Frosty Relations Read online

  Folding her hands on her lap, she straightened her spine. “Oh, please. We both know there’s zero risk of your getting fired. You’re here because your best bud beat your billings high score and ditched your annual Aspen trip to go to the beach. Get over your abandonment issues and find a different way to keep yourself occupied.”

  He stuck out his lower lip, widened his eyes, and scrunched up his nose. That expression used to get him extra servings of ice cream from both his nanny and the chef. On a grown man, it looked so ridiculous, she struggled to stem a giggle, which might be the reaction he was gunning for. “How is putting a nice chunk of change in some destitute secretary’s pockets a bad thing? Where’s your Christmas spirit, Mini Mao? I need your help.”

  It would have been more difficult to resist his manipulation had he not been equating her with a dead Chinese dictator for the past several weeks. After Miss Mouse failed to stick, he’d thrown new variations of her name around the office at regular intervals, and his current favorite had managed to make some headway with the lawyer crowd. “I asked. No one volunteered. Go home, Frosty.”

  His eyes narrowed, the irises glinting like mercury. The temperature in her office dropped, the supernatural chill raising the hairs at the back of her neck. These physical manifestations of his power were why she’d called him a liar a decade ago. Elemental warlocks like the Frosts could only access their magic in its rawest state—conjuring fire, wind, water, and a whole host of other natural phenomena. For the most part, modern life stripped these abilities of utility, their potential to cause serious damage making any direct magical display risky and impractical. Familiars balanced them out by channeling the otherwise useless energy into more mundane cerebral tasks such as enchantments, illusion, telekinesis, teleportation, and foresight.

  Though more efficient in animal form, a non-elemental witch such as her could process a modicum of leaked magic when in close proximity with either of the two Frosts, with or without the formality of an official agreement. The degree of compatibility between parties varied, and their two families happened to have the most reciprocal energy profiles.

  Bàba once explained it as them being on opposed wavelengths, which created a rare and much sought-after synchrony among mages. She hadn’t noticed it as a child, her bond with the younger Frost so natural it seemed part of her. But after he left for college, her magic had dwindled. Of course, it had rekindled with a vengeance after she landed this job.

  Judging from Jack’s mood, which had been foul for the entire three months she’d worked here, convincing him to leave her office empty handed might be a challenge. “It’s nothing personal. Christmas is one of those pesky annual traditions when people care less about making money and more about being with family and friends.”

  He crossed his arms. “What good are you if you can’t even get people to work on holidays?”

  Well aware she lacked the necessary qualifications to run a firm this size, his comment hit a sore spot. It hurt, more so because the rebuke came from him.

  Taking a deep breath, she counted backwards from ten in Mandarin. “My job isn’t to make you happy. Since I don’t like cussing people out at work, get out.”

  He stared at her for a long moment before sighing and scratching his head. “No need to get your panties in a twist. How many curse words do you even know?”

  At this precise moment, she was tempted drop a few F-bombs and throw her stapler at his head. When the object in question lifted a millimeter into the air, she filled her lungs and tried to calm down. “I’m fine. Everything’s peachy. Do you mind going away now?”

  Instead of complying, he leaned back and lifted his feet onto the pile of folders on her desk. “I’m fucking sorry, all right? Can I at least make my argument? I practiced it and everything.”

  Chapter Two

  Mina stared at Jack’s surprisingly clean, stitched-leather soles, which she guessed cost him more than her month’s paycheck. Though mad and tired enough to throw him out, she hesitated. He hated apologizing more than anything. The words must have felt like sandpaper in his throat. After over a dozen years as his neighbor, she’d long since concluded the icy, aggravating façade hid a decent-enough core. He just didn’t seem to have a filter—at least not with her. “Fine. Go ahead, Counselor.”

  He grinned from ear to ear. This exact beatific expression had always made it impossible for her to hold a grudge. “If tomorrow’s off the table, I could use some help right now. You know the firm’s mutant version of Microsoft Word hates me.”

