Stockings and Suspenders (15 page)

Fine. Maybe a little, but… “I miss
you. When you found me in that alley and brought me here with you, I thought
we’d be best friends forever. No one else here gets me the way you do.”

“I’m
still
your best friend.
I’ve just got Alana in my life now too. You get me here, she gets me when I’m
not here.”

It still didn’t seem fair. I was his
best friend. What did he need a girlfriend for anyway? I knew why he didn’t
date an elf. The one time I’d thought I met someone here, he disappeared.
Pretty sure Santa frowned on fraternizing among the employees.

When I didn’t respond, Brady squeezed
me tighter. “I’ll be back soon. And in the meantime, I have an idea.”

Uh-oh. That didn’t sound good. I spun
around in my seat. Cocky grin, twinkling blue eyes. Not good at all. “What are
you going to do, Brady?”

“Make sure you aren’t lonely while I’m
gone.” He leaned down and kissed the tip of my nose, making it itch. I reached
up to rub it with the back of my hand, and he snapped his fingers, disappearing
in a twinkle of light snow that drifted down to dust the floor in the wake of
his passing.

I really hated when he did that.

Two hours later, after a holiday feast
of a dinner, I sat in my room, bundled in a patchwork quilt in front of a
blistering fire, trying desperately to stay warm. I absently flipped the same
pages of a book over and over when a voice boomed overhead. “Daisy, report to
my office immediately.”

The novel tumbled from my fingers, and
I snatched it back from the hearth as flames licked the cover.
Santa’s
office? No one ever gets called to his office. Do they?
It really didn’t
matter. He’d called me. I yanked on my uniform, and in a snap of my fingers
stood in front of a pair of heavy wood doors flanked by a pair of giant
nutcrackers. Straightening my tunic, I shoved against the doors and stepped
inside. I don’t know what I’d expected, but shielding my eyes from the glaring
sun while my toes sank into warm sand wasn’t it.

“Shut the doors, please.” Santa
lounged in a beach chair, wearing red floral swim trunks.

Dumbfounded, I closed the doors
without thinking.

“You wanted to see me, Santa?”
Somewhere waves crashed and a seagull called overhead. I couldn’t say where
exactly since the ceiling seemed to have disappeared.

His eyes hidden behind black
sunglasses, Santa stared at me until I started to squirm. “There’s a man, Gage
Thomas, who’s been on my naughty list for several years.” He tugged on his
beard. “I think you’re the perfect elf to bring him to his senses.”

“Um… how am I supposed to do that?”

He lowered the glasses to the tip of
his cherry nose and winked at me. “By whatever means necessary.”

With a “ho, ho, ho” his beach office
vanished and I stood in a posh nightclub wearing a too short, too sparkly
cocktail dress, surrounded by other women wearing as little or less.
Ho, ho,
ho indeed.

 At least I didn’t have to worry about
standing out in the wrong way… or standing at all. Did people actually wear
shoes like this? I staggered to the nearest barstool, barely making it there
before another girl… in even higher heels snagged it. I flopped onto the stool.
Apparently everyone else was fine in five-inch heels. Spending the last ten
years in leggings, tunics and funny shoes hadn’t done me any favors in the
fashionably presentable department.

How was I supposed to find this Gage
guy if I couldn’t even walk around? I snapped my fingers, but the shoes didn’t
change one bit. Hell, screw walking, I wanted my magic back. Wasn’t that part
of the elf gig? This was a doomed mission; Santa had sent the wrong girl.

Elbows propped on the bar, I held my
head and wished for a towering pile of toys to repair.

“Can’t be as bad as all that can it?”
a deep voice asked from near my shoulder as a man squeezed between the stools
and waved for the bartender.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here. I
look like an idiot. And I can’t walk in these damn shoes!”

He laughed, the sound trilling from my
ears all the way to my toes with how real it sounded. Not affected like when
people are trying to get your attention… or pretending to be Santa. When the
bartender poured two drinks, he nudged one toward me. “I can’t tell you why
you’re here, but you look amazing.” He leaned in closer and mock-whispered,
“And I don’t know how anyone can walk in those shoes.”

