Her Secret Santa

Chapter Four

ZADE

“ H ow much time are we going to waste on this?” I slam the folder in my hand down on the glossy table, causing several of my department heads to jump in their seats. “We have actual items on the agenda to discuss.”

The room goes quiet as my executives turn to look at me. The surprise on some of their faces only makes my frustration flare brighter. I’ve kept no secrets about what budgets are going to be used for, so I don’t understand why most of them have brought proposals for holiday parties and charity donations to this meeting.

“These items are also on the agenda, Zade,” Pax reminds me firmly, arching a brow at me.

At the head of the table, I can look down at the line of my employees while I lean back in my chair. These people are supposed to be top of their departments, but they apparently can’t read the emails I sent out regarding all of this. You’d think that people who work for a company in mergers and investments would know how to organize their priorities, but it seems like that’s asking a lot.

“Let’s cross them all off at once,” I say, ignoring the snarky looks that are sent my way. “I’ve already agreed to one holiday party. Company wide. Cash bar, live music, speeches from our investors. I’m not going to allow every department to have their own holiday party. It’s absurd.”

Plenty of complaints sit in my inbox about scheduling this meeting the day before Thanksgiving, but now everyone’s displeasure is written clearly across their faces.

I don’t get what the big deal is, really. I’ve spent every holiday I can remember either working or at school, unless they fell on a weekend. Holidays are just days, they’re only given any importance so someone can sell something. In fact, they make me a lot of money, so why the hell would I let the company grind to a halt just so that people can spend time with their families? They have plenty of time to do that as is.

I’ve kept my mouth shut about the time they spend on the clock putting up a fucking tree in the staff room and decorating their desks with lights and trinkets. They should be grateful for what they’re already getting.

Every sour face and pursed lip grates my nerves, but no one is brave enough to speak up.

“Your father always hosted a company party and a party for each department. Everyone always got a Christmas bonus,” Pax argues. “It’s been tradition for over two decades.”

Except one, apparently. I usually travel around this time of year and leave all the holiday bullshit to my uncle to handle. I’m starting to regret sticking around this time.

“That’s changing,” I say sharply, daring him to disagree. “I’m in charge now, and I’m instilling new traditions. We’re doing one party, and the money we save is reinvested in the business. I’m not even cutting management bonuses entirely. You’re still getting half of what you usually would.”

I glance around the table—purposefully skipping over Landon—making eye contact with each of my department heads. Landon’s smugness radiates off him, and I have no interest in seeing his smarmy face right now. He’s probably thrilled that I’m pissing everyone off. It’ll make for great break room talk, I’m sure.

“Zaiden,” the devil himself says.

“Yes, Landon?” I grind out.

“I understand that you’re worried about profit margins, but don’t you think this is a bit extreme?” he challenges, blue eyes glinting with triumph. “We should give back to the employees who worked hard to help keep things stable during your transition into CEO.”

Oh, this slimy bastard, trying to get on everyone’s good sides. He couldn’t care less about Christmas, and his shitty acting has never fooled me. If it was up to him, he’d cancel the holidays altogether and triple his own salary. Greedy fuck.

A collective murmur passes through the room, everyone nodding as if in agreement. They’re not even trying to be subtle about it.

“I understand that you don’t see the big picture, Landon. My employees don’t need anymore useless potlucks or elephant gifts to do their jobs, and I don’t need to listen to you whine.”

Landon doesn’t flinch, even though several of the other executives shift uneasily in their seats.

“All I’m saying is that getting rid of holiday parties and Christmas bonuses isn’t a good look,” he says, shrugging casually. “You completely stripped the budget of charity donations, too. Those are some pretty big tax write offs you’re throwing out.”

He smirks, his lip curling just enough for me to see. He can try to make me look like a fool all he wants, but I won’t waste my time explaining my business decisions to him. If he can’t understand my reasoning, maybe he should stop gunning for my position.

“Thank you for your concern,” I bite out. “I can assure you, I’ve taken that into account and redistributed funds to make up for that. And as I already said, everyone here is still getting half of their usual bonus. I assure you, I could find other uses for the money, if you’d like to continue pushing your own agenda.”

