A Mile High Christmas Read online

  Also by Cassidy Coal

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  A Mile High Christmas

  Cassidy Coal

  Contents

  A Mile High Christmas

  About the Author

  Also by Cassidy Coal

  A Mile High Christmas

  Sarah stared at her boss. This could not be happening. Not again. This was going to be the worst Christmas ever.

  "Mr. Horowitz, you're kidding, right? I mean, after last year you swore I'd never have to spend another Christmas working."

  He shoved his glasses up his nose before answering. He might look like a nice version of good old Saint Nick, but he was anything but. "I'm sorry, Sarah. Orders are orders. And you're our best forensic accountant. The Paris office is in bad shape and we need to know before the new year just how much their accounting shenanigans cost us. We're filing an 8-K on the second and Mr. Corrigan wants to know as much as possible before then."

  "Well, maybe Corrigan should fly his butt to Paris instead of spending a cozy holiday in his ski chalet in Vail while I slave over his accounts receivables." She crossed her arms and then uncrossed them, remembering how Jane had told her last week that when she crossed her arms it just accentuated her considerable bust.

  Mr. Horowitz looked at her over his glasses. He didn't need to say anything; she knew that look. It was the "you just made an inappropriate comment that anyone of good breeding would refrain from making" look.

  She rolled her eyes.

  Sarah was good at what she did, the best, but she stuck out like a peacock in a pig pen in the tonified offices of Corrigan, Inc. Or maybe more like a pig in the midst of peacocks… Her skirts were always a little too tight, her heels a little too high, her blouses a little too low. She was too opinionated, too open with her feelings, too…everything.

  She'd busted her ass to get where she was, but no amount of effort could completely hide her trailer park roots. And, honestly, she was sick of trying. She was who she was and she couldn't change that.

  For starters, she wasn't built like all the skinny white women who filled the halls of CI. She had curves—the kind of curves that looked good in Playboy but were never seen in the boardroom of a Fortune 500 company. No matter how many meals she skipped, she'd never look like them. And who wanted to starve themselves like that, anyway?

  She liked having flesh on her bones, thank you very much. It certainly made sitting through unending monotonous meetings easier.

  At twenty-five she was also still trying to find her place in this corporate world. Which included learning how to use words that made her sound fancy instead of calling a spade a spade and a dick a dick.

  Of course, that's exactly what Tyler Corrigan was. A grade-A dick.

  Who cared if he had GQ looks and a smile that made her instantly wet? He was an entitled, monified ass. An entitled, monified ass that was responsible for her spending yet another holiday away from home. Something her secretary mom with her nine-to-five job was never going to understand. Sarah was going to hear about this for the next six months. Unfortunately, her mom didn't understand that you couldn't just say no. Not to Tyler Corrigan.

  "Can it at least wait until after Christmas?" Sarah asked, crossing her fingers as she waited for Mr. Horowitz to reply.

  He shook his head. "Sorry, Sarah. You'll be lucky to finish in time as is. You can leave in the morning, but that's the best I can do."

  Sarah hung her head and walked out of his office. Everyone else was excitedly talking about their holidays, no one getting a lick of work done, and she had to fly to Paris.

  She laughed, remembering how just two years before the thought of going somewhere, anywhere, international had sounded so exciting. Yeah, well. She'd learned her lesson last Christmas when they sent her to Singapore two days before Christmas. She'd worked sixteen hours a day for two weeks straight and then flown home. All she'd seen of Singapore was her hotel room and the shoebox-sized office they'd shoved her into.

  Sarah trudged back to her desk. This sucked. It sucked so frickin' bad she didn't even know what to say.

  She called corporate travel to book her ticket. At least she could fly business class and skip the crying babies and one-time flyers with all their Christmas gifts shoved into the overhead bins. That was one small blessing.

  Except, it turned out that when you try to fly to Paris on the twenty-third of December all of the business class seats are sold out. Which meant either taking an economy seat, which would leave her tired and exhausted when she landed at seven in the morning, or paying for first class.

