Ms. Scrooge Page 3

  In the fifteen years since I moved out of my mother’s place, I have not once had a Christmas tree in my home. Not even had one of those little ones you put on the table. It seemed great when I was a kid, but now it just seems like a lot of hassle for nothing. I don’t see the point. What would I do with it? Stare at it? I’m hardly ever home these days anyway.

  But whoever put this Christmas tree in our office definitely had a different opinion about the importance of Christmas trees. It’s gigantic for one thing—even bigger than the ones we used to have at my mother’s house. It’s so tall that the star at the top grazes the ceiling. And there are so many flashing lights on the tree, I feel like I’m going to have a seizure when I look at it. There was some email chain going around several weeks ago about how we should each bring in an ornament to decorate the tree. I didn’t do it, but it looks like I’m in the minority, because the branches are sagging under the weight of all the ornaments.

  It’s pretty, I suppose. But after staring at it for several weeks, it’s becoming an eyesore. I’ll be glad when it’s gone on December 26.

  I will make sure it is gone on December 26.

  As I open the door to my office, I notice Courtney Nichols placing a present wrapped in shiny red paper under the tree. That’s when I realize Courtney’s present isn’t the only one under the tree. There are at least a dozen packages of various shapes and sizes stuffed under the tree.

  I do an about-face and march over to the tree, which Courtney is now admiring. Courtney has been working on my team for a couple of years now. She’s young, blonde, fresh-faced, and perpetually chipper. She’s nice enough, but not really leadership material. I doubt she ever idolized Wonder Woman—she’s more of a Hello Kitty type. Courtney will definitely not be somebody I will be taking on as a protégé.

  “Courtney.” I nod down at the huge pile of presents. “What’s this?”

  “Oh!” Courtney flashes a smile on her round face that makes her eyes light up. She smiles far too much. She’s always smiling. She couldn’t possibly have that much to be happy about. “This is for Yankee swap.”

  “Yankee swap?”

  “Yes! We’re doing it at the Christmas party this afternoon.”

  “Christmas party?”

  The smile on Courtney’s lips doesn’t waver. “You got the emails, didn’t you?”

  That vein in my neck is throbbing again. This sort of thing is what gave Marley a heart attack. “No, I did not get the emails. Who gave you approval for a party?”

  We don’t have Christmas parties here. Or birthday parties. Or baby showers. In Marley’s opinion, parties are an enormous waste of time. And I wholeheartedly agree. A Christmas party in the mid-afternoon means it will be at least an hour or two without work, and afterwards, everybody will be in a food coma, so nothing will get done for the rest of the day. Why don’t they just let everyone go home at two in the afternoon? Isn’t that how you run a business?

  No. It is not. Not if I’m going to be ready for this presentation tomorrow.

  “Richard said it was okay,” Courtney says.

  I don’t know what irritates me more. The fact that even though Courtney works under me, she went to Richard first for approval for the party. Or the fact that Richard gave her approval without checking with me first. But the latter doesn’t surprise me. Richard loves parties. He loves to schmooze. His philosophy in life is that charm can substitute for hard work. And he’s got a lot of charm.

  And even if he didn’t like parties, I’m sure he’s got some sort of grand plan to get into Courtney’s pants before the New Year. If not sooner.

  “There’s no time today for a Christmas party,” I snap at Courtney. “We’re having a meeting this afternoon about the Danvier presentation tomorrow. And we’ve got to spend the rest of the evening making sure everything is perfect. I’m not leaving here anytime soon, and I expect you to do the same.”

  The smile finally slips from Courtney’s lips. “I’ve been working really hard for the presentation. You know I have. But it’s Christmas week—”

  “It’s Christmas week so we can blow off a multimillion dollar account?” I raise my eyebrows. “Is that really your philosophy, Courtney?”

  The smile is finally gone. Hell, maybe I can make Courtney cry today also. Two in one day would mean I am doing my job very, very well.

