Our Toy Department features a variety of toys, all made of wood or metal, all made in America. You'll find all of the quality and dependability you've come to expect from Retro, mixed with a good deal of nostalgia and sound craftsmanship. For instance, we have here a fine set of wooden blocks, on which the letters of the alphabet are...”
There was a commotion, a sense of confusion towards the edge of the crowd. Joe broke off his discussion about the toy blocks to look toward the disturbance.
The cameramen swung their heavy cameras around on their tripods to focus on the noise.
A woman pushed through the throng of people. She held a bundle in the crook of her arm. "Where is he?" she yelled. "I know he's here. Where is he?"
There was a buzzing and milling among the spectators as everyone looked at the woman...everyone except Merry. For some reason she watched Joe instead. She noticed that for once his ever-present confidence faltered, and his poise slipped. He grew several shades more pale, detectable even beneath his swarthy skin.
The cameramen swung their lenses in the direction of the stranger, who finally came within sight of Joe.
"There he is," she said shrilly, pointing a sharp fingernail in his direction. "There's the bastard."
Merry looked at the woman, noting the handsome features, the fine high cheekbones, the dark eyes. But her hair was scraggly and unkempt, her face devoid of makeup, her clothing ill-fitting and baggy. She pushed through the last of the cameramen and planted herself in front of Joe Moro.
The crowd grew silent as the woman stood there, glaring at Joe. Finally he sketched a smile. "Hello, Sabrina," he said, his voice low.
"Don't you hello me, you jerk," she hissed. Without another word, she shoved the bundle onto Joe's lap. "Here. It's yours. Do with it what you want. I never want to see you again."
Joe clutched at the parcel. Without another word, the woman turned and pushed her way through the crowd. The cameramen let her go. A swelling murmur of shocked voices and whispered speculation began. The whir of the cameras never stopped.
Merry saw the bundle in Joe’s lap move. She slipped around Santa’s throne and peered over Joe’s shoulder as he parted the pastel plaid blanket.
Inside was a baby. A tiny, wrinkled, beautiful newborn baby.
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