  She’d never understood how the same attorneys who snuck onto Twitter and Facebook every ten minutes couldn’t seem to wrap their minds around database management systems, auto-fill templates, macros, and formatting styles. “I assigned Beth to help you today. She should still be here.”

  He steepled his fingers. “Which brings me to my very solid case. The bimbo you gave my work to puts two spaces after every period.”

  Wincing at his language, she lifted one finger in a plea for silence before glancing at the door. With a shake of her head, it slammed shut. She motioned for him to continue.

  “Since she’s got nice make-up and a decent dye job, I decided to let that one recurring mistake slide.” He sounded so proud of his magnanimity, she struggled to keep a straight face.

  Nodding, she attempted to feign commiseration. “I’m guessing there’s more.”

  “I always say ‘comma’ before ‘and.’” His apparent outrage prompted her to put her hand over her mouth to hide the curving corners. “You can listen to my tapes yourself. Beth never puts them in”

  A huge proponent of Oxford commas, she could understand some of his pain. “I see. It’s a training point, and I can sit down with her next week to discuss it, if you’d like.”

  “I’m not finished.” He drummed the tips of his fingers against each other. “On account of her spray tan and mini-skirt, I tried to let the comma thing go. But then came the spelling mistakes, which, you know, wouldn’t be there if she’d right-clicked on the red squiggly lines. Even I can figure that out.”

  Placing her elbows on the desk, she leaned forward and cleared her throat. “If you could stop commenting on female body parts, it would do wonders for my peace of mind. I’m still the firm’s HR person.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “What do you think I am, an idiot? I haven’t directly mentioned a single one. My point is—I tried to give this chick allowances on account of her youth and…umm…other assets. Do you want to know what straw broke my back?”

  “Nope.”

  “She can’t add. There’s a calculator on her desk, another one on her computer, and we’re talking simple arithmetic, but none of her invoices come back correct. I don’t know how it’s even possible to screw up something like that.”

  She took a deep breath and inquired, “What did you do?”

  He turned his hands palms up, his face the picture of innocence. “I very politely pointed out all her careless mistakes and told her to get her act together. Guess how she reacted.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “Her face got all red, and she started the waterworks.”

  Picturing the amount of paperwork she had in store, she massaged her temples. “You made the poor girl cry?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Please. After all the ladies I’ve dumped, I’m a walking crocodile-tears detector. She thought some sniffles would make me all awkward and gooey, but I got over that phase in middle school. To conclude, the typist you gave me has done nothing but slow me down. I deserve additional help.”

  He had a decent case—for any other day of the year. “Where is Beth now?”

  “She hightailed it into the elevator after screaming, ‘You can shove the two weeks’ notice up your ass.’ By the way, isn’t it against company rules to leave without permission?”

  Where did he think they worked—a slave camp? She slumped in her chair. “Then you’re sh— out of luck. Everyone else is gone. You do remember today’s Christm
as Eve.”

  “Eve being the operative word. Today’s a normal workday.”

  Why did nobody ever read her e-mails? “If you’d bothered to come to the last staff meeting, you’d know the partners gave everyone an early release. I sent out a follow-up memo about it.” She tapped her wristwatch. “It’s after one, which was when everyone had permission to leave. Most people ran off before noon.”

  He scowled. “What did I say about you telling me the important stuff in person? This is all your fault. Call someone back in.”

  The papers on her desk vibrated. He always brought out the worst in her. “I most certainly will not. And how did this turn into my fault?”

  “You approved my secretary’s vacation request last week. I wouldn’t have gotten behind if some idiot hadn’t messed up my work.”

  There were times in the day when hitting her head on the desk seemed like an awesome idea. They often coincided with visits from a certain silver-eyed blond. “Courtney had three months of leave on the books because of your repeated guilt-tripping. No decent person would have refused. Can’t you get over losing to Leo this quarter and enjoy Christmas weekend?”

