Secret Santa CEO: A Holiday Romance

[Samantha] My hand shakes as I read the pink piece of letter-sized paper for the third time. "We are sorry to inform you that due to cutbacks, your site will be downsized..." Downsized. A fancy way of saying, "You're Fired." It feels satisfying to crumple the paper in my fist, although it doesn't solve my problem. Because sitting on my desk is a stack of them. 276 more, one for all of us from shop clerks to cleaning staff. As a manager at G.G. Golden's flagship store, it is my responsibility to place these in the hands of every one of them. I guess I should be grateful that I still have a job, and will continue to have one for as long as it takes to decommission this store completely as the building transfers hands. It's two days before Thanksgiving. I'm supposed to be handing out coupons and holiday bonuses to help purchase turkeys. Not this year. "Merry Early Christmas! You have one month to find a new job! Good Luck! May the odds be in your favor!" Usually, I love my job. But today...today I hate this job, and myself a little bit as well. I know it isn't my fault, but I still feel like I let these people down. As their manager, it is my job to protect them. But there is no protecting a small town like Union City, from progress. Each one of these corporate love notes is signed with the same swirling handwriting, bold and brazen, taking up the bottom quarter of the page: Gideon Godfrey Golden, Esq. The golden heir of Golden Group. If I ever meet Mr. Gideon Godfrey Golden, I'll give him a piece of more than my mind. I'll shove my foot so far up his... "Hey Mom, are you done yet," Simon, my little angel, romps into my room, a large smile on his round face, his large chestnut curls bouncing. Chasing after him is Clarissa, my flustered assistant and sometimes babysitter. "Sorry Sam," Clarissa winces, pulling the strap of her canvas tote a bit higher on her shoulder. "He couldn't wait." Reaching down, I give my son a tight hug. "Oh, it's okay," I look back at the pink stack on the corner of my desk and sigh. "I'm done here for today anyway." "No you're not," Clarissa hands me a file, and I wince, remembering I still have another task to do today. "You still need to select this year's Santa. This is the next batch. Ted wanted me to remind you that whoever you pick needs to be available to start TOMORROW since we open Winter Land on Thanksgiving and..." "I know, I know," I take the folder and begin thumbing through it. It's a long list of names and photos, men both young and old. "Are the men from the shelter in here as well." "Yes," Clarissa nods as we enter the elevator together. Clarissa always knows exactly what I need. I'd be lost without her. The interviews are in the basement, but there is no way that Simon will be able to sit still for that long. His inability to sit still is one of his teacher’s biggest complaints. "I want to meet Santa,” Simon insists even though I know he stopped believing in him years ago. “We need to do better this year. The last Santa smelled like Vodka.” "Sorry, My Heart," I apologize as I release him from my hug. "Mama's got to work, and you'd have more fun with Clarissa at the park." "No, I wouldn't," he insists, frowning. “I’m seven, mama. I’m not a little kid anymore. I know how to behave. And you need my help.” I promise to make it up to him later with a special dinner and time for just the two of us, but his lip starts to quiver. Something else is bothering him. “Please don’t ask me to leave,” he begs, his large hazel eyes peeking up at me with so much trust. “I don't want to leave you." "Don't worry, it's only for a moment," I smile encouragingly. "You'll be back with me in..." "What if the grumpy man comes back to take me," Simon’s eyes widen as his body goes rigid. "He said they were going to take me away and make me live with those STRANGERS”. Stanley's lawyer came by the house last night to serve me with papers suing me for full custody of our son. After almost 5 years of forgetting Simon exists, suddenly Stanley is obsessed with "reclaiming his heir." I have tried so hard to keep my son out of this nasty business. I don't want him to ever know that his father didn't want him, that he abandoned us both and denied he was his. I don't want him to know how cruel his grandparents can be. No child should grow up feeling like garbage. I thought Simon was asleep when the lawyer came by and outlined his intentions. Apparently, I was wrong. Now my little boy is shaking like a leaf at the prospect of leaving my side. Clarissa's eyes open a little wider as she comes to the same conclusion. "I can keep him company,” She offers and Simon’s face lights up when she adds, “I can show him my new racecar app." Realizing that he is getting his way, my son grins up at Clarissa, his eyes shining, and mimes zipping his mouth closed. "I’ll be quieter than a mouse,”’ he swears, crossing his heart solemnly. Shaking my head, I'm distracted when I exit the elevator. BAM! I slam into the back of a tall man