I couldn’t help but smile. Then I
raised the glass to thank him for the drink and my breath caught. He was
beautiful. Conventionally handsome and all that crap too, but beautiful was the
first word I thought when I saw him. Like he was what angels should look like.
Which was ridiculous. Angels wouldn’t hang out in nightclubs… even ritzy ones. 

Still if I was stuck here, I could’ve
done worse for a companion. Scruffy square jaw, artfully messy blond hair, and
steely blue eyes. Yeah. I could’ve done a lot worse. “Thanks. For the drink
too.”

“If I promise a foot massage later, do
I get a name to go along with the smile?” His own lips curved up slightly, as
if full smiles were reserved for when they mattered most.

I took a sip of the drink and let it
warm me to my pinched toes. “Not sure I can take you up on the massage, but my
name’s Daisy.”

“If you tell me your last name is
Duke, I may have to marry you right now.” He laughed again, but I was thankful
for the dim lighting. It hid the way my cheeks burned.

When Brady had found me, I’d been a
street kid. First name only—those were the rules. I’d played by them so long
I’d forgotten my last name. He jokingly dubbed me Daisy Duke when we reached
the North Pole, and it stuck. “In that case, I’d like a two-carat flawless
princess-cut diamond by morning.”

Might as well aim high, right?

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re
serious?”

I could have lied. I thought about
lying. But since I was there and obviously ill-equipped to do my job, I figured
why not have some fun. Maybe I could make the naughty list too and Santa would
send someone to save my ass.

So I nodded and sipped the drink.

Then he smiled—really smiled—and my
heart flopped. Not flip-flopped, just flopped over like it died. No wonder he
saved the smiles, they were fucking mesmerizing. “So… two carats, huh?”

“At least,” I choked out after
reviving my cardiovascular system.

“Well I suppose if you’re going to be
the future Mrs. Gage Thomas, it’s the least I can do.”

Pretty sure I lost some of my cool
factor when I sprayed my drink across the bar. Maybe not, but pretty damn sure.

Next time Santa sends me on a damn
mission from hell, he better provide a dossier with photos. And better shoes.

Funny thing though, I spent the next
hour or two talking to Gage at the bar, and while the first hour I did more
staring than listening, the second hour, I really paid attention and couldn’t
see a damn reason he’d be on the naughty list. He had a good, if odd, job,
volunteered with kids and the humane society for crying out loud. On the
surface he seemed perfect.

Which could only mean the problem was
deeper and dirtier.

I sucked in a deep breath. Guess there
was a reason Santa sent me after all—I couldn’t think of another elf who knew
the dark side of human nature quite like I did.

Fuck. And he’s so damn hot too.

I wanted to pull up my big-girl
panties and get on with things, but that was the moment I realized Santa had missed
a key part of my wardrobe and I tugged on my dress, trying to get better
coverage. Apparently “any means necessary” really meant “fuck him ’til he sees
the light”.

“Are you okay?” Gage caught me as I
almost fell off the chair, which would have made my attempts at lengthening the
dress pointless.

He didn’t cop a feel, didn’t even use
it as an excuse to get closer.
Huh.

“Yeah, I guess my ass isn’t doing any
better than my feet tonight.”

Laughing, he toyed with his drink and
stared at the reflection of the rest of the club in the mirrors over the bar. I
had about ten seconds to wonder if he was plotting his escape when he said, “Do
you want to get out of here?”

Startled, I pointed at the crazy
shoes.

“If you can make it to the curb
outside, I have a plan.”

Hoping like hell the plan didn’t
involve killing me and tossing my body somewhere—or if it did, that Santa had
contingencies in place—I downed my drink and took his arm. “There’s a two-carat
diamond on the line here. I’m in.”