  He canted his head, wearing a fake-debonair smile that would have made George Clooney proud. “What’s with people and beaches? I don’t get it. Call in Leo’s girl—she knows what she’s doing. It won’t take long. All I need is help with one itsy-bitsy little filing.”

  Narrowing her eyes, she reached out with her mind and opened the door, a not-so-subtle hint. “Angela’s got her entire extended family heading over for dinner. I couldn’t drag her in if I wanted to.”

  “Then get me someone—anyone,” he pleaded in a low, husky voice meant to melt hearts. Too bad she’d seen him practice it on enough girls to develop complete immunity. “I’ll type the damn thing myself, but I need someone who can use the stupid accounting module.”

  She bared her teeth, not caring if the forced curving of lips approximated a smile. “Don’t be such a Grinch. If this really isn’t about your numbers, then you can send the bills out later. I refuse to call anyone back on Christmas Eve. Any other suggestions?”

  He remained quiet for five whole seconds, which suggested he might be giving her rhetorical question some serious thought. “You’re not doing anything this afternoon, are you?”

  When loose papers floated in the air, she didn’t bother keeping her errant telekinetic energy in check. Directing one sheet to hover against his jugular, she explained in her sweetest voice, “I’ll have you know, I’ve got a hot date tonight. I need to get my hair done.” Having wasted enough time, she logged off from the computer, grabbed her purse, and got up. With great difficulty, she managed to command all the hovering sheets back into neat piles.

  Still seated, he lifted his palms in a gesture of surrender. “No need to resort to lying. You should get rid of those split ends, but I call bullshit on the date. You always spend Christmas weekend with your parents.”

  Her hand jerked over the leather strap, the pain of rejection too new for her to suppress the physical reaction. The holidays reminded her of how much her mistake had cost. “People change in five years, and the date is real.” Or so she assumed. “Even if it weren’t, I wouldn’t spend the afternoon helping you win some stupid competition.”

  As she walked past him, he grabbed her wrist. The moment his fingers touched her skin, she froze. Very few people knew her magical specialty; he happened to be one of them. She was an empath, one powerful enough to sense emotion through touch. Since she believed in everyone’s right to privacy, she avoided skin-to-skin contact. He’d taken great caution thus far to do the same.

  His efforts had been unnecessary. She’d never been able to decipher Jack’s emotions, in large part because he didn’t seem to have a good handle on them himself. He felt—strongly, passionately, and intensely—but it was all jumbled together in an impressionist amalgamation he’d never bothered to tease apart. Since he couldn’t make heads or tails of his own feelings, she couldn’t interpret them without significant effort.

  Amidst the chaotic mesh of restlessness and boredom, she sensed something she couldn’t quite name. Beautiful in its complexity, a smoldering ember within his subconscious tempted her to reach into his mind—to tease apart the intricate weave of protectiveness and possessiveness to discover what he’d buried within.

  But because of her vulnerability when it came to this one man, she twisted her arm out of his grasp and took a step back. Focusing on the more immediate problem, she placed her hands on her hips. He was bursting with magic—she couldn’t find any other way to describe it. The immense influx of power that flowed into her the moment skin met skin sent her an inch into the air. “What the hell have you done? Trapping all that energy inside…. It isn’t safe.”

  This time, his crooked smile lacked its usual mask-like veneer. Swinging his legs, he vaulted to his feet. “Are you volunteering to help take the load off, or are you threatening to turn me in?”

  He marched forward. She stood her ground.

  “I’m not a mind reader. I don’t know what you’ve done. I don’t want to know.” Considering the fleeting contact sent frost down her spine, she’d rather not guess. Faced with how much he needed her, the offer fell from her lips. “I’ll stay….”

  The hopeful puppy-dog impression returned in a flash. “To invoice?”

  She wanted to grab his shoulders and shake him. “To make sure you don’t explode from all the pent-up mojo you’ve stockpiled. Why did you let it get this bad?”

