The elevator doors open and we step out into the lobby. “I’m going to have to insist you don’t besmirch the good name of my employer, sir.”

“I’ll show you sir,” he mutters.

I wish you would.

I bite back a smile at the errant thought, thankful he can’t hear it as we pass the nighttime security guard. I offer a little wave, but Lee walks by as if the man doesn’t exist.

“We should give Randy a Christmas tip,” I tell him.

He scowls. “Who?”

“Randy.” My eyes widen when his register no recognition. “The security guard?”

“Oh,” he murmurs. “That’s below my pay grade. I’d say you could tell my assistant to do it, but she might be too busy wrapping Christmas presents.”

“Keep it up, mister, and you might not get one.”

That’s an empty threat if I’ve ever made one. Still, the man could at least pretend to be worried.

He doesn’t. I already know what he’s going to say, but I still find it faintly annoying when he says, “I told you not to get me anything.”

Doesn’t he know I like buying him Christmas presents? It isn’t an item checked off a to-do list for me like it is for him. I genuinely enjoy the process of finding something I hope he’ll like. I anticipate the look on his handsome face when he unwraps it, wonder if he’ll think about me when he uses it.

Our first Christmas together, I wasn’t used to his often dismissive and impatient ways and I let him crush me.

I had a bit of a crush on him, but not one I would ever act on. He wasn’t just my boss, he was also married at the time—completely off-limits.

Still, he meant something to me, so I picked out a gift I thought he’d like. I bought overpriced wrapping paper that had a print I thought he would be amused by and attached a Christmas card I had to practice an enormous amount of restraint not to gush in. He had mentioned in passing that as a child his favorite cookies were the oatmeal raisin ones his mom used to make, but she didn’t make them anymore, so I wanted to make some for him. I thought it might come off a bit odd if I made them only for him, so I made enough for the whole office. That way when I offered him one, he wouldn’t know I’d made them for him, but he would still get his favorite Christmas cookie.

He didn’t touch the cookies or the card. He barely glanced at the gift before telling me to open it for him and send a thank-you card to whoever it was from.

“It’s from me,” I said with a smile, my cheeks warming as I held it out to him.