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About M.C. Cerny
M.C. Cerny is a USA Today Bestselling author of fresh sexy books. She experienced her first real ugly cry reading, Where The Red Fern Grows, and never looked back. She lives with a menagerie of human and feline fur-babies in rural NJ. When M.C. is not writing, you’ll find her lurking in Starbucks, running stupid marathons, and eating all the tacos.
‘Tis The Season To Be Jelly
Kyra Fox
Synopsis - ‘Tis The Season To Be Jelly
Cute work boy is officially off-limits… what happened to make him off-limits, you ask? He's getting promoted and he's going to be my boss.
Not that I mind but the walking, talking statue of David I've been crushing on for the past year, aka Declan Moretti, has "rules".
What's a girl to do? Well, a girl like Eloise Bloom (that's me) anger bakes Jelly Donuts, pulls on her sexiest dress and a pair of reindeer antlers, and gets drunk on tequila shots with her best friend at a pre-pre Christmas party.
It's just my luck that I stumble upon my crush/boss, sporting a Santa hat and making out with one of his little helpers under a papercut mistletoe.
I've officially given up on a chance with Declan.
Only, now we're working together, closely, late into the night, and it seems a kiss was just a kiss, and maybe Santa isn't into elves as much as I thought he was.
And when I let him sample my new donut filling? Oh my...
copyright @ 2020 by Kyra Fox
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission except in the case of brief quotations included in critical articles and reviews.
For information, please contact the author.
This a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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1
Eloise
“TGIF!” I do a little happy dance in the seat of my car, smiling when my best friend Connor responds with a loud whoop.
“Yass, girl, we are going hunk-hunting tonight,” he announces, and I can imagine him doing his own happy dance in the middle of his workshop.
“Have you thought of a better pick up line yet?” I thank my lucky stars as I pull into one of the last available spots near the office. Five more minutes and I would have been forced to walk an extra half-mile in the unusual chill that descended upon LA this November morning.
“What’s wrong with, ‘My name is Con, and I’m a pro’?” Connor huffs. “I never go home alone, unlike a certain someone who prefers to crush on her coworkers from afar, Eloise.”
“I’ll have you know that I’ve decided to ask Declan to lunch today.” I pull my go-to natural peach lipstick out of my purse in defiance and flip the sun visor down.
“Lunch? How brazen,” Con teases and I can just see that infuriating white toothed grin that’s probably decorating his handsome face.
“Hanging up now,” I announce with annoyance.
“See you at 8 PM, and you better wear something sexy, bitch.”
“I’ll give it my best effort.”
I check myself out in the small mirror, tucking a sandy blonde curl back into my bun, though I know it’ll just fall out again. One must at least pretend to care, I suppose.
I’ve never been low on confidence when it comes to my looks, not since I grew out of that awkward teen phase. Still, Declan Moretti is the flesh and blood equivalent of the Statue of David, with espresso-colored hair that slightly curls at the ends and those piercing latte colored eyes.
I may also have a thing for coffee, as well as for Declan.
At least one of those is currently satisfying me.
Bracing myself, I step out of the car with renewed confidence. Today is the day I get Declan to see me as more than a coworker with whom he occasionally exchanges two minutes of small talk in the office lounge.
“Elle!” a chipper female voice calls from the entrance to the building.
I squint against the sun, barely making out Patty, who works in the cubicle next to mine. A mother of three in her late thirties, Patty somehow always looks picture perfect with her manicured nails and wavy hair dyed golden blonde.
She makes an impatient gesture with her hands as I approach. “They just called an emergency meeting in the lounge. Hurry up,” she rushes me, and I pick up my pace, cursing Connor under my breath for keeping me in the car for so long. I’m usually one of the first employees in, and I don’t like being late or feeling rushed.
“Well, good morning, to you too,” I greet Patty and swipe my card through the security pad. Patty follows my lead, and we both enter the building. “Did they say what it was about?”
“Nope.” She tugs at my arm with a note of excitement. “But I heard we just landed a big client, and they’re assembling a dedicated multi-disciplinary team, so I bet it’s about that.”
“How do you always hear these things?” I glare at Patty in awe as I let her pull me to the lounge where a crowd of about fifty employees from all divisions of Z Luxury Living, are gathered around the already standing office Christmas tree, muttering in low voices.
We’re part of Hammond Zane’s real-estate empire, specifically the subsidiary in charge of designing and building luxury housing with all the A-list utilities and A-list security the rich and famous demand. We’ve only been around about five years, and we’re doing pretty well, though we have yet to breach the Hollywood market, which is one of the company’s primary goals.
Patty and I are part of the architectural division, the people who design the buildings and complexes. Declan heads the security division, which oversees planning security specs based on our blueprints and client demands.
We also have zoning, infrastructure, utilities, landscaping, and interior design.
Usually, when a new project rolls in, each division head assigns it to whoever has availability. We then hold a meeting once a week to get our proverbial ducks in a row with the other divisions, ensuring each step works with the one before and will work with the one after.
Other than that, we pretty much stick to our divisions.
This is why a multi-disciplinary team is such a big deal. It means they’re pulling us from our division and all our other work to focus solely on this one project.
A designated task force. How 007.
My heart does a little skip at the thought of being chosen. The chances are slim since I’ve been with the firm for just under a year, but if I shine on a project of this scale, I’ll have a chance at a promotion. Maybe even get to head another team like this one in the future.
I’m momentarily distracted from my career goals by Declan’s head bobbing in front of the audience. I’d hardly say I’m short, what with my five-feet-six plus six-inch heels, but he definitely stands out in a crowd with his over six-feet-two height.