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  Frosty Relations

  Copyright © 2014 by Tara Quan

  ISBN: 978-1-61333-764-6

  Cover art by Mina Carter

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

  Look for us online at:

  www.decadentpublishing.com

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  By

  Tara Quan

  ~Dedication~

  To everyone who’s had to transcribe a dictation.

  Chapter One

  Flexing her tired feet under the old wooden desk, Mina Mao stared at the image of a ten-foot-tall ice sculpture of Godzilla situated in the center of the World War II Memorial. In honor of tomorrow, the monster sported a Santa hat and held a Christmas tree between his two claws like a cigar. The Washington Herald’s headline read: “The Ice Maestro Wishes D.C. a Happy Holiday!”

  Stifling a very unladylike laugh, she peered over the top of her computer screen to make sure no one stood in her office doorway. As the person in charge of monitoring everyone’s Internet usage, she didn’t want to set a bad example. But she’d been called in to Frost and Sons, LLP at 5:00 a.m. on Christmas Eve because of a stupid server glitch, and the problem hadn’t resolved itself until half-past eight. By then, the law firm’s staff had filtered in, forcing her to spend the next four hours addressing one computer crisis after another.

  A combination of her Asian ethnicity and early-twenties age bracket somehow landed her the role of de facto tech troubleshooter despite her fresh-off-the-press bachelors in psychology, her official position in Human Resources, and her relevant experience being limited to planning LAN parties. Thank goodness, most problems here centered on jammed Escape keys, dislodged power and monitor cords, unapproved installation of screensavers released in the late nineties, and continued confusion over why Word Perfect shortcuts had disastrous effects in Microsoft Office.

  Having snagged a spare moment to sit and enjoy a mug of tea, she couldn’t resist googling what the infamous Ice Maestro had been up to. Checking out his newest creations had become a Hump Day bright spot. Smack dab in the middle of every boring week, Wednesdays used to arrive in tandem with extreme fatigue and disheartening loneliness. This winter, they came with a hilarious photo she could set as her desktop background to cheer her through an inbox full of unread e-mails.

  Irreverent and audacious, the anonymous artist seemed to share her twisted and oftentimes politically incorrect sense of humor. Having just created the fifth masterpiece in his series of frozen art, D.C.’s most notorious vandal had gained a cult following and inspired an army of copycats. With #ICEMaestro trending on Twitter, these sculptures garnered more publicity than the president pardoning a Thanksgiving turkey.

  She had always gotten a kick out of the lengths people went through to explain away the supernatural, and the 24-hour cable news cycle seemed to make reporters take guesswork to a whole new level of creativity. Last night, Fox News had hypothesized the sculptures were part of a government conspiracy to distract the public from yet another economic downturn, while CNN suggested the possibility of extraterrestrial activity.

  She couldn’t help but admire the artist’s brass balls. While the younger subsection of the magical community laughed their butts off, the Mage’s Council must be having a conniption fit. Made up of old-school warlocks and witches who still believed in secrecy, animal sacrifice, and pentagrams drawn in blood, the traditional hocus-pocus crowd tended to get cagey whenever overt displays of magic hit the mainstream press. Whoever created these marvels—one of which was a life-sized Edward Snowden mooning the White House—skated on thin ice.

  Then again, the kind of raw, elemental energy it took to conjure these gigantic sculptures meant the perpetrator had enough power to give the Council a big middle finger. Reining him in might spawn more problems than letting the antics slide. After all, the most popular theory circling the blogosphere claimed these sculptures were part of a publicity stunt by Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. Not a single news outlet had, as yet, used the word “magic.”

  A knock startled her. Jumping in her seat, she glanced up to find Angela, a near-sighted but competent legal assistant in her mid-fifties, striding over to her desk.

  Mina breathed a sigh of relief as she minimized her Internet browser. “Hi there. Need something?”

  “I know it’s ten minutes before one, but the Comma Hitler moseyed home. Mind if this old gal gets a head start on Christmas?”

  Though a Human Resources assistant with less than three months on the payroll, Mina had somehow inherited authority over the office staff after the HR Manager threw her hands up and quit a week into the administrator’s five-week vacation. The fact that Mina made half the salary of the employees she supervised didn’t seem to bother Jackson Frost the Second, the sixty-five-year-old curmudgeon of a managing partner who couldn’t be bothered with running the place. “Your attorney turned over a new leaf when he got a girlfriend. Considering it’s the end of a billing quarter, you’d think he’d stay at least until three.”

  Angela worked for Leo Difuoco, a junior associate with borderline OCD attention to detail and minor time-management issues. Up until a month before, he’d spent the last week of every month cramming in billable hours, leaving long after sundown on weekends and holidays. Lately, he spread his efforts into regular fifty-hour workweeks and always rode the elevator to the lobby by five.

