His Christmas Wish

"Ms. Travis, could you come in here for a minute, please?"

I had to fight the groan that wanted to rip its way through me. If I heard "Ms. Travis" one more freaking time today, I was going to lose my mind. And, considering it was only one in the afternoon, odds seemed pretty good that I would hear it no less than thirty more times. This job was getting to be too much.

I sighed and then I gathered my composure and my notepad and headed toward my boss's office.

Bryce Jordan was the world's most demanding celebrity chef. Or at least, he was to my knowledge. I mean, I didn't have a whole lot of experience dealing with other celebrity chefs than the one I currently worked for, but... if they were all like him, I didn't envy any of their personal assistants.

Mr. Jordan ran Jordan Restaurant Group like a well-oiled machine. Despite the fact that he'd earned his fame in the kitchen, he now spent most of his days in his luxury office here in Seattle. We (or he, rather) owned three different five-star restaurants, two wine bars, and one cozy English pub that was his passion project. If he wasn't in his office, that was where you could find him, all six-foot-four, brooding, tattooed, London-born inch of him, slinging dark ales and recommending his favorite home-cooked dishes, all his mother's recipes.

If I didn't know Bryce Jordan, I would have been one of the many women often caught drooling over him. He was a gorgeous man, there was no denying that fact. It was too bad that, in reality, he was also a micro-managing, overbearing, growly man-whore of a boss. As his personal assistant, I had been delegated the lovely task of getting rid of any of his conquests looking for more than a repeat, steamy night on more than one occasion. Flowers saying "I had a lovely time, but no," bottles of liquor with a card that read "Can't wait to see you when I return to" whatever random city the woman lived in. At one point, he had me send back some gorgeous, diamond encrusted Rolex that an admirer had sent him saying "he couldn't possibly accept this" when he told me that the sex wasn't that good, so he would not be making a return appearance. The man was a pig. But he was a pig that paid me well.

I lifted my knuckles to tap on his closed door as I clutched my legal pad to my chest. I heard a muffled "Come in" and quickly obeyed, but the second I opened the giant oak door, I stopped in my tracks, a startled "Oh!" darting from my mouth.

Standing before me was my boss, in all of his glory. No shirt, just skin decorated inch by inch in intricate ink work and a tailor hemming the bottom of a pair of slacks kneeling before him. A pair of slacks that I, for some reason, noticed hugged the round curve of his buttocks entirely too well. Goddammit, why did this man have to be so damned beautiful?

Bryce turned and shot me an all-too-proud smile over his shoulder. "Sorry, love," he stated in that low, raspy English-bred voice of his. "Should've warned you."

I focused on forcing my eyes to look anywhere but the massive, muscular expanse of his bare chest. "What can I do for you, Mr. Jordan?"

"Bryce. For the five millionth time, please, Bailey."

"I think it's a bit unprofessional for me to refer to you by your first name, sir."

"Darling, we've been doing this for what? Three years now? I think we're a little past formality, don't you?"

He flashed me that smirk again and I swallowed the pit that had formed in my throat and looked down to the notepad in my hands. "What did you need from me, sir?"

I heard a low growl of displeasure and just barely caught him rolling his eyes.

"I just wanted to make sure everything is in line for Friday night," Bryce stated. "I know you've done your very best, but I'm still nervous about everything."

"Mr. Jordan..." I gulped. "Bryce, everything is in order. The entire hotel has been reserved for staff, the catering menu is in place and perfected. I head over tomorrow to take a look at the decorations, and all of the invites have been received and accepted. There is nothing for you to worry about, I promise."

I watched a genuine smile turn up the corners of his mouth. Even his face was perfect: scruffy and chiseled out of some expensive marble, I was sure. Even his gray eyes brightened to almost blue. "I can always count on you," he stated simply.

I felt an unwelcome squeeze on my heart that was already beating entirely too fast. "I know how much Christmas meant to you and your mother, Bryce. I'd never let anything jeopardize us honoring her memory."

Bryce nodded his head slowly and ran his hand over his immaculately kept dark hair. "I know you wouldn't, Bailey," he stated. "I just... this is my first Christmas without her, and I guess I'm... losing it a little."

The fist around my heart tightened a bit more. Bryce Jordan was a man of many things that could be frowned upon, but the love the man had for his mother, Hazel, was not one of them. Mrs. Jordan had died only a few months ago and he had been nearly inconsolable. He buried himself in work even more than usual, and there were a few weeks, I was fairly certain I was the only person that had actually seen the man. It broke my heart to see how lost he seemed.

His mother had been the only family in his life since long before his celebrity status. They'd moved to Seattle when he was a teenager. His father had been a restauranteur in London and was fairly famous in his own right and when the city learned he'd had not one, but multiple affairs, it became quite uncomfortable for his wife and son. So, Hazel had packed up herself and Bryce and moved here, where her family still resided. Bryce's father was all too pleased to continue his life like his son didn't even exist, only sending the child support and alimony the court required. It made for a nice, cushy upbringing, but it was no replacement for a father's love. However, instead of making him bitter, the lack of a male role model only seemed to make Bryce Jordan more determined to make himself into something. Not for his father's pride, no, but more to say "I did it without you." And he was still doing a hell of a job at that. His father had now reached out a few times, I knew because I took the messages, but Bryce wanted no part of a reunion. Now that Mr. Jordan Senior was retired and practically bankrupt, I could only assume what the miserable man was truly after, and it wasn't a relationship with his son.