  “It’s just an hour,” she says quietly. “Spirits have been very low here. Especially since Marley—”

  “Please don’t use Marley as an excuse for blowing off work.” My lips set into a straight line. “Marley Jacobs had the best work ethic of anyone here. If you want to honor her memory, you will do your job and do it well.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “That’s all I have to say on the matter, Courtney.” I flick my gaze back to the tree. “You can take your gift home with you. There isn’t going to be a party.”

  Courtney opens her mouth but I don’t want to hear it. There’s nothing she’s going to say to convince me.

  Chapter 3

  Dear employees,

  It has come to my attention that there is a Christmas party scheduled for 3 PM in the conference room. As I have not given approval for this party and the conference room will be utilized during this period for strategic planning for the Danvier campaign, the Christmas party will not proceed as planned. Furthermore, parties are an improper utilization of company time, and from now on, are not permitted during work hours.

  Sincerely,

  Elizabeth Scribner

  For the last three years, I have either eaten out lunches with clients or else taken my lunch at my desk. A recreational lunch break is not something you take when you are the vice president of a company. There are too few hours in the day as it is. It seems ridiculous to stop everything I’m doing just to eat.

  Today I don’t have any lunch meetings, so I’m eating at my desk. It’s a sandwich I grabbed on the way to work at the deli across the street from my apartment building. Turkey and Swiss with some sort of spread on it that might be mayonnaise.

  At my last doctor’s appointment, my doctor told me my cholesterol was too high, so I should probably be keeping an eye on what I eat, but there’s no time for that. Not now, anyway. After all, what am I supposed to do—go back to the deli where I got the sandwich and demand a new one without mayonnaise? This is fine. It will provide me with enough sustenance to get through the next several hours.

  When I’ve nearly finished the sandwich, my cell phone rings on my desk. I glance at the screen. It’s Polly. My sister.

  I consider letting it go to voicemail. That is my strategy about ninety percent of the time when Polly calls me. But I quickly do some mental math and realize I haven’t talked to her in several weeks. Which means that if I don’t answer the phone now, her calls will progressively increase in frequency until I pick up. That is Polly’s strategy.

  Don’t get me wrong—I love my sister. I really do. She’s the only person in the world that has shared all the same childhood trials and tribulations. She’s the only one who remembers the night when our power went off and we went around our tiny apartment, lighting all the candles we had. Mom told us a power line went out, but we could hear the television blaring in the apartment next to ours. Polly asked her about it, but I kept my mouth shut.

  Anyway, she’s going to keep calling until I answer. I might as well get this over with.

  “Hello.” I realize my tone sounds clipped, and it’s not entirely unintentional. If Polly thinks I’m busy, she won’t talk as long. Polly is one of those people who has the tendency to talk until the other person’s eyes glaze over. She’s been this way as long as I can remember.

  “Ebbie!” Polly gushes into the phone. “I thought I was never going to hear from you again.”

  “It hasn’t been that long.”

  “Three weeks!” There’s a baby crying in the background. There’s always a baby crying in the background when Polly calls—crying babies are a nonstop soundtrack to my sis
ter’s life. “You haven’t picked up the phone in three weeks!”

  That could be true. “I’m sure it hasn’t been that long.”

  “So what’s going on with you? What’s new?”

  “Well, I’m at work. So I’m pretty busy.” Hint, hint.

  “You’re always busy, Ebbie.”

  Polly is not taking the hint, which shouldn’t surprise me. She went the same route our mother did. She got married young, then popped out three kids, and if her husband were to take off with his secretary like our father did, she would be wildly screwed. Fortunately, Steve seems like a nice guy who wouldn’t do something like that. But you never know. I’m sure our mother didn’t know.

  The point is, no man could ever do something like that to me. No man will ever be able to ruin my life. I am man-proof. That is my superpower. It’s almost as good as a Lasso of Truth.