  “The lovebirds have a flight to the Virgin Islands in three hours. Word is, he bought a ring. If you don’t need me, I’d rather spend more time with the grandkids.”

  Since the rumor mill tended to embellish, Mina didn’t give this piece of gossip much credence. What twenty-something in her right mind would want that kind of commitment? Cat Gato, the elder sister of Mina’s close friend and Leo’s special someone, was one of the most levelheaded witches on the planet. “Of course you can go. It’s Christmas Eve. I’m surprised he managed to bribe you into n
ot taking the day off.”

  Angela beamed. “This is his first vacation in three years. I couldn’t risk the poor boy canceling because he needed to get his numbers up.”

  The firm had a simple rule regarding days off. The attorneys could skedaddle whenever they liked, as long as they earned the required amount of money each quarter. This policy applied to maternity leave, which might explain why only one out of several dozen associates was female. Since the consequence for not hitting their target included a pay cut then probation, followed by termination, some underperforming lawyers dragged their butts in even while running high fevers and taking vomit breaks. She’d be more sympathetic if most didn’t goof off during the first three weeks of every month.

  Curious, she pulled up the accounting module and groaned when she read the current tally. “Please tell me mini-Frost already left.”

  “No such luck.” Angela looked over her shoulder. “The invoices I turned in put Leo’s billings above his by a hair, so the Space Cadet is on a warpath. He’s marching down the hallway as we speak. By the way, what possessed you to let Beth take his overflow work this week?”

  Mina furrowed her brows. “Why? She’s new, but I’ve heard she’s good.”

  Angela rolled her eyes. “That girl spends half her day on the phone and makes careless mistakes. If she wasn’t tall, blonde, and busty, she’d never have gotten through probation. With the testosterone crowd, all she needs to do is bend at the waist and elbow-squeeze her boobs whenever she drops off a document.”

  Sighing, Mina filed the information away and clung to a ray of hope. “Jack is young, male, and single. Maybe it’ll work on him, too?”

  Angela snorted. “He grew up with us as babysitters, and we call him the Space Cadet for a reason. Do you know what that brat cares about more than womanizing?”

  Mina shook her head.

  “Proper usage of spaces, periods, apostrophes, and commas.” Mina couldn’t help but notice Angela appeared gleeful over the imminent melodrama. Beth must have made an enemy at some point.

  Feeling a headache brewing, she massaged the almost non-existent bridge of her nose. “You should go home. Don’t let him charm you into transcribing his dictations.” Most junior associates preferred to type their own briefs, but Jack clung to the antiquated clerical step by claiming it maximized productivity. Having seen his two-fingered keyboard pecking, she agreed.

  “Don’t worry. We’ve got a minute or two. The vending machine always sidetracks him.” Leaning one hip on Mina’s desk, Angela handed her a red envelope. “I ran in to give you this. We pooled some money and got you a Christmas present.”

  With a smile, Mina took the item. Since her parents no longer welcomed her in their home, it didn’t hurt to learn she had a few new friends. “You all shouldn’t have.” She broke the seal, expecting to see a simple Hallmark card. When reality proved otherwise, she read the vellum invitation out loud. “Madame Eve invites you to a one-night stand. Your mystery date will meet you at the Castillo Capital Hotel at 7:00 p.m.” She frowned. The name of this service provider sounded oddly familiar.

  “You’re so mature, we forget sometimes you’re twenty-two. All the extra hours must be hell on your personal life.”

  She hated to look a gift horse in the mouth, but this sort of arrangement didn’t quite fit in her comfort zone. “I don’t know….”

  Angela waved her hand in the air, dismissing Mina’s as yet unarticulated protest. “It’s just a date. If the guy’s a loser, you have my permission to throw your drink at him. This gives you an excuse to play dress-up tonight.”

  The woman had a point. Mina couldn’t think of a downside to showing up. Besides, she might as well get a head start on her New Year’s resolution. She couldn’t very well get over her ever-present childhood crush without trying other guys on for size. “I guess there’s no harm.”

  The enthusiasm on Angela’s kind face steeled Mina’s resolve. She pulled her shoulders back. The time had come to stop acting like a sheltered, awkward girl and embrace the twenty-first century. If baby boomers could hook-up using eHarmony, she could, at the very least, accept a one-night stand as a holiday present. “All right. I’ll give it a shot. Thanks!”

  Walking out, Angela turned to give her a quick good-bye wave. “Merry Christmas, young lady. And welcome to our crazy family.”

  Slipping the invitation into her purse, Mina went over her mental to-do list. She needed to go home and change. Her holiday-themed getup had seemed fitting this morning, and she’d won quite a few giggles from the staff. But showing up in dark-green pants, a frumpy white button-down, and a red sweater vest would doom this date before she even got a word in. On top of that, she had plastic snowflake earrings dangling down the sides of her face and a Santa hat on her head.