  Which, as it so happened, was going to be $15,000.

  Sarah almost choked. "Fifteen thousand dollars?"

  "Yes, ma'am. Or we can book the economy seat for three thousand." The woman on the other end of the line sounded bored to death, like she was just counting down the minutes until she could leave to start her own holiday.

  "Three thousand for economy?" Sarah asked. Usually it was five or six hundred.

  "It is a last minute reservation, ma'am," the bored travel agent pointed out.

  Sarah stared at her calendar, envisioning herself sipping a mojito in her swimsuit on the gorgeous Costa Rican beach in the picture. Too bad she was still paying off student loans that could've bought a small house in some parts of the country. Costa Rican vacations and mojitos were nowhere in her future.

  "Can you hold both seats?" she asked. Fifteen thousand was insane, but so was three thousand for an economy seat. And, since she was going to work through Christmas…maybe, just maybe, she could talk Horowitz into springing for the first class ticket.

  She was taking one for the team after all, the least he could do was make it comfortable.

  Sarah barged into Horowitz's office without knocking. Not like anyone else was around. The holiday luncheon was in full swing in the break room, the sound of happy laughter audible even here.

  "Mr. Horowitz, my flight's going to cost fifteen thousand. I need your signature since it's outside the spending guidelines," she said, not even looking up.

  "Fifteen thousand?" a man asked from the seat across from Horowitz, his voice soft like velvet. "Did you book a private jet?" He was clearly amused.

  Sarah glared at him. Tyler Corrigan, CEO and asshole. Cause of all of her current problems.

  He smiled at her, his emerald-green eyes flashing with hidden amusement, the dimple in his chin as deep as the frickin' Grand Canyon. He was like this every frickin' time she saw him. Arrogant, entitled, gorgeous, stunning, sexy as hell…

  She turned to him, her face carefully neutral. "No, Mr. Corrigan, I did not." She smiled as she added, "It seems somebody wants me to spend my Christmas in a four-by-four cell of an office reviewing account records in Paris. And they want me to leave tomorrow. Since that's Christmas Eve, my flight options were a little limited."

  She looked him up and down in disgust. He was wearing a three-piece navy suit with a pink dress shirt underneath, the top two buttons unbuttoned. Shouldn't he be in khakis and a thick sweater, ready to start his million-dollar vacation?

  "Sarah!" Horowitz said, his voice full of outrage. "You do not speak to Mr. Corrigan that way. I'm sorry, sir. She's very good at what she does, but we're still working on proper office decorum."

  Corrigan laughed, still watching her. "I don't mind. There aren't enough women in my life that talk to me like that. It's… refreshing." He smiled at her and she felt her knees grow weak. Pompous ass.

  He was so used to getting his way in everything he probably thought that's all it took to win her over. She turned away from him, refusing to let him see
how his smile affected her.

  "Let me see the itinerary," Corrigan demanded. He held his hand out.

  Sarah continued to face Horowitz as she handed Corrigan the pages in her hand.

  Maybe this was good. Maybe Corrigan would approve it. She'd figured it was an outside chance she could convince Horowitz to pay that much, but now, with Tyler Corrigan sitting there in his suit that probably cost more than the ticket, she decided she was going to insist.

  If they wanted her to ruin her holiday, then they were going to pay for it.

  Corrigan flipped through the pages. "Fifteen thousand…wow." He shook his head, his beautiful black hair reflecting the light. He stopped on the final page—the page for the economy ticket. He pursed his lips and looked at her. "There's another possible itinerary here."

  She crossed her arms. "Yes, there is."

  She saw his eyes drift towards her cleavage and uncrossed her arms, clenching her fists at her sides. "But it's a coach ticket. If I have to fly coach, I'm not going to get any sleep. Or if I do, I'll be cramped and miserable. Since I'm giving up my Christmas and have to go to the office as soon as I land, that seems a bit unreasonable, don't you think?"

  "And fifteen thousand isn't?" he asked, quirking one eyebrow at her. Smug, beautiful jerk. He probably spent fifteen grand on a night out.