  The weird part is Polly isn’t even the slightest bit worried. It’s like it hasn’t even occurred to her that her whole world could fall apart on Steve’s whim.

  “Any new guys I should know about?” Polly asks.

  “Not really.” Not really is a vast overstatement. I haven’t been on a date in… well, it’s been a while. I haven’t had sex in… oh God, I don’t want to think about it. There was a different President in office.

  “What about that hot guy, Richard?”

  “No. That’s long over.”

  “Really? Don’t you work with him?”

  “Yes, I work with him.” Unfortunately. “But that’s all.”

  “Uh huh.” There’s a teasing edge to Polly’s voice. “I don’t know, Ebbie. You seemed to really like him.”

  She isn’t wrong. Yes, the truth is, there was a time when I was embarrassingly infatuated with Richard Hall. Against my better judgment and the warnings of every woman I knew, I fell under his spell. I mean, he’s undeniably hot. Charming. And for a while, it seemed like he really liked me. But Richard Hall is the sort of man who wrecks your life. I knew it from the moment I met him, and I was too dumb to keep my distance.

  And I paid the price.

  “It’s over with Richard,” I say. “I promise.”

  Thankfully, she decides to let it go and doesn’t probe further into my personal life. “Listen, why don’t you come over on Christmas morning?” Polly says. “It’ll be just like the old days. Remember?”

  I do remember what it was like to come into the living room on Christmas morning and discover all those presents. Polly was always bubbling with questions for our mother (“we don’t even have a chimney—how did he get in?”), but I never questioned it. It didn’t matter how Santa got us our presents. He got to us. That was what mattered.

  God, we were so stupid.

  “You can watch the kids open their presents,” she adds, “and then I’ll make lunch. The kids miss you a lot. Did you know Taylor is walking?”

  I doubt Polly’s kids miss me. I rarely see them and I don’t think of myself as a particularly fun aunt. Usually, when I visit Polly, I’m strategizing how to get out of there as quickly as possible.

  “I’m really sorry,” I say. “It’s crazy busy here. There’s no way I could make it out to Long Island.”

  “On Christmas Day? You’re crazy busy on Christmas day?”

  “You don’t understand, Polly. We’re trying to land a huge account. Christmas… It’s just a day. I can’t afford to slack off right now. Not when the CEO job is up in the air.”

  “Hmm. And what was your excuse before?”

  I grit my teeth. “It’s just a bad time.”

  “But I haven’t seen you in two months—not since your boss’s funeral.”

  I flinch at the mention of Marley’s funeral. I had told Polly about the funeral, but I hadn’t expected her to show up. I had even told her it wasn’t necessary. But then she found a babysitter for her kids and came alone, so that she could give me her full attention without a cranky baby hanging off her hip. She never left my side the whole time, and even though I never told her so, I was really glad she came. Neither of us mention how I briefly broke down crying in Polly’s minivan.

  “That’s the thing,” I say. “With Marley gone, it’s just so busy…”

  “Come on,” Polly says. “You’re my only sister, Ebbie. I just want to see you.”

  There was a time when Polly’s words might have tugged at my heart strings. Like right after our mom succumbed to cancer. Yes, that was the kicker—she spent half her life working her butt off to put us through school, and right when we finished, she got pancreatic cancer and died within a year. Both the biggest female role models in my life died before age fifty. If you need any proof that life isn’t fair, there it is.

  “It’s just not a good time,” I say. “Maybe… New Year’s?”

  The baby lets out an ear piercing wail in the background. Luckily, Polly is far too busy to focus on me. “Okay. You don’t have to come for Christmas. But you’re not off the hook.”

  “I’ll come soon,” I lie. There’s a knock at my office door and I raise my head. “Polly, I have to go.”

  “Okay. I love you, sis.”

  “Love you too.”

  I hang up the phone and focus my attention on my office door. Roberta is supposed to be screening anyone who comes to see me, but she doesn’t do very well at that job. She hasn’t even brought me the fax confirmation yet. She’s probably off somewhere baking more cookies. “Come in!” I call out.

