Page 4 of Misadventures With My Billionaire Boss

No, it was highly doubtful considering I sat sprawled out on the floor in my socks. I'd envisioned a different scenario, something showing a little more skin, something a little sexier, like one of those skimpy negligees Goldie had been putting on hangers the day before. But sexy didn't work when it was below zero unless you were already naked and under flannel sheets and a down comforter. Which I most definitely was not.

The woman next to me, Caren, a fellow co-worker who was about six months pregnant with twins, asked me about my plans for the New Year. As I answered, a bowl was passed around from which we drew numbers. I pulled a twelve, pregnant lady drew seventeen.

The present! What if Sam picked Goldie's present? I wanted to jump up, grab the red wrapped gift off the pile and run for the hills because I’d die of Goldie-delivered mortification. “Shit,” I mumbled to myself.

“What was that?” Caren asked, shifting uncomfortably, her belly looking as if she were hiding a basketball beneath her stretchy top. I'd asked if she wanted to sit on the couch, but she’d told me the floor was actually better on her back.

I smiled broadly at her and apologized for my slip, hopefully she didn't pick up that I was so flustered. I had to hope she’d think my flushed cheeks was from the fire in the hearth.

What was I going to say to Sam when he finally noticed me? We'd left things so open, so casual, that he'd probably just say hello and move on. It had just been a kiss, albeit a steamy one with lots of tongue in an elevator we had all to ourselves. My fingers had tangled in his hair. His hands had roamed down my back to my butt and held me squarely against his long, lean torso. And his very hard cock that was long and thick and…big.

It had just been a kiss.Just a kiss.Then why was I all warm in places that had long ago cooled off? Frozen over like Montana in the winter, more like it. Just like that, I wanted more than just a kiss with Sam. So much more. Like a man-induced orgasm. No, a Sam-induced orgasm…or three.

“Number one,” Rob announced, starting the gift exchange.

A man, mid-forties whom I'd never met before, stood up and picked a gift bag from the pile. A package of spiced nuts.

Number two was a woman from Accounting. Her box held a Dilbert mug. She chose to keep her gift instead of trading with the spiced nuts man.

I darted a look at Sam. He was looking straight at me. His eyes were even bluer than I remembered and when he smiled…had he always had a dimple? He lifted one eyebrow in an odd sort of greeting, but then the group was laughing at some crude joke about a man and his nuts.

My heart pounded in my ears, my blood pressure had to be close to stroke point. Yup, there was still chemistry. No other man had made me feel this way. Overwhelmed, confused, crazy. Horny. And all from just a look across a crowded room.

And so it went, the next three people opening their gifts and keeping what they'd opened. Number six traded an inflatable trash can, which I wasn't even sure what that was, for the Dilbert mug. So, number two was now taking home a trash can.

I chatted with Caren, making sure she was still comfortable on the floor. She looked a bit like a beached whale, and I felta little sorry for her. But my eyes kept wandering to Sam, who, every time I did so, was looking squarely at me. Even as he took a sip of his beer and talked to the guy next to him, he watched me. His gaze alone did things to my lady parts I'd all but forgotten about. And my panties? Ruined.

Hopefully the gift I opened would be a portable fan. I took another sip of my wine hoping to cool me off.

Some humorous gifts were opened: a bottle of self-tanning lotion, a pair of socks with little Santas on them, a travel toothbrush, a box of brownie mix. Odd items, but it made the exchange fun.

It was my turn. Goldie's box was still there screaming: Open Me! It was only a matter of time before the big reveal. Being number twelve, knowing Caren was seventeen and Sam hadn't gone yet, the chance of him picking my box was becoming even greater.

I went for the big, lumpy package that was horrendously wrapped. It was heavy and bulky and I lugged it back to my spot on the carpet.

“Wait, please,” Cindy asked me from her seat on the sofa. She called out for her son Charlie and his friend Zach. They ran into the room like herding elephants, two boys in bright pajama pants and sweatshirts who bounced around like they'd had ice cream and cookies all night. One wore a Santa hat on his head, the top bent down so the white fluff ball at the peak touched his ear. “Zach, Emma's opening your gift.”

“It was supposed to be a surprise!” he said. He was a cute boy, dark hair, big smile with a missing tooth, somewhere around seven or eight.

“Sorry,” Cindy said kindly. “But you wanted to watch—and you'll pick last. Everyone, this is my son Charlie and his friend Zach West. They're having a sleepover.”

Once I heard the name, I realized that Zach was Goldie's grandson. Small world. No, make that small town. The boys sprawled out on the floor to watch. Cindy nodded to me to open it.

The wrapping job definitely matched the age of the giver. I ripped at the paper, covered in bright green, red and white plaid and discovered a ceramic garden gnome. About a foot tall, it had a blue pointed hat, white beard and a red jacket. Huh.

I glanced automatically at Sam, who had a big grin on his face. Everyone around me was commenting on the unusual present, although the toenail clippers Number Nine currently had were equally strange.

“You get to keep him for the weekend! That's the gift,” Zach said earnestly, seemingly thrilled with his present. “But I get him back on Monday,” he added, as if there was an off-chance I’d intended to keep it forever.

Wow. I didn't know what to say. A loaner gnome.

Cindy reminded me, “Or you can trade with someone else.”

Zach and Charlie were both looking at me with that puppy dog look little boys made, half eagerness and half cluelessness.

“Oh, no. I wouldn't trade him for anything,” I replied, not wanting to be the one to hurt an eight-year-old's feelings. “Until Monday,” I added, much to Zach's obvious relief.

The boys gave each other high fives. “His name's George,” Zach told me.