Page 17 of Christmas By Design

“Because you heard what Alex said,” I cut him off again.

The crease between Beckett’s eyebrows deepens slightly, then he snaps his mouth shut as if he has just realized why that would be an issue. He heard Alex insinuate I was flirting, which is embarrassing enough, but then he shut me out of a project update because of it. Even though he knows I’m more than capable of doing this job. Even though he’s never treated me like that before.

I expect him to say something in his defense, but he doesn’t. He just quickly opens the car door and gets out. He grabs the grocery bags and stalks through the falling snow up to the front door. White flakes cling to his wool coat and land in his dark hair as he walks.

Okay, then.

Now, the panic is back tenfold because not only do I have to spend the night away from my baby, but I have to do it with a pissed off Beckett Camdon, who either thinks I was flirting with him or thinks people think I was flirting with him.

I watch him enter the house and flick an internal light switch. Nothing.

Great.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but I guess I was hopeful they’d have the electricity back on, at least.

Well, it’s more likely that I’ll freeze to death in a car buried by snow than in a house, even if that house doesn’t have power or heat, so there’s nothing left to do but go inside. I loop the handle of the bag of muffins over my forearm and take both my hot chocolate and Beckett’s before shoving the car door open with my foot and kicking it closed.

When I get inside the house, Beckett closes the door behind me. It’s warmer in here than it is outside without the wind, but not by much. The panicky feeling starts rising in my chest. I can feel my breaths starting to get shorter and shallower.

Not here. I can’t do this here. I shove it down as much as I can and walk toward the kitchen so I can set down the things I’m carrying. I hear Beckett’s fancy shoes clicking on the tile right behind me.

“Were you?” he asks.

“Was I what?” I say through clenched teeth. I take the muffins out of the bag just for something to do, but I don’t think I could eat right now even if I wanted to.

“Flirting.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I manage to say. I’m going to lose it. I can feel it. And I’m not going to lose it in front of a coworker. With all this talk about flirting, he already probably thinks I can’t be professional. I don’t want to prove him right. “Listen, I just… I need a minute, okay?” I don’t wait for a response before walking through the living room and sitting room and straight into the first-floor office. I carefully push the door shut.

That done, I lean against the wall and sink to the floor. I pull my knees into my chest and rest my forehead on them. I try to take some deep breaths, but it’s hard to breathe around the knot of panic in my throat. What comes out instead are a couple of big, gasping sobs as the tears start flowing.

Chapter 11

Beckett

I am an idiot. What the actual fuck did I think was going to happen when I brought up Alex’s insinuations?

In my defense, I thought it was a good idea at the time. I figured we should clear the air, at any rate. She was obviously nervous, and it seemed like a logical conclusion that it was about me. If she had been flirting, then spending the night here with me could be either embarrassing—if that was all she had intended to do—or a step too far, too fast. I guess it didn’t occur to me that she wasn’t interested at all.

I really am a moron.

Did I want her to be looking for something more? Yes. I might as well admit that, even if only to myself. I haven’t been intentionally flirting with her, but that’s probably because I’m just objectively bad at human interaction. I have been looking at her. Thinking about her. And, as long as I’m being honest with myself, wanting her.

But it’s pretty clear now that those feelings are not reciprocated. Which should have occurred to me long before I brought it up. She said the guys in the office harass her. I should have put two and two together.

Never mind that their harassment makes my blood boil.

But we have more important things to deal with right now. Namely, that it’s freezing in here, the snow is coming down so hard outside I can barely see out the window, and Gemma is in the first-floor office with the door shut. Crying, from the sound of it.

Don’t flatter yourself.

Fine. This isn’t about me. But then what is it about, and how are we going to survive a blizzard in a house with no power if she won’t come out near the fireplace?

I decide to give her some space and text my neighbor to ask him to feed my cat. Then, I get the fire going. When she comes out, at least she’ll be warm. Maybe she’ll emerge by the time I’m done.

But when the flames are crackling and dancing in the fireplace, she still hasn’t appeared. It’s getting colder, and I know she hasn’t eaten yet. I don’t have a choice anymore. I have to check on her.

I stand outside the door for a moment, and all I can hear are big, gasping sobs on the other side.