  Oh great. It’s Richard.

  Chapter 4

  “Never trust a man who’s too confident.” — Every dating book ever

  Richard is smiling when he walks into my office. I hate it when he comes here, because I know his office is bigger than mine, and he knows it too. Marley did her best to pull strings, but somehow Richard got the bigger office. But if I get the CEO job, I’ll get her old office. And that’s twice as big as his.

  “Hey, Ebbie,” he says. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  I glare at him. “Elizabeth.”

  “Right.” He lifts his left arm which I hadn’t realized he had been hiding behind his back. He’s got a bottle of Dom Perignon in his hand with a red bow on it. He holds it out to me. “I got you this. Merry Christmas.”

  He must think I’m a total idiot. He got that bottle of champagne from the board of directors. I know he did, because I got the exact same bottle. He’s re-gifting the champagne. But I suppose if he’s going to re-gift something, at least it’s something nice and expensive. Although I remember from when we were together that Richard hates champagne.

  In all my time working here, I’ve never gotten a gift from anyone besides the Board of Directors or Marley. Even Richard has never gotten me a Christmas present—I’m not going to count this re-gifted champagne. But Marley always had a present for me. Last year was my favorite. She got me a first edition Wonder Woman comic book. I couldn’t believe it when I unwrapped the paper and found it in its protective plastic wrapping. If I had a safe, that’s where I would have put it. Neither Marley nor I are very affectionate, but I threw my arms around her when she gave me that.

  I wonder what she would have given me this year. I guess I’ll never know.

  “Thanks,” I mutter as I take the bottle from him. I do my best not to slam it down on my desk.

  “It’s okay if you didn’t get me anything,” he says.

  It takes all my self-restraint not to pick the bottle of re-gifted Champagne off my desk and hand it back to him with a sarcastic “Merry Christmas.”

  He slides into one of the chairs in front of my desk without my granting permission to do so. “So… how are you doing?”

  “What’s this about, Richard?”

  He smiles at me. He really does have a great smile. He’s definitely the most handsome guy in the office. If you were to compare his attractiveness to my own, he comes out on top. That’s not necessarily a bad thing though. As a woman, it’s important to be attractive, but not so attractive that it’s all people can focus
on. You can’t run a meeting when everybody is staring at your chest. It’s a balance that I’ve spent years trying to master. I think I’ve achieved it today with my gray suit and my straight chestnut hair pulled back into French twist. My Cinnamon Nude lipstick is subtle but flattering.

  But Richard is the sort of man who might make a woman swoon. He did that to me when I first met him. I swooned. Just a little bit.

  “You seem really stressed out lately.” He has a sympathetic crease between his eyebrows. “I’m worried about you. I’m worried you’re not processing Marley’s death.”

  I snort. “Oh, please. You’re just worried I’m going to get the CEO position instead of you.”

  He clenches his teeth. “Do you really think that little of me?”

  “Apparently.”

  His eyes crinkle. “Okay, maybe I deserve that. But listen, I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately, Elizabeth.”

  There was a time when Richard Hall telling me he’s been thinking about me a lot would have made my day. It still kind of does, unfortunately. But I try to play it cool. “Well, that’s nice.”

  “Maybe I could take you to dinner tonight? What do you think?”

  I suck in a breath. Dinner. It sounds… actually, very nice. As you recall, I haven’t been on a date in a very long time. Richard may be my competition, but he can be very romantic. And his penis size may be below average, but it still functions very well. He’s a little bit light on the foreplay. But at this point, I couldn’t care less. It’s not like there are any other possibilities knocking down my door. A night with a hot guy might be just what I need.

  And maybe it will lead to more.

  “All right,” I agree. “Let’s do dinner.”

  Richard’s face lights up, which is flattering. He could, after all, have any woman he wants. “Great! Also, I wanted to talk to you about that email you sent out. About the Christmas party…”