The Boss's Mistletoe Manoeuvres. Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

okay?” a voice queried from somewhere behind her. “I heard a squeak.”

      Kim blinked.

      “Kim? Are you, or are you not okay?”

      “Nope. Not okay.” She didn’t bother to sit up.

      “Are you in need of medical attention?”

      Moving her mouth with difficulty because it was stuck to some paper, Kim said, “Intravenous Success Serum would be helpful. Got any?”

      “No, but I’ve got something even better.”

      “Valium? Hemlock? A place with cheap rent?”

      “An invitation to have drinks with the new boss tonight in the bar just arrived by email.”

      Kim muffled a scream. What had Brenda just said? They were both to have drinks with Monroe? The bastard had invited a crowd to witness her third degree and possible dismissal?

      “Now’s not a good time, Bren,” she said. Having a coworker for her best friend sometimes had its drawbacks. Like their close proximity when she wanted to pout by herself.

      “I think now would be a good time, actually,” Brenda countered. “We can find out what the new guy is like, en masse.”

      “I’ll tell you what he’s like in one word. Brutus!”

      Brenda stuck her head over the partition separating their cubicles. “I’m guessing your meeting didn’t go well?”

      Kim pried her cheek from the desk, narrowed her eyes and turned to face Brenda.

      “So not afraid of that look,” Brenda said.

      “That’s the problem. Neither was he.”

      “Yes, well, didn’t you just know that the damn Christmas clause was going to jump up and bite you again someday? I mean how could they understand when they don’t know....”

      Kim held up a hand that suggested if Brenda said one more word along those lines, she might regret it.

      “I’ve probably just lost my dream job, Bren. For all intents and purposes, this agency considers me an ancestor of old mister Scrooge. And by the way, aren’t best friends supposed to offer sympathy in times of crisis, without lengthy lectures tacked on?”

      Not much taller than the five foot partition in her bare feet, Brenda, who went shoeless in her space, was barely visible. All that showed was a perfectly straight center part halving a swath of shiny black hair, and a pair of kohl-lined, almond-shaped eyes. The eyes were shining merrily. There might have been a piece of tinsel entwined in a few ebony strands near Brenda’s forehead.

      What Brenda lacked in stature, however, she made up for in persistence. “I might suggest that nobody will believe that anyone actually hates Christmas, Kim. Not for real.”

      Brenda didn’t stop there. “That’s what the new guy will be thinking. So maybe you can come up with an alternate reason for holding back on the holiday stuff that he will buy into. Like...religious reasons.”

      “Seriously?” Sarcasm returned to Kim’s tone as she offered Brenda what she thought was a decent rendition of a go-away-and-leave-me-alone-or-else look.

      Brenda performed a glossy hair flip. “Still not afraid,” she said. “Or discouraged.”

      Kim got to her feet and smoothed her skirt over her hips. “I think it’s already too late for help of any kind.”

      “Tell me about it,” Brenda said. “But first you have to dish about whether Monroe really does have a nice ass.”

      Kim kneaded the space between her eyes with shaky fingers, trying to pinpoint the ache building there.

      “You didn’t think he was hot?” Brenda continued. “That’s the word going around. H-o-t, as in fan yourself.”

      “Yeah? Did you hear anything about the man being an arrogant idiot?” Kim asked.

      “No. My sources might have left that part out.”

      “I don’t actually care about the nice ass part, Bren. I prefer not to notice an area that I won’t be kissing.”

      “Don’t be absurd, Kim. No one expects you to kiss anyone’s backside. It isn’t professional. What happened?”

      “I’ll have to start over somewhere else, that’s what. Monroe won’t let me off the hook. He expects me to explain everything. He’ll expect me to cave.” She waved both hands in the air. “I can’t tell him about my background. I can barely talk about it to myself.”

      “You told me.”

      “That’s different. Best friends are best friends. How I grew up isn’t any of his business.”

      “What about the fact that you’ve been wanting to forget about this issue with your family for some time now, anyway?” Brenda asked. “Maybe it’s the right time to take that next step.”

      Kim couldn’t find the words to address Brenda’s remark. She wondered if anyone really knew how bad guilt trips felt and how deep some family issues went, if they hadn’t experienced it.

      She had a hole inside her that hadn’t completely closed over and was filled with heartaches that had had plenty of time to fester at a cellular level. Her mother had constantly reminded her of how they’d been wronged by a man, and about the dishonest things all men do for utterly selfish reasons.

      Her mom wouldn’t listen to advice about getting help in order to emerge from under the dark clouds surrounding her traumatic marital disappointment. Instead, she had spread those dark clouds over Kim.

      The guilt about wanting to be rid of the deep-seated feelings of abandonment was sharp-edged, and nearly as painful now as the old heartaches. The warnings her mother had given her had calloused several times over.

      Kim had thought long and hard about this since her mother’s death. What she had needed was a little more leeway to get used to the fact that with her mother gone, she could embrace change without angering or hurting anyone else. Still, did that entail capitulating on the Christmas issue so soon? Was she ready for that, when this particular holiday had played such a negative role in her life?

      Brenda hurried on. “If you don’t want to tell Monroe the truth, you have about an hour to formulate a reason he’ll accept in lieu of the truth. Fabricating illusions is what we do on a daily basis, right? We make people want to buy things.”

      After letting a beat of time go by for that to sink in, Brenda spoke again. “Call me selfish, Kim, but I’d like to keep you here and happy, and so would a whole host of other people. I doubt if the new guy would actually fire you, anyway. He’d have no real reason to. You can work this out. Also, you could try the truth. Talking about it might be cathartic.”

      Kim shook her head. Brenda hadn’t witnessed Monroe’s show of personalized aggression in his office doorway. Monroe had used the physical card to get her to back down, intending to intimidate her with his stockpile of charisma. And it had worked. There was no way she’d talk to a complete stranger about complicated and painful personal details and have him laugh them off as childish. Or worse, have him wave them away as being inconsequential.

      “If the truth is still too painful, maybe you can spin the issue another way.” Brenda snorted delicately. “You could tell Monroe that you have a Santa fetish.”

      Kim gave her a look.

      “You can tell him a therapist explained that your Santa fetish means that you’re looking for a father figure to replace yours, and you’ve attached yourself to a fantasy ideal. So much so, that it’s embarrassing to discuss or work with.”

      Kim knew a ploy to lighten the mood when she heard one.

      “Bren, you are usually so much better than that.”

      “The