As it turned out, Gage lived in Florida of all places, which made him look at me funny when I braced for the cold stepping
outside. Then he hailed a cab and we were off. 

In the movies, guys will tell a girl
to close her eyes and then take her somewhere super romantic. Point of fact:
when you’re worried the guy might be a serial killer, it’s much better to have
your eyes open.

In less than five minutes, we pulled
up to a stretch of beach that looked like it went on forever. Forgetting for a
minute that I had no panties on, I kicked off the shoes and raced into the
sand. Growing up on the streets like I did, my life didn’t include vacations. I
slept by the Detroit River a time or two, but this was the mother-fucking
ocean!

I was already up to my knees when Gage
caught up, my shoes dangling from his fingers. “Hold on! No drunken drownings
on my watch, okay?”

His laughter was contagious, and with
how… polite he’d been all evening, I wondered if acting drunk would make him
let his guard down. So I staggered as a wave drenched the bottom of my dress.
Gage caught me, his arms under mine, and I sagged against him.

“Okay, Daisy, let’s get you out of the
ocean before you decide to cut yourself just to see if the nice sharks want to
come out and play.” With one arm still around my waist, he led me out of the
surf and back onto the beach where he’d left his shoes. Then he chuckled. “So
much for my nice little walk on the beach plan.”

I glanced down and felt a twinge of
guilt. His pants and socks were soaked. All because he rushed out after me.
“I’m so sorry!”

What was I doing? Playing in the
ocean isn’t part of my job, and I’m not really sure what is. Gage has no
freaking flaws. Why the hell am I even here?

Gage’s fingers caught my chin and
pulled me away from searching the sand for answers, tipping my head back until
I stared into his eyes. “Don’t worry, but maybe I should just take you home.”

Failure. No way.
Biting my lip, I slid a hand up his arm. This felt so fucking…
wrong. “I don’t want to go. I barely know you yet.”

He lifted my hand from his arm but
wrapped his incredibly warm fingers in mine, leading me back toward the road.
“And I’m guessing you won’t remember anything about tonight, so I’d rather get
to know you more when you’re sober. Dinner tomorrow night? Seven?”

Speechless, I nodded. When we got back
into the cab, an address flew from my brain to my lips and ended up programmed
into his phone. I spent the entire ride wondering if there would even be a
building there, much less apartments. Instead we pulled up in front of a hotel.

“You memorized the address?”

Thanks, Santa.
“There are so many Hiltons in the area, it just seemed easier.”

He walked me to the door and, after
staring at me for a minute, raised my hand and brushed his lips across my
knuckles. Electricity traveled through my arm to every nerve ending I had.
“Tomorrow. Seven. Don’t forget.”

With a nod from grinning-idiot-me, he
was gone. I did have a room, and apparently I’d become independently wealthy
between the North Pole and here, because it was a fucking suite with a fully
stocked closet and cash in a drawer. It made me giddy enough that I spread the
cash and clothes out and rolled in it… until I wondered if it was coming out of
my retirement. Then I decided it was too late to care and did it again.

But still no word from Santa. No
direction. I fell asleep with a pair of Prada boots clutched in my hands and no
idea what to do next.

The money thing? It wore off
overnight. In the morning I put everything back where it belonged, other than
to get dressed. Whatever Santa wanted, these were tools to get the job done.
Pretty, shiny, happy tools, but just tools. I did spend the cash to go out and
get my hair and nails fixed for my date, but I figured that was a justifiable
expense.

At least until I met Gage in the
lobby. My, longer, cocktail dress and heels didn’t gel with his shorts and
t-shirt. I looked him up and down wondering how he could actually look
better
in casual wear. “I think I might need to change.”

“You don’t need to, but I’m not sure
where to take us like this. Did you not get my message?”

“No… Why don’t you just come up with
me and I’ll get on something more appropriate?” Step, mis-step, step…. The
North Pole needed a training program for jobs like this. Hell, it wasn’t until
we were at my door that I wondered if inviting him up was the wrong move.