  He patted her cheek, sending through another jolt and slamming her against an iceberg of garbled emotions. “You know the Winter Solstice does weird shit to elementals, and lots of weird planets came into alignment this year—the worst cosmic cluster-fuck in over a century, if daddy dearest is to be believed. It isn’t a big deal, and the effect will wear off soon. If you’re not going to work, then run along. Like you, I’ve got a hot date to prepare for.”

  He seemed so cool and calm. The man had an idiotic streak when it came to certain issues. Magic happened to be one of them. “You’re not listening.”

  He picked her up by the waist and removed her from his path. “I don’t when I’m not interested in what someone has to say,” he called over his shoulder. “Relax. I’ve got everything under control.”

  ***

  Jackson Frost the Third glared at the sleek, white-faced black cat seated by his keyboard. He should have known Mina would be in his office by the time he got back. She had stubbornness down to an art form.

  He pointed at the door. “Scat. I told you I don’t need this voodoo shit. Trust me, your hair is in bad shape and in no condition for this damn date. Be a good kitty and go to the salon.”

  He shouldn’t need to cajole. The woman had let herself go since she’d started working here. She cycled through the same frumpy old clothes, seemed to have developed an allergic reaction to all beauty products, and kept switching between two pairs of worn boots. She could be damn hot if she put her mind to it, but no. She’d let dark circles form under her huge brown eyes, shed at least three pounds her tiny frame couldn’t afford to lose, and he could count the number of times he’d heard her laugh.

  Of the two mages left in this empty office, he wasn’t the one who required assistance.

  Lifting the scrawny cat from the desk’s clear-glass surface, he dropped her on the carpet.

  She leapt onto his rolling office chair.

  Turning, he pointed his index finger right above her judgmental little nose. “I do not have a magic repression problem.”

  Her whiskers twitching, she tilted her chin up and stared at him. Very few things got under his skin. Her silent treatment numbered among them. “I refuse to have an argument with a cat. At least have the decency to use your words.”

  She licked her lips. If she’d done that in her natural human form, it’d be sexy. As a feline, it was borderline cute. “How long do you plan on staying here?”

  She tapped h
er face with a white paw, her familiar form’s equivalent of a shoulder shrug.

  Sighing, he picked her up, sat down, and set her on his lap. With a satisfied purr, she curled into a little ball. He could already feel the painful tension inside him ease, the bone-numbing chill funneling out in a consistent flow instead of sudden spontaneous bursts. Okay, maybe he’d been a little on edge these past months—not anything to worry about, but enough to make him uncomfortable. And so what if his skin might as well be splitting apart, or if his fuse had been short because of all the concentration it took not to freeze something by mistake?

  He’d been handling the problem in his own way and had done a decent job of it, too. But as much as he hated to admit it, having a familiar around him did more good than all the stopgap measures he’d employed over the past five weeks. It’s not like he needed her or anything. Her presence didn’t hurt, that was all. He’d never allow himself to depend on anyone, least of all a bleeding-heart goody-two-shoes whose one accusing glare could make him feel like an asshole.

  Being a tool was one thing. Wallowing in guilt, he refused to do.

  Rolling his shoulders, he leaned against the webbed backrest and closed his eyes. As she worked her magic, he contemplated his evening, a much more pressing subject than his life choices. He’d fibbed when he’d told her he had a hot date. Having never met this mystery woman, he had no fucking clue how she’d rate.

  Back on Halloween, he’d gifted his best friend a one-night stand through a mysterious online service run by Madame Eve. He should have known Leo would do the idiotic thing and shack up with the chick. Given, the man’s new girlfriend had turned out to be a familiar, which had shoved Dumbo Leo out of the warlock closet and simplified their friendship, somewhat. But the couple had practically attached their hips together since then, and they were obnoxious in their unwavering contentment. To top it all off, Leo had ditched the annual Frost-Difuoco Aspen tradition to go to some stupid island with this crazy Cat person. What happened to bros before hoes?