Christmas with the Boss

Christmas with the Boss

By

Annie
Seaton

Copyright
© October 2015

Annie
Seaton

All
Rights Reserved

This
book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are
products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to persons, living or dead or actual events is coincidental.

This
book is an extended version of the short story
Gone Surfin’
first published
in 2014.

Dedication

This book is
dedicated to my whole family.
Christmas is for family time!

Acknowledgments

A special thank you to my wonderful
editor

and dear friend, Susanne
Bellamy. 

Christmas Eve

Jilly Henderson joined the end of the queue at the only service
station in the quiet little beachside town of Sandy Heads. She folded her arms
and settled in for a long wait; it was Christmas Eve and it appeared everyone
was stocking up on their last minute snacks before the shops shut for Christmas
Day. Glancing down, she smiled as a pair of large, tanned, sandy,
and
bare feet in front caught her attention. She straightened and lifted her eyes a
fraction, enjoying the sight of tightly muscled calves above those bare feet.
Tilting her chin higher, her leisurely perusal continued up tanned skin lightly
brushed with blond hair, up to firm thighs that disappeared into a pair of
board shorts moulding one of the most perfect male butts she had ever seen.
Down south, her feminine bits that had been dormant for
way
too long
gave a little jiggle.

 “Always check out the size of their feet, girls. Big feet, big—”

“Sharyn!” The giggles that had gone around the office were in
contrast to the corporate black suits and classy chignons of the executive
assistants on the tenth floor of the bank building in George Street. Between
the bouts of frantic activity that happened on the trading floor twenty four
hours a day, Jilly spent most of her work day shaking her head at Shaz’s antics
and advice. Shaz always managed to come up with a dry comment to break the
tense atmosphere of trading. The one about checking out the size of a guy’s
feet before accepting a date had the girls howling with laughter. Until the
boss had lifted his head and frowned through the glass wall of his office.

Now Jilly stared down at the feet of the guy in front of her. Not
that he’d be interested in her, but this guy had
big
feet. She let out a
soft sigh; the pretty young things chattering away in front of him were keeping
his attention to the front of the queue.

She hadn’t been on a date for over a year, so she hadn’t had a
chance to put Sharyn’s test into practice.
And
the quivers below were
few and far between these days, so that little tremble low in her belly had put
a happy smile on her face. Memories were nice.

Jilly needed no one; she was here at the beach to have a total
break. Five days of bliss, alone, no work and no one to bother her.

Mr Big Feet took a step forward as the queue moved and Jilly
shuffled along closer to the counter. Her gaze lingered on that tight butt,
clad in snug fitting board shorts, before she lifted her eyes to feast on a
golden tanned back. No harm in looking.

Oh, my.
Broad shoulders lightly dappled with
freckles with a sprinkling of sand stuck to the smooth skin. Small grains were
embedded in the sexy hollow at the top of his shoulder. Jilly literally had to
curl her fingers to stop herself from reaching up and brushing it away. Maybe
the surf god wouldn’t be impressed if a tired and stressed looking woman with
dark circles beneath her eyes ran her fingers over that glorious back. To
distract herself, she turned away and looked out at the cars, trying to pick
which one was his.

Of course.
A beat up 1970s Kombi van
with two surfboards secured to the roof racks was at the front of the line.
Jilly nodded to herself; that would be the surfer boy’s car. Another step
forward in the queue and she turned her gaze back to him.

His
curly brown hair was sun-bleached on top, and the thick,
springy curls just brushed his collar. Even his neck was strong and tanned.

She fanned herself as her wicked imagination kicked into overdrive,
and tilted her face up toward the frigid air blowing from the vents in the high
ceiling. Even though artificial, the air was blessedly cool. A welcome relief
after the strong smell of diesel that had pervaded the hot petrol bay as she’d
filled her car. It was just on dark, but Jilly was sure the mercury was still
registering over thirty degrees outside.

 And her internal temperature was sizzling as the erotic fantasy
filled her mind. What a sad life she must lead to be fantasising in a service
station! This short holiday was
way
overdue.