Frustration mounts on my uncle’s features, his nostrils flaring wide as he tries to steady himself.

“Thank you for your input, Landon,” he says before Landon can offer any more comments . “We're unfortunately out of time here, so I'll have to adjourn this meeting.”

Thank fucking Christ .

I don't think I could have survived another minute of this bullshit.

“My decision stands,” I say as I stand and button my Dormeuil suit jacket. “If anyone has concerns, you're welcome to email me.”

None of them have the guts to argue with me personally, not even Landon, unless he has Pax at his back. My uncle will probably have words with me later, but I'm not budging. I meant what I said, and I don't have time to fuck around about festivities.

The boardroom empties quickly, everyone funneling out to head straight back home. I really don't see why today needs to be a half day for anyone, but my uncle would hear none of it when I insisted on a full work day.

I take a moment to gather myself before marching out of the room as well, Pax hot on my heels.

“You have the PR meeting next, Zade.”

I'd be lying if I said the thought of blowing it off hadn't crossed my mind. I shove a hand through my dark hair, annoyed and wanting nothing more than to go the hell home.

“I'm headed there now, or would you like to walk me to class yourself?”

Getting snippy with my uncle is something I don’t like to do, but I'm at wit’s end here.

“That attitude won't get you far,” he warns.

“Got me where I am today. Maybe my employees could use some attitude, too, instead of being lazy little shits. I mean, how can they expect me to take their holiday parties seriously? We're all adults, and I'm paying them to work, so I expect them to do their fucking jobs!”

We reach the door just as I finish my rant, but it swings open before I can lay a hand on the knob. Pax nods to the woman standing in the doorway, side-eying me like he knows something I don’t.

Her lips are coated in red lipstick and pursed as she glances over me, serious yet unimpressed. The heavy makeup around her eyes doesn’t hide the wrinkles cropping up there. Her black hair is back in a slick bun, and she's dressed in a tidy skirt suit. She doesn’t look like much, but I can tell there’s some steel in her spine.

I refuse to look away when she holds her hand out.

“Mr. Hawthorne, I presume?” She has a firm handshake, authoritative. “I'm Gabriela Rockwell. I'll be your new PR manager, starting today. Please, come in.”

My hackles rise at being welcomed into an office in a building that I fucking own, but I step in nonetheless.

“Gabriela, look.” I glance around the office, annoyed to see she rearranged the fucking furniture from the standard way I keep all empty offices. She even brought in a potted plant and a personalized coffee mug. Sure, she’s a consultant, not an employee, but seeing her make the space so obviously her own rubs me the wrong way. “It's kind of you to have come out on my uncle’s request, but you're really not needed. Let’s wrap this up now and get back to more important things.”

She ignores me and takes a seat in the leather chair, settling herself before even looking at me again. Smiling kindly, she offers Pax a seat, gesturing to a chair on the other side of her desk. Any other day, I might be amused by this, but today I'm just fucking annoyed. I want for her to say something, but she just looks me over like she's assessing me, pushing her glasses down as if trying to decide whether I'm worth her time.

“I give you about a month,” she says, bluntly.

I raise a brow in bored disdain. “Excuse me?”

“You've become a modern day Scrooge.” Her voice is dry and business-like. “Your image is in tatters, you're running your stocks into the ground, and you're acting like a selfish, spoiled child.”

The audacity ! One look at my uncle and it’s easy to see he’s eating this up. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.

“You can either step up, or I won't be surprised to see you removed from Hawthorne Enterprises entirely.”

“ Removed ?” The nerve of this woman. “I'm the CEO. I own the fucking company. I don't get removed .”

Landon would probably cream his pants just at the suggestion. He's always been hungry for my position. And the only way he’ll get it is over my dead body.

“You do when you tank your entire business,” Gabriela rebuts smoothly.

I roll my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest. She just keeps her bland, steady gaze on me, waiting patiently. Well if she’s so smart, what will she say when I break it all down for her?