  Sarah turned to face him. "No, it isn't. You want me to take it up the ass, the least you could do is lube me up first."

  As soon as she said the words, Sarah wanted to take them back. She felt her cheeks flush and stared at the floor, her eyes squeezed shut like that would somehow save her.

  She was so fired.

  Well, at least this way she'd get to spend Christmas with her family. Too bad she'd also be living on her mother's couch come the new year.

  Horowitz started to sputter an apology, but stopped, unable to form words.

  She glanced up to see Tyler Corrigan studying her. He tried to hide a smile as he waved Horowitz down. He held her gaze as he said, "I'll keep that in mind for the future, Miss Baxter."

  She felt herself shiver at the promise in those words, but then she threw her hair back and stared him down. If he thought he'd ever get anywhere near her ass, he better think again.

  Horowitz finally calmed himself down enough to be coherent. "My apologies, Mr. Corrigan. For all of this. Miss Baxter is more than capable of taking the coach flight. I'm sure she'll survive it just fine." From his tone it was clear that the last sentence was directed at her. He finished, "After all, she should be grateful she still has a job." That one was, too.

  Sarah winced. "Yes, thank you, Mr. Horowitz. I'll go finalize the booking now." She reached for the papers in Corrigan's hand, but he pulled them away.

  "Now, now. Let's not be hasty." He smiled at her, his eyes roving up and down her body. "We have a third option."

  Sarah felt herself trembling at his intense appraisal of her figure. She needed to regain control or this man was going to walk all over her. "I can stay home?" she asked, smiling as sweetly as she knew how. "They'll e-mail me the files and I can work on them between courses at my mom's house?"

  Corrigan shook his head. "Impossible, I'm afraid. French privacy laws are a bitch and a half." He watched her closely as he added, "Which is why I'm headed to Paris this evening. There are certain records I have to review in person."

  Sarah held her breath, hoping he wasn't suggesting what she thought he was.

  Oh, but he was. He asked, "Miss Baxter, how do you feel about flying in the corporate jet with me?"

  Horrible. Awful. That it was a terrible, ridiculous idea.

  Horowitz leaned back in his chair, making it squeak alarmingly. "Mr. Corrigan, I'm sure Miss Baxter is fine with the coach seat. I wouldn't want to inconvenience you that way."

  Corrigan smiled, his perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth framed by his luscious lips. "It's no inconvenience at all. As Miss Baxter said, if we're going to take her holiday away, we should make the experience as enjoyable as possible."

  She raised an eyebrow at his eloquent interpretation of what she'd actually said.

  His words promised so much more than a ride in the corporate jet, though. Didn't Horowitz hear it? He didn't seem to.

  Sarah looked away, biting her lip. This was sooo not a good idea.

  "So, Miss Baxter. Any objections to flying with me?" Corrigan asked, demanding her attention.

  "Um, you know, I'd hate to…I'm really not a corporate jet kinda girl. I'm, I'm fine with the coach seat." She reached for her papers again, but he held them away from her.

  "I insist, Miss Baxter. No need in spending money on a commercial fare when you can fly for free with me. It'll also give me time to get to know you thoroughly." His green eyes met hers and she swallowed, stepping back from him.

  Sarah glanced at Horowitz. She couldn't accuse Corrigan of what she saw in his eyes. Not with Horowitz sitting right there.

  "I, um, I have a boyfriend, Mr. Corrigan."

  He laughed. "Surely you're not suggesting he join you on this trip?"

  Sarah opened and closed her mouth like a fish on dry land. "No. No, I wasn't. I just…"

  Corrigan smiled, a wicked little half-smile that told her her attempt to put him off had just attracted him more.

  "Good. That settles it then." Corrigan handed Sarah her papers back. "We leave at eight pm, sharp. I'll have a car pick you up at seven at your place, Miss Baxter. Don't be late."

  Sarah licked her lips, not quite sure what to say. "Thank you, Mr. Corrigan. That's quite generous of you."