holding a large cup of black coffee. Or at least it was before it was pushed from his hand to land at his feet, splashing the two of us in a hot spray of brown. "I am so sorry," I say at the same time that he says "Oh s**t!" and simultaneously bend over and reach for the fallen cup. I reach the cup first, but he is only a few inches behind. As I stand, our heads collide, and cut him with my hair clip, which breaks in two, freeing my long auburn hair. "Oh God," I gasp, seeing the cut on his face. "You're bleeding let me..." My foot slips on the spilled coffee, he catches me. And I stare up into the most incredible blue eyes I've ever seen. Despite the layers of dirt and the scruffy remains of an ill-kept beard, he has the stunning face of a gentleman. "Hello," he smiles, his white even teeth glowing brightly in contrast to the grit in his hair and the stains on his shirt. "Are you okay?" Okay? I may never be okay again. "Um, sure," I try to smile as I rise to my feet. "I am so sorry for spilling your coffee," I open my purse, digging out a twenty. "Here, let me buy you a new one, and pay for cleaning your clothes and..." "No need," he shakes his head. "I was just here for an interview. But the person is late, I have a little time to straighten up first. Besides," He points to a table of complimentary store coffee for customers, "The coffee was free." He walks away, and my heart flutters. He could have taken my money and not said a thing, but instead, he chose honesty. A rare trait these days. It always seems like people are trying to take advantage of one another. "Mama," Simon walks forward reaching for my hand, and tugs. "He's perfect." "We don't know anything about him, Sweetie," I walk us to the stairs heading down into the basement level. Looking over my shoulder, I see the gentleman exiting the store to join a line of other hopefuls queued up outside of the back basement entrance. He must be one of the young homeless men from the shelter applying for the Santa job. "He's our perfect Santa," Simon nods sagely. For being almost 7, he sometimes reminds me of a wise old man. "Trust me, Mama. I'm a kid, I know these things." Bending down, I kiss his brow. "I do trust you, Simon. But things are a bit more complicated than that." "I don't understand why," he pouts. "He needs a job. We need a Santa." When we reach the basement landing, our hiring manager, Sandra, is standing by the door, ready to let the first man in. Just as I raise my hand to motion her to open the door, my phone rings. Looking down I see it is my ex. I press the hang-up button, but he calls back immediately. "I need to take this," I apologize to everyone, "I'm sorry, can this wait a few more minutes." With her hand on the brass handle of the door, Sandra sighs. "You're the boss," she says politely, although her tired eyes and slumped shoulders tell me she's ready to be done with her day. "I'll be quick, I promise," I rush back up the stairs, opening my phone as I make it back into the lobby. "What do you want," I bark into the phone before he gets a chance to speak. "I'm busy." "What the f**k do you think you're doing Sam," Stanley's voice rolls from my phone with his familiar aristocratic drawl. "Sign the papers now, and I'll be generous and let you see our son 4 times a year. You'll also get two weeks during the summer." Taking a deep breath, I struggle not to scream and throw the phone onto the ground. "How is that generous? You're trying to steal my son." "Our son," he corrects me. "And according to the law, I have just as much right to him as you. You've had him full-time for the last 5 years. You should be grateful. Now it is time he rejoins his true family." "I am his true family!" I hiss into the phone. "I'm his mother, goddamn it. You're just the asshole who walked out on us when he was still in diapers." "Language, Samantha," he scolds coldly. "You wouldn't want anyone to think you are an unfit mother. You're a poor single mom...My lawyers will have my son in my hands before the end of the year and there is nothing you can do to stop me." "Of course I can," I snap back. "And you're wrong. I'm..." Looking over at the line of men waiting for an interview, my eyes lock gazes with the gentleman from before. He lifts his hand to show me he has a new coffee, and smiles, giving me a small wave. "I'm married," I declare bravely. "And my husband is a finer man than you'll ever be." "Fine," Stanley's voice is curt. "I'll expect to see your 'husband' of yours this weekend." Ah, hell...What did I just do? If I don't show up with a husband by tomorrow night, my ex-will be able to accuse me of being a fraudulent liar --another thing to add to my growing list of faults. Mired in my thoughts, I don't notice I've moved forward until a warm hand touches my shoulder. "Bad news," the man with the coffee asks, concerned. "I...I'm fine I..." He needs a job. He needs a place to stay...he needs... Maybe Simon is right. "You're perfect," I smile holding out my hand. "I have a proposition for you.”