This one is for the
2020 Winter Holidays Contest
. As always, your votes and comments would be much appreciated. And thank you for reading.
This is a longer than I usually write, and I hope you'll enjoy it. Happy Holidays, and Stay Safe!
GISELLE
"Ooh, look, it's him." Miranda leaned in and whispered so all of us could hear her over the din of the packed ballroom, carefully pointing her finger in his direction.
"Who are we talking about?" I asked, trying to look around her without spilling my wine.
"Rory McLean, who else? Isn't he the absolute hottest hunk of man you've ever seen?" Happily married, heavily pregnant Joanie sighed. "Hmmm, come to mama, big boy," she murmured, rubbing her big round belly, making all of us laugh.
"Just so you know, Joanie, that baby bump of yours is not a magic lamp. So you can quit rubbing that poor baby's butt, hoping for a miracle," Miranda muttered, before going back to devouring the man in question with her eyes.
I just shrugged. "He's okay, I guess." Their mouths agape, I wanted to laugh at the way they all turned their heads at once, shocked that I'd say something like that about their idol.
Especially my assistant, tall, willowy, ebony-haired Marcie, who was staring at me like I'd lost my mind. "You have got to be kidding. That man is 100% grade A certified beefcake. And I'd bet he's really packing, too. Just by the way he carries himself and fills out a suit like nobody's business, like he knows he can have any woman he wants with just the crook of his finger, tells me all I need to know. And I'd bet everything I own that he'd be fantastic in bed, and would really know how to make a girl squeal."
I took a longer look, and shook my head. "I guess he's not bad if you're into red-heads. But he doesn't do anything for me."
That got me another dramatic eye roll from Marcie. "Giselle, remind me after the holidays to book you an appointment to get your eyes checked. Because that man is all kinds of hot, and I don't know how you can't see it." Heaving a sigh, she glanced back at him. "With that light beard he's got kind of a sexy Chris Evans thing going on, and I'd sure like to know firsthand if he's as hot as he looks." Tipping her head, she studied him a little more closely. "And I wouldn't say his hair is actually a vibrant fiery red like yours, it's more of a golden reddish-blonde that goes perfectly with that GQ scruff he's rockin'. And don't get me started on the sexy way he smiles, those long-lashed baby blues, or that killer body that I'd love to run my fingers over, or even my tongue, if he'd let me."
Miranda grinned, winking at Marcie. "Maybe we should try sexing him up together sometime."
Marcie laughed, nodding her head. "I'm game if you are. I'd be happy to do anything he wanted, as long as I get a chance to get busy with that hot piece of man candy."
Taking a sip of my drink, I watched them all turn back to stare, I guess hoping he'd wander over and say something witty or flattering that would get them all even giddier -- if that was even possible.
Leaving them to have their fun, before dinner was served I made the rounds and said hello to everyone I always saw at these construction industry things. And as I wished everyone a happy holiday, I was careful to avoid bumping into
His Hotness
.
After I'd taken a moment to peruse the items listed at the silent auction table I put in a couple of bids on a few things, like a trip to Mexico, since the dinner was in aid of two worthy causes: local food banks and providing toys for underprivileged kids. But even if I won, being the managing director of one of the biggest window and door manufacturers in the country, I knew I couldn't really afford the time to go to Cancun, no matter what time of year I tried to go. Though I was elated to finally be getting a whole week off now for the holidays, for the first time in ages.
I was just setting the pen back down and a shiver ran down my spine when I felt a hand sliding down my back, till I could detect some pretty insistent fingers grazing the top of my backside, before venturing even lower. Turning, I forced a smile when I saw it was Chuck Harper, one of our biggest customers who had been trying to talk me into bed for years. I'd honestly never seen anyone as polished or as vain. With his immaculately trimmed black hair gelled to within an inch of his life, nearly blindingly white smile, and clad in a trendy body-hugging shimmery navy blue suit, that I imagined he thought made him look like he still had it. But to me he just looked like a desperate guy on the prowl.
"Hey, Chuck," I said, carefully shifting away from him, till thankfully I felt his hand drop. "How are the wife and kids?"
He gave me a narrow eyed glare, I imagine for rubbing in the fact that he was married. Still, he nodded and said, "Good, everything's good." But the way his eyes raked me over from top to toe like a snake about to pounce, I had to force myself not to shudder. "And you're looking good, too, Giselle, damn good." He stepped a little closer, leaned in and breathed against my ear, "You staying here in the hotel tonight?"
Taking another step back, I lied, "No, I'm heading home as soon it's over, catching the next train back to Montreal."