Cinderella's Christmas Affair

She was making notes in a file folder. She didn’t glance up and I knew she was playing a game with me. I’d done the same thing a time or two when I’d been a capo. It made me feel like a cugine instead of the boss of bosses, which I’d essentially been. I didn’t like it.

“What’s up next, babe?” I asked.

“Mr. Mandetti, unless you want me to stop this whole exercise now, you will refrain from calling me babe.”

I still wasn’t used to being called by my real name. I’d been Il Re when I was alive. The King. Yeah, I had an ego and the attitude to carry off that name. “I don’t know your name.”

“Didiero. I’m one of the seraphim.”

“The what?”

“One of the highest angels of God.”

“Oh.” She made me feel stupid which wasn’t a feeling I liked. But she held all the cards and if I’d learned one thing from my time back on earth it was that I didn’t want to go to hell.

And I’d never admit this to anyone but I liked the feeling that came with doing something good. It was the first time I’d ever experienced it.

“Didi?” I asked.

“Are you talking to me?” She didn’t look up from the papers in front of her.

“Didiero is a mouthful.”

She glanced at me from under her lashes. This one would drive me crazy if I let her.

“So who’s next?” I asked.

“You still want to go in order?” she asked.

“Nah, give me that green one halfway down.” Maybe the middle of the pile would be easier. I wasn’t trusting her to pull out a couple. I’m sure she’d fixed it so I’d had to work hard on my first assignment.

She handed me the folder. I opened it up and groaned. CJ Terrence and Tad Randolph. “Aren’t there any couples who can do this on their own?”

“Sure, there are Mandetti, but they don’t need your help. There is one thing I should warn you about,” Didi said.

“Yeah?” I was leery. Why was she suddenly being all helpful?

“You won’t take the same human form each time.”

It was like she knew how to push my buttons. “Babe, get to the point.”

“That is my point, Mandetti.”

She disappeared and I felt my body dissolve. I found myself on the streets of Chicago. My kind of town. This assignment was looking up by the moment. I was in front of the Michigan Building on Michigan Ave. In the mirrored glass I saw an old lady and two sharp-looking guys.

Not bad. I could definitely handle being a young hip guy. Both of them were taller than I’d been. I walked toward the glass and noticed only the old lady was moving.

Madon’ that couldn’t be me, could it? I gave the reflection the finger. Christ, I was an old broad with a frumpy dress on. Didi was probably up in Heaven laughing. Just wait until I saw her again.

One

Of course the first man she’d had a crush on would be the only thing standing between her and her promotion. CJ Terrence smiled with a confidence she was far from feeling and shook Tad Randolph’s hand.

Ten years had passed since they’d last seen each other and she knew she’d changed a lot. She’d dyed her mousy brown hair a sassy auburn, she’d swapped her horn-rimmed glasses for aqua-colored contacts that masked her natural brown color. And the biggest thing of all, she’d lost twenty pounds.

But in that moment she felt like her former self—the chubby girl next door. She reached for the bridge of her nose to push up the glasses she’d always worn back then. Dropping her hand, she reminded herself that she’d changed.

She took a deep breath; assured herself that her physical changes were enough to keep Tad from recognizing her. Of course, she recognized him even though he’d put on at least twenty pounds. All of it solid muscle. He looked exactly how she’d expect the owner of a sporting goods company to look.

It was too bad he couldn’t be balding like other guys who were her age. Instead his blond hair was thick as ever and bleached by the sun. He looked too good and she wanted to run and hide.

“CJ Terrence,” she said introducing herself. She could only hope that maybe Tad wouldn’t be able to identify her as the girl he’d known as Cathy Jane in high school.

He took her proffered hand and shook it for the required three pumps. Shivers of awareness or maybe it was nerves shook her. His hand was bigger than hers, not surprising since she wasn’t a big girl—at five foot five inches tall she was average and Tad Randolph had grown into a giant since she’d last seen him.

Calluses ridged his palm and his skin against hers was rough and warm. She wondered how his hand would feel against her stomach. Tremors of sensual awareness pulsed through her body. He continued to watch her with that razor-sharp gaze of his. Had she given too much away?

“Ms. Terrence, where do you want these presentation boards?” CJ’s secretary, Rae-Anne King, asked.

CJ dropped Tad’s hand and glanced at her new temporary secretary. “Please excuse me.”

“It’s a pleasure meeting you, CJ,” Tad said.

“I’ve…got to set up,” CJ said. Yes she was the queen of intelligent conversation—not!

“Don’t let me keep you.”

Right. One minute in the man’s presence and she’d lost ten years worth of self-confidence. Confidence she’d earned by standing on her own and not depending on anyone else.

Tad nodded and walked to the coffee service that CJ had set up. Normally, her assistant would have handled it but this was her first day working with Rae-Anne. Her temp had proven to be a little inept around the office.

CJ motioned to the easel at the end of the long narrow conference room. Working quickly she set up her presentation and then glanced out the window.

It was a blustery day in early December. Chicago was gray and damp. Though the Christmas decorations along Michigan Avenue tried to instill a little cheer, they failed.

Failure was something CJ understood but she didn’t plan to let it rest on her shoulders today. She took a deep breath, muttered her mantra to herself and then turned to face the other people in the room.

Tad touched her shoulder; she started and dropped her cards. Damn. This wasn’t going to work. Six years of moving her way steadily up in the advertising world was suddenly in jeopardy.

He picked her cards up from the floor and held them out to her. Their hands brushed. His were large and tan. He wrapped his fingers around hers, which were cold. Rubbing his thumb across the back of her knuckles he warmed up more than her fingers.

“Cold hands?” he asked softly.

“Always,” she said. Her fingers were never warm even in summer.

“You know what they say about hands,” he said.

“Honestly, no.”