 It had been a long, long drive. The sooner she found the beach
cottage and fell into bed the better. Exhaling with a tired sigh, she shuffled
forward another step as the queue moved fractionally.

“No, the party’s at the surf club
tonight
.” Jilly tilted her
head to the side, looking past Mr Surfer Boy’s broad shoulders. The cashier
behind the high counter chatted to the customer at the head of the queue.
Mary—Jilly could just see her name tag— reached for the milk that the customer
had placed on the counter. The register beeped as she scanned the plastic container.

“Tonight? I thought the party at the surf club was on New Year’s
Eve?” The pretty young girl in a red sarong pushed her hair back from her face
as she lifted the rest of her groceries onto the counter. Her voice rose
shrilly.

Mary chewed gum as she shook her head; no rush here. The dozen or so
customers in the queue ahead of Jilly almost let out a collective sigh as they
jiggled their feet, tapped their hands and looked at their watches. Even the
surf god’s shoulders tensed a little, sending another pleasant little ripple
through her belly.

Country service. But Jilly liked it; people-watching was fun, even
if she was tired. In Sydney, you were lucky to get a hello at any store. Now
Mary, the slow-moving cashier, leaned on one elbow and imparted the correct
information about this party to anyone who was interested. “No, it’s tonight.
Starts in a couple of hours.”

“Really?”The girl in the red sarong leaned forward. “Are you sure?’

“Yes, it’s at the surf club
tonight
. The New Year’s Eve party
is at the pub on the river.”

 “Well, I’m not missing either of them. Have you seen the talent in
town this week?” Jilly resisted a nod as the ‘talent’ in front of her stretched
to his toes and the muscles in his calves flexed.

“All the local surfers are home for Christmas and the party will be
hot!” The young girl pushed her hair back from her face as she turned
apologetically to the person in the queue behind her. “Sorry, just have to grab
some party supplies. Won’t take a minute.” She flicked a glance back to the cashier
and her mouth split into a grin. “Just as well I’ve already been to the bottle
shop.”

“Got your priorities right there, love.” Mary, the cashier’s, voice
held a tinge of sarcasm.

Jilly watched as the girl headed for the fridges lining the back
wall. The next customer in line stepped up to the other register but Mary waved
him away.

“Sorry, love. The other cashier is on a tea break. You’ll have to
wait.” She flicked open a magazine on the counter and began to read, ignoring
the cross mutterings of the waiting customers.

Jilly closed her mouth as another yawn threatened. What was one more
delay? Her day had been fraught with them since she’d hit that first red
traffic light in Manly this morning. Anyone would think she was having a bad
luck day. Black cats, ladders, broken mirrors, shoes on tables—her dad had been
a sucker for superstitions and Jilly knew them all. She swallowed as she pushed
that thought away; her grief was on hold until she was ready to deal with it.

The entire trip up the coast from Sydney had been a nightmare from
start to finish. Heavy traffic had choked the M1 as what had seemed like the
entire population of the city, headed for the beaches of the north for the
annual break between Christmas Eve and the New Year. Dad had always told her
not to leave Sydney on Christmas Eve but Jilly had been so keen to get away
from the city after the funeral, she’d decided to put up with the traffic.

But it had turned into a ten hour trip, instead of the five it
should have taken. Despite the six lane freeway, a broken down truck near the
Gosford interchange had added two hours to her trip. Finally, after crawling
through slow bumper to bumper traffic, she’d called into a small town just
south of her destination to stock up on groceries for her eight day break. Once
she got to the beach cottage she had no intention of getting back in her car
until she left after the New Year.

Keen to travel the last short leg of the trip, she’d hurried out to
her small sedan with her few grocery bags, and groaned. An old, battered
utility had her car parked in. She sat on the grass verge in the hot sun,
fuming for half an hour until an elderly couple pushed their laden trolley
across the car park. The words that she’d had ready to blast the car’s owner
died away as she watched the old man hold his wife’s hand and place her
carefully in the front seat, before he slowly unpacked the trolley into the
back of the ute. Jilly couldn’t help herself. She pushed herself to her feet
and helped him unload.

