My dear Lords and Ladies,

No, the results of the Goodreads Choice Award have not yet been announced. We don't know whether or not "Storm and Silence" has won yet. But when I thought of leaving you hanging any longer...

I just couldn't do it! :)

Mr Ambrose would be very displeased with me, after all, this chapter was supposed to be posted only if and when we win, but you have made such a fantabulous effort, I simply delay any longer!

The results shall be announced by Goodreads on December 06! And now...a chapter from Mr Ambrose's POV! I hope you enjoy it :)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob

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She.

She was here.

And probably not to work free overtime.

I had just been striding down the corridor, intending to lock myself in the cold and silent sanctuary of my office to ponder the significance of the thing in my pocket, when I opened the door and there she was.

No. Not 'she'.

He.

Remember! Remember, especially here, in this office. This is Mr Victor Linton, your private secretary. Definitely not a 'she'.

Indeed?

But if she was a he, why was I carrying that little object around in my pocket?

Good question.

For a moment—just one moment—I stood frozen in the doorway, gazing at the gender-problematic person with the warmest, most fiery brown eyes I had ever seen in my life. She...He...It was sitting wrapped in an old, patched coat behind my secretary's desk, as if this were a completely normal thing to do on Christmas Eve. Forcing myself to move, I stepped inside and shut the door behind me with a decisive click.

"What are you doing here, Mr Linton?"

"Well..." Clearing its throat, it quickly tried to hide something behind its back. A...chocolate bar?

"Let me guess." Flicking a dismissive glance over the scene in front of me, I assessed the situation. "You felt miserable at your home, so you came here to feel miserable alone in peace."

It shot up out of its seat like a firecracker. Those oh-so-familiar brown eyes glared at me hotly. "Nothing of the kind! I'll have you know that I celebrated a very happy family Christmas at home. And I had an excellent reason for coming here! I...I...I needed to file some papers. Yes, that's it. I had forgotten to file some papers."

"And some oranges and nuts?" Cocking my head, picked up one of the Citrus reticulate. "I'm not sure they'll fit into the folders."

"Fine!" Snatching the orange out of my hand, she stuffed it into her pocket. "I admit it! I'm miserable! Happy now?"

No.

But that wasn't what came out of my mouth. Instead, my lips asked, "So you came here?"

"Yes! Yes, I came here because this was the only place I could think to go."

Gazing down into those eyes, here, in front of me, for some reason I suddenly felt the need to re-evaluate my answer.

Was I happy now, here, with only us two in the cold office?

Yes. Definitely.

Not that I had the slightest idea why that was.

"Why are you here, anyway?" it demanded.

My jaw tightened. Taking a step forward, I gave her a challenging stare, putting every inch of ice inside me into that look. "Work. I forgot to file some paperwork."

"Is that so?"

No. No, it wasn't. The weight in my pocket, the small object I had been forced to purchase by some infernal, incomprehensible urge, reminded me with every step that it very much wasn't so. Still, my head jerked a nod.

"Yes." Liar. Liar. Liar. "Since you are here, Mr Linton, you might as well help me."

"What?" Her eyes went wide. No! Not her. It! Remember! It! "I'm not going to work on Christmas!"

"You should have thought of that before you came to the office. Get your desk cleaned up and get me file 33BX733."

And, whirling around, I marched into my own office, hoping with all my considerable might that there was actually such a thing as a file 33B733 out there in the shelves, somewhere. I couldn't give a damn right now. In my pocket, my fist clenched around the small, smooth object. The object I had bought. For money. Without any intention of selling it at a profit.

What was happening to me?

When, a few minutes later, there was a knock at my office door, I still had not found an answer to that question.

"Enter."

It entered, carrying a file, and looking disturbingly female for someone wearing a tailcoat and trousers.

"Your file, Sir."

A thick folder slammed onto my desk. I lifted the corner, uncovering the heading Experimental Use of Banana Peels as Fertiliser. Just the kind of light reading one would want to do on Christmas Eve.

I looked up.

She still stood there. But she—

No! It! Remember! It!

But it wasn't giving me the hostile glare I expected. In fact, it wasn't even looking at me. Instead, it was gazing out of the window into the night behind me, the expression on its face almost...sad?

