Unexpected Secret Santa

Maybe, just maybe, if I looked at it hard enough, the name will morph into someone else's. Or... maybe my alarm will soon go off and I'd be back inside my comfortable bed cuddling with my pillows. Yet it all felt too real, even for a dream to achieve and sooner or later I had to accept my sad reality. 

Kleo. Kleo. KLEO. Effing Kleo. Written in beautiful cursive almost mockingly as it was a complete opposite of the brooding, yet flirtatious, tattooed, muscular and handsome man that I'd been destined to have as secret Santa.

"So... who's your secret santa?" Theresa or Ther, as she preferred, asked before leaning on the edge of my desk.

"Rest assured it's not you." I smirked.

"Do you know who has my name?" Ther had the annoying bad habit of always trying to figure out who had her so once she knew, she could nag them endlessly—or at least until the day of the exchange—on what she wanted and going as far to say how she wanted it to be wrapped.

My first year working here I'd had the misfortune of having her as a secret santa. She'd been on me talking my ear off on the possible things I could get her. Because I'd been new and wanted to fit in, I'd relented and had bought her a pair of gorgeous designer sunglasses that I would have never—ever—bought for myself. She'd been delighted, so much so, she always hoped the story would repeat itself and she'd be my secret santa again since, according to her, I gave the best gifts.

"I have no idea. Maybe you should wait and be surprised by what that person will give you." I cringed a little in my seat, completely ready for the outburst I knew I had provoked.

"Are you NUTS?" She gasped dramatically. "I can't have someone give me something I don't like and pretend to like it. I'd have to leave that hideous thing here or worse... wear it!" According to the rules the boss had created, the gift had to be something that could be left at the office for decoration and use or something to wear. But it wasn't as bad as she made it sound.

"It was just a simple suggestion. But you can continue your scavenger hunt." 

"Whatever. So, who's your secret santa?"

If it hadn't been Kleo, I would've told her but if I did she'd go crazy and would beg, harass and torture me until I relented and handed my secret santa to her.

My mouth opened, ready to lie but quickly snapped it shut when someone yelled, "He's here!"

He, of course, meant Kleo. In just a second, every single women in the office started fixing their hair, makeup and clothing. A typical office quickly turned into the backstage of a Victoria's Secret fashion show. All for a man who was as dangerous as playing with fire. Yet, half the office was willing to get burned on his Egyptian sheets.