in the conversation, his Japanese flawless, he didn’t so much as acknowledge her.
Holly indulged in a tiny sigh. Well, love at first sight on her part or not, Connor Knight was oblivious. Newly divorced from his socialite wife when Holly had started working for him, he’d looked right through her, and every other woman who’d crossed his path since, as if she didn’t exist. She was a highly dependable machine to him, period.
Confident the call with Mr. Tanaka would tie him up for some time, she made one last check through the details for the staff and children’s Christmas parties. This year she’d excelled herself. The cafeteria, transformed into a fairy grotto, looked stunning, and at six-thirty Connor would be playing Santa Claus.
A wry smile played around Holly’s lips as she eyed the glaring red Santa suit that hung on the antique brass hat stand in the corner. Mr. Knight, Sr. had insisted Connor play Santa this year, claiming his arthritic knee made it difficult for him to attend to the task, and saying how important it was someone from the family took on the role. Oh, Connor had argued against it, but once his father made up his mind there was no denying it—especially not from his youngest son.
It was probably the only time she’d witnessed her boss at a total disadvantage.
“Hell.” A deep voice from behind made her spin around in her chair. “He doesn’t really expect me to wear that, does he?”
“I think you’ll make a wonderful Santa, Mr. Knight.”
The disgust on his face was self-evident. He thrust a dicta-tape at her together with a clutch of papers. “Transcribe this for me straight away. Oh, and before you do, check the boardroom is free and tell the team we need to meet in half an hour.”
“Trouble?” Holly enquired, mentally shifting his appointments to free him up for the rest of the morning. It had to be serious if the whole legal team was being called in.
“Nothing we can’t handle. Timing’s a bit of a blow, though.” He cast a baleful glance at the Santa suit, draped limply on the hanger. “I don’t suppose…”
“He’s not going to let you get out of it.” She shook her head sympathetically.
“No, he won’t.” Connor huffed out a breath and pushed a hand through his immaculately cut and styled hair, sending several strands into unaccustomed disarray.
Holly stifled another smile. This whole Santa thing had sent the cool, calm and sophisticated Connor Knight for a loop, and this from a man she’d seen face down battalions of international lawyers over land and property deals.
She’d never have dreamed that the prospect of a steady procession of children queuing to take their turn seated on his knee would elicit such a nervous response. Still, who was she to ponder? Children made her nervous, too, and, unlike so many of her peers, Holly had put her biological clock firmly on hold. At twenty-six the rest of her life stretched long and lonely ahead of her. There’d be no kids in her future, at least not until she had some answers about her past.
She hated this time of year. All the fun and gaiety of the festivities served to remind her of everything she didn’t have—had never had. Knowing she’d ensured everyone else’s fun tonight would have to be sufficient to buoy her through the harrowing, bleak emptiness of the holiday break until she could bury herself back in work.
Holly sighed again, and bent to the task at hand. Regretting her decision was not a possibility. Maybe she’d grow old in this chair, or one just like it in another office in another city, but she’d be the best executive PA on the planet. That would have to be enough.
Shrieks of laughter echoed around the room as the clown she’d hired made a fool of himself yet again. Holly took a quick look at her watch. Five minutes until Santa time. He should be here by now. Maybe he was having trouble with the suit.
She turned to her assistant, Janet, a quiet young woman not long out of business college but already showing every sign of making a great PA herself in time.
“If I’m not back in five minutes with Mr. Knight, give the clown the nod to carry on a little longer, will you?”
“Is there anything else I can do to help?”
“No, I’m sure we’ll be fine. Santa probably got a phone call.”
In the elevator Holly mentally ticked off the order of the evening, everything had to run like clockwork. Irritation drummed at the back of her mind. As much as she sympathised with Connor’s reluctance to play Santa tonight, he had an obligation to the kids. An obligation he had no business putting off. If he’d bailed on those excited children downstairs she’d be giving him a piece of her mind, boss or not.
She covered the distance from the elevator bank to his corner office in record time and knocked sharply before pushing through the doors. The head of anger she’d built up propelled her into his office with a flurry. But her words stalled in her throat, and she halted midstride.
Connor Knight stood, half-dressed, in the middle of his office. The garish red trousers of his suit hung loosely on his hips, threatening to drop lower if he so much as moved a muscle.
Holly dragged her eyes upwards, her throat as dry as the Sahara, and a deep-seated throb pulsed through her body. Lord have mercy, she thought as her gaze swept across the disturbingly bare tanned expanse of his chest, to the powerful width of his shoulders above it and to the strong column of his neck. It was amazing what Armani could hide, she thought as she forced herself to look him in the eye, hoping the surge of energy that rocketed with heated awareness through her wasn’t apparent on her face. If her internal temperature was anything to go by, she should be glowing like a beacon.
She took a steadying breath. What was she here for again? Oh, yes, that’s right. Santa.
“Five minutes, Mr. Knight.”
“Yeah, I know. Damn suit’s too big. Help me stuff some cushions in here. I’m sure the kids of today still expect a bit of meat on their Santas.”
“I imagine so,” she agreed, and swept up an armful of cushions from the sofa in his office. “Will these do?” she asked.
“As good as anything. Here,” Connor slid his hands behind the band of the trousers and held them away from his waist. “You stuff, I’ll hold.”
He had to be joking. Holly hesitated and swallowed against the constriction in her throat.
“What are you waiting for?” He shot her a glance, a tiny frown pulling his dark brows together briefly, his impatience clear.
Of course he had no idea of his effect on her. To him she wasn’t a woman with needs and desires. She was just his PA. Besides, as his PA, why wouldn’t she be called upon to stuff cushions in her boss’s trousers?
“I suppose this is what you meant in my job description, when you said ‘and other duties as required from time to time.’” Keep it light she told herself. Just keep it light.
Surprise skated over his features at her words. Holly inwardly groaned. Why on earth had she said that?
His eyes suddenly crinkled at the edges and he laughed—a rusty sound, as if he didn’t do it often enough. “Yeah, something like that. Although, I don’t think HR had this scenario in mind.”
Holly returned a nervous smile and forced herself forward. Warmth radiated from his bare torso, or was that just the flush of heat in her cheeks? She fought to quell the tremor that threatened to vibrate through her and, with a stern silent warning to herself not to look down, she carefully eased the first cushion between his ridged abdomen and the red satin.
“It’s okay, Holly. I won’t bite.”
Oh, great. Now he was laughing at her. Fine, she’d show him she wasn’t scared. She shoved in the next cushion with more haste than finesse, her fingers accidentally grazing against the fine row of dark hair that feathered from his belly button and down. She heard the hitch in his breathing as she touched him and snatched her hand back