  "Of course it is. You should go pack now. I don't like to be late."

  If that wasn't a dismissal, she didn't know what was.

  Sarah stumbled out of Horowitz's office. What the hell had just happened?

  Sarah sat in the beige leather seat of the jet, crossing and uncrossing her ankles. She knew better than to cross her legs at the knee, but the whole ankle thing was so damned awkward.

  She wished Corrigan would arrive so they could get this thing over with.

  "Would you like a drink, ma'am?" the stewardess asked. She was perfectly coiffed, every hair in its place to form some sort of ornate bun that looked like it was defying gravity. Her uniform was an expertly pressed navy dress with matching box hat.

  "Um, yeah, sure. That'd be great. Do you have whiskey?"

  The stewardess quickly hid her surprise. "Um…I'm sure we do. Let me check. On the rocks?"

  "No. Just bring me a shot. Thank you."

  This time the woman didn't manage to hide her surprise as well. "A shot, ma'am?"

  Sarah nodded. "Yes."

  "Very well, ma'am." The woman plastered a fake smile on her face and raced to the front of the plane. She was probably going to tell the pilot what a scandalous passenger they had.

  Too bad. Sarah didn't care what the woman thought of her. She was nervous and fidgety and she needed something to calm her nerves before spending the next eight hours in Tyler Corrigan's private jet with him sitting across from her staring her up and down with those devil eyes of his.

  She smoothed down her skirt, annoyed at how it bunched around the tops of her thighs. That always happened when she had to walk anywhere in a tight skirt. The skirt would slowly work its way upward with each twitch of her hips. She was constantly tugging and pulling her skirts back down, but it never seemed to last.

  She wished she were wearing sweats, but she had to keep up appearances. She had at least changed into a soft faux cashmere sweater. She was not going to spend the next eight hours in a button-up shirt trying not to cross her arms. She wanted to look professional, but enough was enough.

  The stewardess handed her the shot glass just as Corrigan boarded the plane, ducking down to fit his six-foot-two frame through the entry. He was dressed in a pair of tight-fitting khakis that showed off his perfectly-formed ass and a simple black t-shirt that probably cost more than her monthly rent. The shirt hugged his broad shoulders and muscular chest, showing just how f
inely built he was. Like he'd stepped straight off the modeling block for a Greek statue.

  My god. What money could buy.

  She downed the shot in one gulp and handed it back to the stewardess. "I'll take another if you don't mind."

  The stewardess nodded, probably not trusting herself to be polite. She turned to Corrigan. "The usual, Mr. Corrigan?"

  "Yes, Daphne. Thank you."

  The usual. Because this man flew private jets every day. He'd probably grown up on them. Sitting on his granddaddy's knee as they jetted around the world.

  He sprawled in the seat across from her, his legs stretched out so far they almost touched her seat. She was grateful for the table between them.

  "Like it?" he asked.

  Like what? What was he asking?

  He must've seen the confusion on her face, because he said, "The jet. Do you like it?"

  She glanced around. What wasn't there to like? It was gorgeous. It screamed of wealth and comfort. Everything was clean and shiny and new.

  She shrugged. "It's alright. Nice enough, I guess."

  Corrigan laughed, filling the cabin with his amusement. He shook his head. "I like you, Miss Baxter. You're fresh, raw, unstudied."

  She stared out the window. What was she supposed to say to that? As a professional woman it was an insult. As a potential conquest, it was a compliment.

  She turned back to him. "While I have your attention, Mr. Corrigan, I was wondering if we might discuss the forecasting model we currently use in accounting. I believe there are certain improvements we could make that would greatly increase our accuracy. I'd also like to discuss our current allowance against loan loss calculations. I believe there's a flaw in how we calculate our month one to month two waterfall."

  He smiled at her, clearly wanting to say something obnoxious, but he didn't. Instead, he replied, "Of course, Miss Baxter. As your CEO I'd be most interested in hearing any ideas you might have to help us improve our corporate performance."