“Hawthorne Enterprises is doing fine . We've made record profits, and our holiday season projections are through the roof. You have no idea what you’re talking about. Anything in the news about my personal life has jack shit to do with our stocks, and the board, as well as our investors should be smart enough to understand that.”

She blinks slowly and takes a breath as if she’s about to talk to a child. Which, clearly, I’m not.

“You'll start by reinstating the holiday parties,” she tells me, ignoring my frustrated scoff. “Christmas bonuses, too. You'll also be adding donations back into your budgets. I'll provide a list of appropriate charities, things that will tug at people's heartstrings. You need to clean up your image from the ground up.”

Good fucking God, what is she on? And where the hell can I get some? You’d have to be high as a kite to make these suggestions.

“For fuck’s sake, enough about the parties and the bonuses! These people are my employees, not my friends. I'm not doling out presents like I'm Santa.”

A pleased glint shines in her eyes.

“What an excellent comparison,” she says, sounding almost like my mother—detached and vaguely amused. “You'll also be taking over the role of Santa at the Hawthorne Mall for the entirety of the holiday season.”

I laugh incredulously, glancing down and expecting to see my uncle doing the same. Instead, the two of them are smiling politely at each other, clearly in fucking cahoots. My uncle looks up to meet my eyes, utterly serious.

“I’ve shifted the majority of your duties elsewhere to ensure your schedule is free,” Pax says.

Absolute horror rockets through me at the very thought.

Me? Playing Santa ? I don’t want little smelly, dirty brats sitting on my lap, much less close enough to get their snot on me. This is the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard, and I work with Landon . I shake my head back and forth, struggling to find words to express how very much I will not be doing that, but she continues talking.

“You will be Santa from Black Friday through Christmas, in secret, obviously. It would be counterproductive to flood the place with media. All that hubbub will just chase families elsewhere to go see Santa, and frankly, I don't believe you're capable of staying calm in front of that many reporters,” she says, raking her gaze over me as I stand there in shock.

She doesn't sound like my mother anymore, but she sure sounds like a real parental figure. My mother is a somewhat vacant socialite who turned into a shell of a person when my father died. She was an acceptable parent, but she’s never had any interest in the business side of things. We don’t talk much these days, but I make sure she has money in her account.

It's been a long time since anyone but Pax has told me I'm going to do something, and Gabriela isn’t trying to be polite and diplomatic about it.

I may have misjudged her. I may be really, really fucked.

“You will be friendly to the kind children of New York,” she says briskly. “You will smile, and you will ask them what they want for Christmas, and you will promise they'll get it, and you'll take a million pictures. And you will not complain.”

“This is absurd,” I finally manage. “I—this is—I have a company to run, Ms. Rockwell. I don't have time to play dress up.”

She arches a brow at me, entirely unamused, and rests her hands over the papers on the table before her.

“Too bad,” she says, my uncle looking positively radiant. “You will do this, Zade, or you won't have a company to run. Let's face it, short of finding the perfect woman and making a wholesome family image for yourself, this is your best bet. I don't care who you are as a person, but Hawthorne Enterprises is a stand-up conglomerate that deserves better than a drunk playboy causing problems in the media.”

If I wasn't so pissed, I'd be impressed. Absolutely no one speaks to me this way, and she's doing it without so much as a flinch. As it is, I'm seething with fury.

There’s no way she can make me do all this.

“On Christmas Day, there will be a large media announcement of your participation as Santa at the mall, followed by several sizable donations to children’s centers,” she continues, paying no attention to my rising anger. “If you can't handle doing this much, I'd suggest you save yourself the embarrassment and step down before you're voted out.”

“Like hell I can't handle it.”

It's dressing up and signing some papers. It's not like it's hard, it's just childish and ridiculous. I’ll prove to them, to everyone, that I can play their game, even better than they can. Voted out—no one would dare.

“Wonderful to hear,” she says, a bland, professional smile on her face. She slides a manila folder across the desk. “Sign on the dotted line.”

God, this is going to be a nightmare.