but so far so good. As she tapped her foot to a perky version of “Here Comes Santa Claus,” she noted that people were laughing and gobbling the food. From the portable stage, Gordy Goodnite, the disc jockey she’d rented, spun plenty of Christmas swing while trying to coax couples onto the dance floor. And Jeannie was certain after another round of drinks, plenty of them would oblige. For the time being, only Hank Ascona shuffled at the edge of the stage while chatting with some of his fellow brokers.
She eyed two people from Accounting pointing to the glittery snowflakes Jeannie had hung from the ceiling. It had been a good idea to dim the lights over the dance floor. It seemed to make them sparkle more, almost as if they were giving off a glimmer all their own.
As she sat at a table and scanned the room, it looked as though everyone was having a good time. Dinner conversations were focused on Leonora’s homemade lumpia and the steamed pork buns from Alan Chan’s family bakery, two treats that took the edge off the fact that the food was potluck this year in lieu of the usual caterer. Jeannie had fretted over it all for weeks, and now felt rather silly for losing so much sleep.
This whole night was going off without a hitch, a fact that tickled her pink. And…well…something really was in the air tonight, adding a special sizzle that mixed with the beat and mingled with the crowd.
“Where’d you get the Santa Claus?” Troy asked.
She glanced back toward the windows where a man in a red tailored suit chatted casually with their CFO, Monica Newell. Though the suit wasn’t the classic fur-trimmed ensemble, and he’d traded in the shiny boots for polished black oxfords, there was no mistaking the man for St. Nick. He had the cherry-red cheeks and snow-white beard, a bag of presents tossed over one shoulder and a candy cane in his hand.
And if that wasn’t enough, he simply looked…jolly.
The man was definitely brought in to spread some cheer, though by whom, she had no idea. He wasn’t in Jeannie’s budget that was for sure.
“I didn’t,” she said, watching the man converse with their executive.
Gordy Goodnite had eaten up all she’d allotted for entertainment, and even if she’d had enough left over to rent a Santa, she couldn’t have gotten someone as pricey-looking as the man standing across the room. She’d seen the standard rental agency hires, and Kris Kringle over there wasn’t one of them. He’d cost someone some serious money, but so far she hadn’t been able to think of who. Whenever she’d spotted the man, by the time she’d made her way through the crowd, he’d disappeared. It was almost eerie the way he could be there one minute, then suddenly vanish like snowflakes on asphalt the next.
“I’ve got no idea what he’s doing here,” she added. But certainly before the evening was over, she intended to find out. Though she hadn’t seen him so much as sneak a cookie, she knew he was either a party crasher or someone’s special guest. If he was the former, she’d get rid of him. And if he was the latter, she’d like to know who to thank for the unexpected help.
Troy shrugged it off and went back to his plate. “Stryker probably hired him.”
“That doesn’t seem likely. If he wanted a Santa he would have had me arrange it. It’s strange.” She picked up a carrot stick and nibbled it absently. “He’s not an employee. That beard is most definitely for real. But I can’t see who would have hired him. Do you think maybe he’s related to someone?”
“Why don’t you go over and ask him?”
Jeannie made a face. “Not while he’s talking to Monica. That woman scares me.”
“Monica Newell?”
“Yes. I only go near her when I absolutely have to.”
Troy scoffed. “She’s just a little stiff. She’s not that bad.”
“Not that bad? You heard she wouldn’t let anyone in Finance wear shorts to the company picnic. She said it wasn’t professional and wouldn’t be tolerated as long as she was in charge.”
Troy smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I heard that.”
“And then Mr. Stryker himself shows up in cargo shorts.”
Troy chuckled as she studied the woman, standing straight as a soldier, not a hair out of place in her cream-colored wool slacks and red turtleneck sweater. The outfit was exactly Monica—festive but perfectly understated without a solitary adornment that might be mistaken for frivolity. Or fun. In Jeannie’s opinion, the ensemble would have been much improved with a colorful Christmas-tree brooch or maybe some jingle-bell earrings. With Monica’s short cropped hair and sharp angular face, jingle-bell earrings would have made her look cute. Human. Like she might actually be approachable or something.
“I heard she fired someone for being three minutes late to a meeting,” Jeannie added.
Troy winced. “I don’t think that’s true.”
“Well, I don’t intend to find out firsthand. I avoid that woman like bleach on jeans. I’ll catch up with Santa later.”
Jeannie turned her attention back to all that was fun and exciting about the evening, opting not to worry about Ice Queens and Santa Clauses for now. In a way, tonight was her night, her chance to shine after spending three years working hard to keep the company’s engine running while her coworkers took the spotlight. At a seemingly endless stream of company functions and quarterly meetings, she’d smiled, cheered and clapped as the agents celebrated sales, as accountants were applauded for successful audits and year-end closes, as IT lauded new system releases. As an admin in Operations, her work was never celebrated even though it was the clerical staff like her that helped the others be so successful.
Jeannie’s father would probably tell her a job is a place to earn money, not praise, but just once, she wanted to know what it was like to be on the receiving end of that simple recognition. That wasn’t selfish, was it?
“Speaking of catching up later, I, um, was wondering if one of these days you’d like to—” Troy began, but she didn’t hear the rest. At that moment, Gordy stopped the music and announced that their CEO, Mr. Stryker, was taking the stage to make a speech.
Jeannie smoothed her hair and checked her clothing, wanting to make sure she didn’t have brownie crumbs on her reindeer sweater when Mr. Stryker turned all eyes to her in thanks for arranging the party.
“Are Rudolph’s noses blinking?” she whispered to Troy, turning her face close to his so he could get a good look at her earrings.
He blushed and stuttered before finally understanding what she was talking about. “The earrings,” he said. “Yeah, they’re blinking.”
“Thanks,” she whispered then turned her attention back to Stryker and his speech.
“Did everyone survive the snowstorm?” Mr. Stryker asked the crowd. “I don’t know about you, but every day that I have to shovel snow makes me wish I had a shorter driveway.”
Laughter swept through the room and someone behind her muttered, “Like Stryker actually shovels his own snow.”
A couple people chuckled to themselves but Jeannie ignored it and listened intently.
“Although, some of us are smarter than others,” Stryker went on. “Monica got stuck in Florida,
