Jingle Ball

“Even if he’s not technically your boss?” Wendy propped her chin on her hand and smiled as widely as she could when jealousy gripped her throat.

Stupid. She knew Van and Des were just friends—at least she was reasonably sure—but whenever Van switched her hardcore flirting from Cole to Des, Wendy’s claws sprouted. She liked Van. She just didn’t want her crawling all over Des too much, at least not where she could see it.

He slung an arm around Van’s waist and tossed Wendy a grin. “Hey, I sign the checks for everybody around here. Including that clown in the office behind you.” He strode to the wall behind Wendy’s desk and rapped. Cole grunted from the next room.

After the ornament show-and-tell, he’d retreated to work on some big deal he had in the pipeline for an office complex in nearby Jasper. As easygoing as Cole seemed most of the time, he busted his ass night and day to keep the business running smoothly. So did Des. It was amazing either of them found time for a social life.

Don’t need a ton of time to screw.

Wendy’s chin slipped off her hand at that errant thought and she had to grab the desk to keep from tipping out of her chair. Des shot her a look, but she just kept smiling. That was her, perky twenty-four/seven. As perky as the breasts she could state with virtual certainty were waving hello to Des, even if he was oblivious.

She hoped he was oblivious. Jeez.

“Think I better get out of here.” Wendy took out her purse from her bottom drawer and rose to grab her jacket. She flashed another smile and turned to her co-workers, her thoughts vanishing at the sight of Des’s outstretched hand. “Oh, you don’t have to—”

“Let me.”

Sure she was flushing, she handed over her coat and allowed him to help her into it. “See you soon?” he asked once she faced him.

“Yes.” This time her smile was genuine. To make up for her jealous harpy routine, she made sure it encompassed Van too. “I’ll be back shortly, y’all. I can’t wait.”

Two

Des pulled on his tie and stared out his window, his focus centered on the small figure hurrying up the street in the lightly falling snow. Wendy always insisted on walking the few blocks to and from work, claiming she enjoyed the exercise, but he knew it was because she didn’t want to waste gas or put more miles on her beat-up car. She was a penny-pincher in the extreme. Considering the financial toll her father’s death had put on her family, he understood.

“Watc

hing to make sure she gets home okay?”

Cole’s voice made him grip the windowsill. “I can’t see all the way to her house.”

“But you keep her in sight for as long as you can.”

Admitting what Cole already knew would cause it to be more real somehow, so Des just narrowed his eyes until the darkness swallowed Wendy’s cheerful red coat. Then he let out a long breath. Relief, maybe, mixed with a healthy dose of longing.

And lots of fucking frustration.

A loud exhale preceded the unmistakable sound of Cole slumping in the chair opposite Des’s desk. “Are you ever going to, you know, do something about it?”

Though he knew very well what Cole meant, he played dumb. And mute.

“What if she meets someone, Des? Then what?”

Des hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. He’d wondered that many times himself, and he never came up with a good answer. They worked together. She wasn’t his in any shape or form. If she found someone, he’d wish her well.

All right, maybe not.

Truth was, if he’d ever met a woman who more deserved to be taken care of and worshipped, he didn’t remember it. She was so capable and strong, but she shouldn’t have to be. Not every minute. Not when he knew he was the right man to show her the freedom in occasionally giving up control.

Except he wasn’t. He couldn’t be.

He turned away from the window and studied his best friend, noting he’d already changed into black trousers and a disturbingly green sweater. They lived upstairs in separate wings, occasionally meeting in the kitchen or living room but mostly staying in their own spaces. Living and working together could get old fast, so they made sure to give each other a wide berth.

A memory from last summer—involving a curvaceous redhead and too much tequila—flitted into Des’s mind and he smiled. Well, most of the time.

“Does that smile mean you’ve come up with a plan? Finally?” Cole smoothed away an imaginary wrinkle in his slacks. “A guy’s nuts could shrivel up waiting for you to make a goddamn move.”

“Actually I was thinking about…” He paused. Shit, what was her name? Tracy? Stacy? “Redhead, triple Ds. Giggled too much.” Moaned even more, which hadn’t been half-bad.