1 Chapter 1

Honestly, if I hear another song about sleigh bells, I’m going to lose it. Exactly who thought it would be a good idea to make candy-coated craptasticsongs glorifying a fat man who uses reindeer to bring ‘cheer’ to the planet? Isn’t that animal cruelty? And what’s worse, you had to endure these tunes day in and day out from Thanksgiving to New Year’s. They could’ve used this form of torture in the Inquisition.

I suppose it’s obvious that I’m not a fan of the holidays. I don’t understand the need to put oneself in debt for a year just to buy that perfect present for that special someone. Hogwash. Don’t people realize it’s all a scam?

All right, all right. The real reason I’m grumpy is because Nigel, that beautiful, selfish bastard of a human being, left me on Christmas morning two years ago. So any joy to the world I had left at the time, which was very little, is gone forever. I’m definitely not searching for it.

I gave him my heart, and he took it and walked out the door with its bleeding carcass while wearing the expensive leather jacket I’d bought him as a present for the holiday. Should’ve seen the signs, really. He’d been distant for weeks, and every time I suggested we have sex, he would say he was tired or turn on the television to watch the news. Who breaks up with their lover on Christmas morning, afteropening the presents? I guess he wanted to bleed all he could from the relationship before his final exit, the little fucktard.

The only thing he said to me as he shrugged on his Christmas gift and headed for the door was, “Sorry, John. It’s not you, it’s me. I’ve changed and you’re not what I need anymore. Been wanting to tell you for weeks, but I just didn’t know how. Love the jacket, by the way. You always gave the best gifts. I’ll miss that.”

Five years of my life, down the drain, and all he cared about were the ‘best gifts.’ So, yes, I’m bitter. Can you blame me?

* * * *

It’s Friday—New Year’s Eve. I’ve been at my desk since eight o’clock this morning, trying to finish up a PowerPoint presentation for a sales meeting at two in the afternoon. Half an hour to go.

“Sally, can you send me those graphics, please? The product comparison data.”

Sally works in the cubicle next to mine and is very reliable, usually. Unfortunately, it being New Year’s Eve, everyone is busy talking about the upcoming office party and what to wear—not really focused on work.

“Sally!” I call out, louder this time.

“Okay, okay. I’m right here. Keep your shirt on,” she answers. “I’ve saved them on the server in the Graphics folder. All yours.”

“Thanks, hon. Sorry I’m so grouchy, but the boss is really anxious about this meeting.”

“It’s all right, John. I understand. And it doesn’t help, I suppose, that this is last minute and on the last day of the frickin’ year,” she says, sympathetically.

“No, it really doesn’t,” I grouse.

Finding the files I need, I insert the data, do a final run through, and save the presentation. I call my boss, Mr. Stevens, and tell him, “It’s a go.” Then I hang up the phone. I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

“John, are you okay?” Sally asks, concerned at my seeming lack of composure.

“I’m fine, really. Just stressed, I guess. I’ll be okay in a minute.”

“Are you sure there isn’t anything else going on? New man, maybe? Playing hard to get?” Sally is ever hopeful.

“No, thanks,” I grumble. “I’ve told you before—I’m through with men and their antics. Can’t trust any of them, don’t see why I should.”

With a sad sigh, Sally tries again. “John, there are good men out there. You just need to open your heart to the possibility. They’re not all bastards like Nigel.” Whenever she says his name, the corners of her mouth turn down and her expression becomes disgusted. It warms my heart, actually, to know she cares enough to be angry at my ex, even after he’s been gone for two years.

“Don’t let him win. A new year starts tomorrow. Take a chance on something or someone for a change. It can only get better from here.”

“Sorry, love. I don’t believe it, and I’m not interested,” I reply in a tone meant to end the discussion.

“Well, are you at least coming to the office party tonight?” she cajoles. “Free booze, loose morals, business clients looking for a quick fuck? You haven’t given up on sex, have you?” She wiggles her eyebrows at me.