“Thank you, my dear.” He went around to the front of the car and
came back with a small parcel and pressed it into her hands. “Merry Christmas.
One of Ethel’s plum puddings for you.”

Tears welled into her eyes and she ran the back of her hand over her
face; emotion had clogged her throat for the whole trip but she wasn’t going to
give in. “Merry Christmas to you and your wife too.”

He drove away sedately; still oblivious that he had blocked in
Jilly’s car. With a sigh, she’d pulled out and hit the highway again.

Smothering a yawn with the back of her hand, she rocked on her feet
as she waited and looked over to the brightly coloured products on the shelves
along the wall. Everything to tempt the sweet tooth she tried her best not to
indulge.

Bad move.
On the back seat of her car
were three bags filled with salad makings, and fruit. Sharyn and Elise, the
perpetual dieters at work had taught her good habits; there was no Christmas
cheer for her apart from Ethel’s plum pudding. Jilly smiled as she stepped away
from the queue. She was at the rear, so if she was quick she wouldn’t lose her
place.

Picking up a basket she headed to the fridge and opened the door. A
minute later her basket was filled with a carton of custard to go with the plum
pudding, five small bottles of strawberry-flavoured milk—full cream,
so
there,
skinny minnies at work
—two family size chocolate bars
and
two trashy magazines. Jilly stepped between the shelves, and threw in two bags
of potato chips for good measure on her way back to the queue. No one had
joined it and she got to stand behind the surf god again. 

The girl in the sarong was still loading her basket. Not in a hurry,
that one
.
It was Christmas; Jilly had to dig deep to find some Christmas
spirit.
Finally, the girl came back to the counter, paid for her party
goodies and the queue began to move.
There were now only seven customers
ahead of Jilly and she covered another yawn with one hand.

A second cashier appeared behind the counter and the queue moved
forward quickly. Jilly reached down to pick up her basket as surfer boy reached
the head of the queue and paid for his fuel. Bending down, she reached for her
basket as he turned to pass her. She glanced his way as she straightened. Did
the face match the perfect body?

Oh. My. God
.

Jilly froze and forced her open mouth to close. If you could freeze
when prickles of heat scorched your skin.

“Miss Henderson.” Her boss, the senior group executive and chair of
the Executive Committee of the SBA bank stopped walking and flashed a smile at
her. Perfect white teeth, the same sexy grin that she’d admired every day for
the past six months. She’d tried to ignore her good looking boss since he’d
arrived at the bank mid-year. But now, the impeccable business suit had been
replaced with a bare chest and those low slung board shorts, and the fantasy of
the last ten minutes left her gasping for composure. Her mouth dried as she
stared at the V of dark blond hair that disappeared into his shorts below his
navel. The muscles on his front were as ripped as the rest of him. Who could
ever have known what that business suit hid?

“Mr Smythe-Phillips,” she finally managed to croak out.

“Feeling peckish, are you, Miss Henderson?”

“What?” Jilly lifted her eyes from his bare stomach to meet a pair
of eyes crinkled with laughter.

Sprung.
How bloody embarrassing.
His grin widened as he pointed to her plastic basket.

Thank God.
He was talking about the food
.
Jilly swallowed and forced the huskiness from her voice. “Ah yes,
um…er…um…some holiday supplies.” She stuttered and stumbled over her words like
a teenage girl with a crush.

Thank God, he hadn’t noticed her when she’d been salivating over him
in the queue. There was no way she could have sustained a conversation with him
for any length of time with him half-naked in front of her; she would have died
of embarrassment. It was bad enough to be caught out in a pair of skimpy
shorts, and a tight fitting T-shirt. At least he was on his way out and she
didn’t have to make social conversation.

“See you back at the office next week. Have a good Christmas.” His
voice was as deep and sexy as ever and Jilly nodded mutely.

He really was just too gorgeous; for six months she’d managed to
hide how she’d dreamed about Dominic Smythe-Phillips. And that was when he was
in a business suit. Now he’d morphed into a tanned surfing god, she was a
goner. How the hell she’d ever sit across the board table without thinking of
that bare chest when she went back to work…