The Twelve Dates of Christmas

She stepped inside. As the doors closed, she waved to Olivia. “Thanks again for inviting me.”

Tucker and Olivia waved back, looking like the perfect couple. “Thanks for coming.”

The doors met and the little car began its descent.

“So...your friend dumped you.”

“We’re both trying to find jobs that pay better than what we have so we can afford our rent. She was talking business with one of Tucker’s executives. I can’t fault her for that.”

“How long have you been in New York?”

“Three years.”

“That’s a long time to still be scraping by.”

“We were fine until Olivia left us.”

Even though she had a good excuse for her poverty, embarrassment rumbled through her. She might have been born into money, but she’d gone to the school of hard knocks. Paid her dues. Gotten her education in spite of her grief and confusion. Now all she wanted was a job.

Was that really so much to ask?

* * *

Ricky waited in silence as the elevator descended. From the tension crackling off Eloise Whatever-Her-Last-Name-Was, he could tell she wasn’t happy that he was taking her home. Actually, he could tell she wasn’t happy period. Her financial situation was abysmal. Her friend Olivia was living a great life. Her other friend had deserted her.

She had a lot of pride. Which he couldn’t argue. He had a bit of pride himself. But he wasn’t going to let a pretty single girl ride the subway alone after midnight. Especially not one who had made him laugh.

The elevator door opened and she sped out into the frosty cold night. He ambled behind her. When she reached the sidewalk, she stopped dramatically.

He wasn’t the only one who had called for his limo. Four long black cars sat in a cluster in front of the building. No way for her to pass. No way for her to hail a cab.

He paused behind her, slid his arm around her shoulders and pointed at the third one down. His fingers accidentally brushed the back of her neck, and the tips tingled at the feeling of her soft, soft skin.

He cleared his throat. “I’m number three. Just accept a ride.”

She straightened regally. “All right.”

When they reached his car, Norman, his driver, opened the door. She slid inside. He slid in beside her. A minute later, Norman’s door closed and the engine hummed to life.

“Wanna give me your address so I can tell the driver where to take you?”

She told him, then sat staring at her coat while he used the internal intercom system to inform Norman.

The next five minutes passed in silence. Finally, unable to bear her misery anymore, he said, “I really was as poor as you when I moved to the city. I don’t mind taking you home. This isn’t an imposition. It isn’t charity. It’s a happy coincidence that we were leaving at the same time. Please, stop feeling bad.”

To his surprise, she turned on him. “Feeling bad? I don’t feel bad! I’m mad. I’m sick of people pitying me when all I want is a decent job. I’m educated enough to get one, but no one seems to want me.”

“What’s your degree in?”

“Human resources.”

“Ouch. You know human resources functions can be folded into administration or accounting. And that’s exactly what happens in a recession.”

“I know. Lucky me.”

She had enough pride to fill an ocean. But she also had a weird sense of humor about it. Enough that he’d almost laughed again. Twice. In one night. Both times because of her.

“Now, don’t get snooty. Surely, there are other things you can do.”

“I’ve waitressed, and apparently a degree can also get you a lot of temporary secretarial work because right now I’m in a six-week gig at a law firm.”

“That’s something.”

She sighed tiredly. “Actually, it is. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I know others have it a lot worse.”

He was one of those people who had it worse than she did. But he didn’t share that—not even with people who almost made him laugh. She’d go from treating him normally to feeling sorry for him. And for once, just once, he wanted to be with somebody who didn’t feel sorry for him.

He glanced at the floor and was nearly struck blind by the glitter of her shoes. His gazed traveled up her trim legs to the black cape she wore. Her shiny gold dress peeked above the coat’s collar.

For a struggling woman, she dressed very well. Of course, her clothes could be old. Or she could have gotten them from a secondhand store.

But even if she’d gotten them from a thrift store, she’d known what to choose and how to wear it. Actually, if he thought about it, she had the look of every socialite he’d been introduced to in the past year.

Except she wasn’t one. She didn’t have any money.

“What Laura Beth and I really need is another roommate.”

He spared her a glance. “That shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

“Huh! We’ve tried. We never seem to pick someone who fits with us.”

He turned on the seat. “Really? Why?”

“The first girl we let in had a record we didn’t know about until her parole officer called.”

He chuckled, amazed that she’d done it again. So easily, so effortlessly, she could make him laugh. “I dated somebody like that once. Turned out abysmally.”

“Yeah, well, Judy took my coffeemaker when she left.”

“Ouch.”

“The references for the second one were faked.”

“You need Jason Jones.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s the search engine I created. Well, I came up with the idea. Elias Greene actually wrote the programs. It investigates people.”