I gave Bryce a comforting smile. "This party is going to be beautiful, Bryce. As if she was right there with you. I'm going to make sure of it."

"Thank you, Bailey," Bryce smiled in return. "Have you gotten your dress yet?"

My eyes widened a bit in surprise. "Oh, I um... I hadn't planned on getting anything new, I guess. I have plenty of dresses that will work fine. It's not like I'll be there to enjoy things, anyway. I'll be working."

Bryce's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about? This party is as much for you as it is any member of this company. Of course, you should enjoy it."

"Well, someone is going to have to keep an eye on things..."

"Of course, but that doesn't mean it should feel like part of your job," Bryce argued. "I want you to enjoy yourself, Bailey."

"I'm sure I will, sir."

"What are your plans this evening?"

I shrugged, not understanding why he cared. "I don't know. I'll probably just pick up dinner and settle in for the Bachelor, I guess. Like most Tuesdays."

"Let's go get you a dress. We'll have dinner first."

"Ex... excuse me?" I asked, a bit startled by his demand. "Why?"

"Because... you've been working really hard on this... on... everything I've thrown at you for the past three years, actually," Bryce stated. "I want to treat you."

"You really don't have to do that, Mr. Jordan..."

This time Bryce's whole head rolled with his eyes. "For God's sake, if you call me Mr. Jordan at dinner, I'll lose it."

"Who said I'm going to dinner?" I asked meekly. This was weird, right? What was with the sudden interest in treating me? He'd never invited me to dinner before...

Bryce waved off the tailor who had finished his marking of the pants and stepped off the little pedestal, heading directly toward me. The middle-aged man hurried to collect his things and headed out of the office more quickly than I anticipated he was capable of. "Bailey, please. You've done so much for me. Let me do this for you." He stopped in front of me, so close that the toes of our shoes were nearly brushing.

I had to crane my neck back to look up into those gray eyes and it almost knocked the breath right out of me. I had never seen his gaze so soft, so pleading. He genuinely wanted this, though... I still didn't understand why. "I mean... I guess if you're sure..."

"I'm sure, Ms. Travis," Bryce almost whispered. My heart thudded against my ribs as his hand reached up and tucked a lock of my curly auburn hair behind my ear. I could've sworn I felt his knuckles graze my cheek, but I was also pretty sure that the last twenty minutes had been some sort of fever dream. "Please."

"Oh... okay..." I stammered. "I guess we can do that."

Bryce chuckled. "Don't sound so convinced."

"I'm just... I guess I still don't understand why. I'm sure you have a model or actress you could take out tonight. I thought Milania was in town..."

Bryce just shook his head, his gray eyes still staring their way into my soul. "I don't want to have dinner with Milania. I want to have dinner with you."

I let out a nervous laugh. "I guess if you're sure..."

"Very sure," Bryce stated. "Are you sure you can miss the Bachelor for me?"

"I suppose I can watch it online later," I retorted with a smirk of my own.

Bryce's laugh was so low it was nearly silent, but it shook his chest. "I promise I'll make it worthwhile." His promise was low, barely audible and it sent a chill of excitement through my bones. If this was what women that Bryce set his sights on went through, I completely understood why they fell at his feet. "Shall I send a car? Around... seven?"

"We could just leave from here..."

Bryce's head slowly waved from side to side. "No. I want you to go home and put on one of those dresses you swore would be good enough. That way I can show you with certainty that nothing in your closet comes close to doing you justice."

Was he drunk? He had to be. There was no way this was happening with him sober.

I cleared my throat and took a step back. "Is... this... is this some kind of joke?" I asked, suddenly feeling like the unpopular high school girl in some teen movie. "Why are you suddenly interested in how I dress or... taking me to dinner... or... me at all, really... You've never cared before."

Bryce's face scrunched up as if my words had caused him pain. "That's not true at all, Bailey. I've... I've always cared about you. You're... you're one of my closest friends..."

"You pay me. I don't think that's considered friendship."

Now, by the look in his eyes, it seemed I really had hurt him. He took a step back and his usually tall, confident shoulders slipped a bit. "I, um... I guess it seems I've done a worse job appreciating your place in my life than I've realized."

"Mr... Bryce, I didn't mean to be insulting..."

"No, it's fine. I realized a long time ago that I wasn't a very... personable man unless I had some... reason to be..." By his tone, I could tell that he really meant "Unless I was trying to sleep with you" but I didn't say anything. He took a deep breath, and then straightened his posture, his confidence returning as if it had never slipped at all. "Well, then I suppose it's even more imperative that you join me this evening. It seems as I have a lot of work to do."

"Bryce..."

He gave his head a wave. "No. Tonight. Seven. I'll take care of the reservations myself."

"If you're sure..."

"I've never been more sure, Bailey. Please. Allow me to show you what you've... always meant to me."

His wording tripped me up a bit. It almost sounded as if... no. No. There was no way this gorgeous hunk of a man had any more interest in plain jane me than as a friend, or his assistant. I wasn't about to let my brain run wild with this one.

"Alright. Seven it is then."

Bryce's grin was almost blinding. "Fantastic. It'll be a night to remember, I promise."

I didn't respond, just gave him a professional nod and tucked my notebook back to my chest before all but running back for my office.

A night to remember indeed...