Page 1 of Holiday Temptation
Chapter 1
Dominic
Thebellabovethedoor chimes, cutting through the soft hum of conversation as I step into the coffee shop on the bottom floor of my office building. A waft of roasted beans and cinnamon hits me, but it does nothing to warm the ice settling in my chest. Outside, Heathcliff's streets are dusted with snow, the air crisp and biting. But it's not just the cold that has me stiffening.
A line. Of course there’s a line.
I exhale, impatient, my breath visible for a fleeting moment. It’s not the wait that bothers me—it's the simple fact I have to be here in the first place. My assistant, Jane, usually handles this for me, but she decided to start her holiday break early. An interruption to my morning routine.
The clatter of mugs and hiss of the espresso machine are background noise as I stew in my thoughts. The holidays. Lights, music, insistent cheer. All of it, just noise. They bring an unpredictable chaos, shaking up my meticulously crafted schedule, which I can't stand. Some might say I need to loosen up and embrace the spirit of the season, but what I really need is another cup of black coffee to cut through this dreary December morning.
“I’ll have a large black coffee,” I tell the barista, my tone curt. No need for pleasantries.
She nods, swiftly moving to prepare it, and I take a moment to glance around, my gaze catching on the decorations and twinkling lights. The coffee shop has transformed into a winter wonderland, and while the rest of Heathcliff might be reveling in the holiday spirit, I just want my damn coffee and to escape back to the sanctuary of my office.
Finally, the barista hands me a cup, and I instinctively grasp it, expecting the familiar warmth and rich aroma of my standard black coffee. Instead, an unfamiliar scent reaches my nostrils, something sweet and minty. I peer down into it, my brow furrowing at the sight. Whipped cream, swirled into a frothy peak, and speared by a candy cane.
This isn’t my coffee.
Gripping the cup tightly, annoyance simmering, I march back to the counter. Someone’s going to hear about this mix-up. As I approach, ready to unload my frustrations, a sound stops me in my tracks—a bright, musical burst of laughter.
“I’m so sorry!” the voice says, tinged with mirth.
I look up to find a woman, curvy and radiant, her eyes twinkling with mischief and merriment. A stark contrast to my dour mood. Her blonde hair cascades in soft waves, framing a face that radiates warmth and laughter. Her ample curves, accentuated by her winter attire, present a striking image that momentarily distracts me from my annoyance.
“I think I grabbed your coffee by mistake,” she admits, holding up an unadulterated black coffee. Her cheeks are flushed, perhaps from the cold outside, or maybe from her lively spirit. The redness adds a touch of softness to her already appealing features.
In her presence, the frustration I felt moments ago starts to ebb away, replaced by a growing appreciation for her undeniable beauty. I find myself unexpectedly intrigued by this vibrant, voluptuous woman who, without intending to, stole my coffee and, perhaps, a little of my focus.
"I think I took a sip of the Ebenezer Scrooge special," she teases as we trade cups. "It could use a candy cane or two if I do say so myself."
For a moment, I’m tempted to retort, to remind her of the sacred nature of a man’s morning coffee. But her energy, infectious as it is, keeps me from it. Instead, I find the corner of my mouth twitching into a reluctant half-smile. “Just be careful whose coffee you steal next time.”
She laughs again, the sound light and airy. “Duly noted.”
As we swap drinks, her fingers brush against mine—warm and soft. The touch is fleeting, but it lingers in my mind as I make my way to the exit.
As I push open the door, I can't help but reflect on the encounter. Her exuberance, her spirit—it's enchanting. Still, I shake my head, reminding myself of the chaos someone like that could bring into my meticulously structured life. Once is enough.
Or so I tell myself.
Stepping out of the coffee shop, I head toward the elevator lobby of the building. But the sound of soft footsteps behind me has me pausing. She’s catching up.
“Oh! Mr. Scrooge, wait up!” she calls out with a teasing lilt in her voice, her steps light and quick, echoing on the marble floors.
I can't help but raise an eyebrow. She's persistent. But instead of brushing her off, I find myself slowing down just a smidge to let her catch up.
"Always in a hurry, are we?" I remark.
She giggles. “Well, I have a new job starting today in this building, and I can't be late on the first day.”
Her enthusiasm seems boundless. She speaks of the city's holiday displays as we wait for the elevator. And while I do my best to appear uninterested, she continues her animated chatter, seemingly unbothered by my lack of participation.
The elevator arrives with a soft chime, and as we step inside, she's the one to press the button for the floor. My floor. The same floor.
Suddenly, a thought strikes me. Today's the day the temporary assistant is supposed to start—Jane’s replacement for the holidays. I never bothered to look at her details. The thought sends a pulse of curiosity through me.
The elevator's doors slide shut, and the soft tune of a holiday jingle fills the silence. She tilts her head, considering me for a moment, her merriment evident. "So, big plans for the holidays?" she asks, a playful challenge in her voice.