"What is the matter?"

The question was out of my mouth before I could clamp my lips shut.

Its gaze snapped abruptly to me. It gave me a look as if I were a particularly repugnant specimen of bug under a microscope.

"Why would you care?"

"I don't. But if you are distracted, it will affect your work efficiency."

"My work efficiency is fine!"

"Really?" Rising from behind the desk, I stepped around the massive piece of furniture towards it. It took a step back. "Is that why you brought me the wrong file?"

Its spine stiffened. "I most certainly did not!"

"Indeed, you did."

"Not!"

Instead of responding, I simply picked up the folder and held it under her— no, under its nose. It sucked in a breath.

"I...Mr Ambrose, I..."

"Yes, Mr Linton?"

A stubborn chin rose. Defiant brown eyes met mine. "Apologies, Sir. I shall go fetch the correct file directly."

Taking a step forward, she started to go around me. Without even thinking about it, my arms shot out and grabbed her. Stumbling, she bumped into me. Yes, she! There was no way around it now. Pressed against me so close, so warm, there was no way I could still use the word 'it' and remain sane.

"Mr Ambrose...the file—"

"Forget the file! I made it up."

Tightening my grip on her shoulders, I whirled her around, caging her in between my desk and my body. Stiffening, she sent a glare up at me hot enough to melt iron.

"You did what?"

"I made it up."

"So you amuse yourselves on Christmas Eve by hounding me around your office, making me fetch stuff that doesn't even exist? You're one twisted son of a bachelor, you know that, don't y—"

My embrace cut her off in mid-word.

During my time in the gold rush, I'd fought a duel against a gunslinger out for gold. This reminded me of that. It was hard. It was fast. Only...

This was a whole lot more dangerous. She felt like a crate of diamonds wrapped in cashmere blankets. Soft. Precious. Something I never, ever wanted to let go of. And that was dangerous. Because she wasn't made of diamond. She was made of ordinary flesh and bone, and I—

I was thinking far too many irrational thoughts for a sober person.

Jerking away from her, I took a small step back.

What did I just do?

She seemed to be asking herself the very same thing. Wide brown eyes gazed up at me, full of questions I didn't know how to answer.

"I didn't come here to work tonight." I hardly recognised my voice when I spoke. It was hoarse, and it wasn't barking commands or threatening to sack people.

"You didn't?" I hardly recognised hers, either. It sounded afraid.

"No. I came here to think." Swallowing, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small package, hardly bigger than two matchboxes, wrapped in simple brown paper. Carefully, I set it on the desk. "About this."

Still caged in by my arms, she carefully turned and picked up the little object. "This little thing?"

"Yes."

"Must be pretty important."

"Not at all. It's cheap, useless, and completely unimportant."

"Then why think about it?"

I felt my fingers clench into fists. "Because I was not sure how to give it to you."

She whirled around to stare up at me. It took a few moments, but finally, realisation spread over her face, followed closely by absolute incredulity. "You...bought something?"

"Yes."

"For me?"

"Yes."

"A...present?"

Silence.

I simply couldn't bring myself to answer. Hearing the p-word it out loud made the travesty really sink in. My lips pressed together in a thin line.

"I shall deduct it from your wages, of course."

"Of course you shall." Why was she suddenly grinning? Was there something to grin about? I most certainly didn't think so! "And, can I see my present? I so look forward to seeing my lovely present."

"Stop saying that word!"

"What word? Present?"

I gave her a look that usually made people run in the other direction as fast as possible. All it did now was widen her grin. She batted her lashes at me, and I felt a sudden tug in my chest. Had I pulled a muscle? Irrelevant. Ignore.

"Please? Please, can I see my present?"

My hand moved without asking for permission. Silently, it reached for the miniscule brown paper package and held it out to her.

She made a little curtsey. "Thank you, Sir, for the beautiful present."

"You haven't even unwrapped it yet."

"I'm enjoying the moment. Did you pay for the wrapping paper, too?"

"Mr Linton?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"Open the damn present!"

"Yessir!"

She took the little thing in her hands, where it looked much bigger than in mine. I watched, telling myself that I was not at all interested in what she was going to think or say. The fact that my hands were still curled into tight fists and my heart was pounding hard was purely coincidental.