  Fingering her disheveled ponytail, she decided to take advantage of the early release to visit a salon. Her waist-length hair allowed her to go months between cuts, but she hadn’t set foot in a beauty parlor for over half a year. A scalp massage should get her over the winter doldrums and set the right mood for the evening.

  She picked up the phone to beg her cousin for a last-minute appointment when stomping footsteps alerted her to a possible change of plans. Two seconds later, an irate twenty-seven year-old man-child stormed into her office.

  Her heart skipped a beat, as it did every time they crossed paths. Jackson Frost the Third had paired a charcoal-gray suit with a black French-cuffed shirt and silver tie. Diamonds and onyx twinkled from the platinum pin on his chest and the cufflinks at his wrists, both of which matched his black-faced, paper-thin Omega. His manners might be deplorable, but she couldn’t find fault with his dress sense.

  Wispy strands of silvery hair framed his bony face. Composed of sharp angles and planes, with thin lips and high slanting cheekbones, his features were too harsh to be handsome. Yet she’d seen countless women fall at his feet. Though she hated to admit it, if he paid her the slightest attention, he’d get the same result from her.

  He opened his mouth, shattering his Prince Charming image into a million shards. “When were you going to tell me no one’s coming to work tomorrow?”

  In most other offices, it wouldn’t have been necessary, since Christmas numbered among the ten official Federal holidays. Here, the overtime culture made the concept somewhat fluid. Having known Jack Frost since she’d worn diapers, his tantrums didn’t scare her. Her family had served his in some capacity or the other for over three generations. Although Frost, Senior never openly practiced magic, he’d employed Mina’s father as a familiar for three decades. As a result, she’d grown up next to their mansion in the comfortable caretaker’s house.

  Five years younger than the heir apparent, she’d worshiped Jack throughout her childhood and teens. Both their fathers had planned to make her his familiar when she grew up. But before leaving for college, Jack had washed his hands of magic, citing nonexistent powers as his reason.

  As one of the few people who’d recognized this assertion to be an outrageous lie, she’d been confused and heartbroken. In hindsight, she thanked fate for his decision. He might not know it, but he’d given her the opportunity to live a normal life—to go to college and forge her own path. Had Jack not rebelled, her traditional bàba and māma would never have allowed her to break the mold, making her profession a consequence of birth rather than choice.

  But since a psych degree meant next to nothing in America’s anemic employment market, she’d ended up working for the Frost scion anyway. The lanky boy who’d rejected her in their youth had grown into the six-foot-tall, buff man scowling at her. “Well, Miss Mouse? You’re the one who screwed me over, and you need to fix it. Get a secretary to come in tomorrow.”

  The nickname had stopped being cute when she’d turned six. It wasn’t her fault her familiar form had been a black kitten with a white face and paws, or that her māma had adorned her pigtails in red ribbons for the majority of her childhood. The two factors combined to lend her a vague
resemblance to a popular cartoon interpretation of mice. Since she hadn’t shape-shifted or braided her hair in over a decade, the moniker no longer applied. He continued to use it for the sole purpose of annoying her.

  Meeting his gray gaze, she lifted a challenging eyebrow. “If you somehow missed the tinsel in the lobby—tomorrow’s Christmas. I said no to your request last week. Check your inbox.”

  His arms crossed, he glared at her. “You know I auto-delete HR e-mails. If it’s important, you can move your skinny butt ten feet down the hall and tell me in person. I shouldn’t have to hear this third hand from some crybaby new hire.”

  A vein pulsed on her forehead. “Your Outlook filters are not my problem.”

  He marched around her desk, planted his palms on her armrest, and bent down. With less than six inches separating them, it took significant effort not to flinch. He was much bigger than her, more so now that he’d piled muscles onto those broad shoulders and chest. But the physical intimidation distracted her far less than the scent of minty aftershave and Thierry Mugler’s Angel.

  Focusing on the silver flecks in his eyes, she forced herself not to look away or lean forward. He needed to learn neither intimidation nor attractiveness would get him any leeway with her. She might still have a slight crush on him, but she’d sooner walk over burning coals than let it show. Falling back on her very brief HR training, she muttered, “Please get out of my personal space. It’s very unprofessional.”

  After trying to out-stare her for another ten seconds, he switched tactics. Rising to plop down on the empty chair opposite her seat, he targeted her with his best puppy-dog eyes. “I thought we were friends. How could you leave me high and dry at the end of a quarter?”

  The man had been born a charmer. At its regular volume, his voice’s low, smooth timbre could make any woman’s blood pressure rise. In her more poetic, love-struck youth, she’d described his baritone as amber smoke layered over ice. At this particular moment, she’d call it a shot of whiskey on the rocks. It burned going down and left a nasty aftertaste.