The wrapping paper fell away, revealing what lay beyond.

Light glinted on something yellowish, almost golden—but not quite.

With an expression on her face that I would have liked to capture on a painting if painters weren't so expensive, she raised the little yellow figurine of a dancing piggy. She turned it this way, and that, as if to make sure she was really seeing it correctly, and it wasn't a piece of jewellery or a book masquerading as a partying porker. Out of nowhere, I felt a twitch at the corner of my mouth. I couldn't believe I was thinking this—but spending that money was worth it, just to see that expression on her face.

Especially if I was going to deduct it from her wages anyway.

"Um..." Finished examining the little yellow piggy for hidden doors and hatches that contained the real gift, she glanced up at me, one eyebrow raised. "Well...thanks, I suppose?"

I met her gaze with one of my own, fierce and brutally direct. "You don't remember?"

"Remember? Remember wha—oh!"

Sudden realisation flooded her face. Instantly, the tips of her ears, half hidden behind her hair, turned a bright red.

Oh yes, she remembered. She remembered all right.

Slowly turning the figurine until the bottom pointed up, she read the inscription I had painted there meticulously with my own hands.

"In memory of a memorable night."

Silence.

Absolute silence.

And for the first time in my life, I hated it. I hated it with every icy fibre in my body.

Say something! Anything!

Still—only silence.

Then, slowly, her fingers closed around the figurine, clutching it tightly.

"You were wrong," she whispered.

My innards roiled. "About what?"

Lifting her eyes, she met my gaze. Was that moisture in the corners of her eyes? It couldn't be. She never cried.

"When you said this wasn't important, Sir. You were wrong. It's the most important thing I've ever held in my hands."

"Do you like it?"

A smile spread across her face and somehow managed to light up the entire room. If only one could use smiles as ingredients in my candle-factory.

"It is the most ridiculous, cheap and miserly Christmas present I have ever seen in my life."

I took a step forward. We were only inches apart now, the desk directly behind her, cutting off her escape.

"So you like it?"

"It's almost an insult, it's so cheap!"

"You do like it."

Her grip on the little figurine tightened even more, as if she'd never let it go. "I love it!" One soft little hand found its way to my face, touching my cheek. I swallowed. "May I show my appreciation by sharing my Christmas feast with you, Sir?"

A free meal. I had a rule, established in my early days—never say no to a free meal. Surely there could be no harm in accepting?

"Lead on, Mr Linton," I heard myself say.

I stepped aside, and she moved past me. When the ends of her tailcoat brushed against me, I felt my muscles tighten in a way that had never, ever, ever before been induced by that particular part—or any part!—of a gentleman's garment. Pushing the thought aside, I strode after her.

Free meal. Concentrate on the free meal.

That, however, became suddenly difficult when she abruptly stopped right in the doorway, and I bumped into her.

"What—"

My words cut off as I followed her wide-eyed gaze and right above me, fixed to the lintel, saw a shimmer of green.

No. No, this wasn't possible. I had been most specific in my instructions to my employees regarding what I expected of them around this time of year, and, more importantly, what I expected them not to do, under any circumstances.

"I've heard of this old tradition." Her words reached me as if from very far away. "When two people meet under mistletoe at Christmas, they..."

"Traditions are useless, antiquated customs." Customs which I told my employees not under any circumstances to observe. They were a waste of time and money! If I ever got hold of whoever had hung that piece of rubbish over my office door...!

She stepped closer.

...I would give him a raise.

Wait! Where did that thought just come from?

I would fire him! Yes, that was what I was going to do: fire him! Definitely!

Soft hands reached up, cupping my face.

Probably.

Well...maybe.

I felt myself be pulled down—By her? By myself? By fate?—and a moment later, something soft brushed against my lips. Something which felt a lot like another pair of lips. I wasn't sure, because my eyes were closed for some unfathomable reason.

"Does this feel useless?" she murmured against my lips.

Of their own volition, my arms suddenly came up, wrapping around her as tight as a vice. Pushing her back into my office, I slammed the door behind me, shutting out the world, along with my own sane, conscious thoughts.

And the night was silent—except for a few soft noises.

THE END