Merry Christmas!
1248 Words
Betty.
The blaring sound of my alarm jolted me awake, as it always did. I groaned and stretched, my body heavy with reluctance. Another day, another shift.
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and forced myself out of bed. The cold air in my tiny apartment nipped at my skin, making me shiver. December mornings were unforgiving, but there was no time to linger under the covers.
After a quick shower, I pulled on my uniform—a plain black skirt and white shirt, sturdy and practical. It wasn’t flattering, but I didn’t have anyone to impress.
I pulled my hair into a loose bun, checked my reflection in the mirror, and sighed. The clock read 7:00 a.m. I had exactly one hour to get to work and finish my tasks before the rest of the staff arrived.
I lived close to the office, a mere ten-minute walk on most days. This morning, the streets were blanketed in snow, slowing my pace. Christmas lights sparkled in shop windows, casting a warm glow that contrasted with the biting cold.
Wreaths adorned doors, and festive music spilled from storefronts. People bundled in coats and scarves exchanged cheerful greetings of
"Merry Christmas."
I kept my head down, avoiding eye contact.
Christmas used to be my favorite holiday. As a child, it was magical—the lights, the presents, the sense of togetherness. But that was a lifetime ago.
Three years ago, my world shattered on Christmas morning when I walked into my boyfriend’s apartment unannounced, holding a gift I’d spent weeks saving for, only to find him tangled in the arms of our neighbor.
The betrayal was like a slap to the face, one that still stung every time I thought about it. Since then, Christmas has lost its charm. It was just another day to survive.
When I reached the office, the building loomed tall and imposing, its glass exterior reflecting the muted gray sky.
Inside, the air was warmer but just as cold in spirit. The silence of the early morning was broken only by the faint hum of the heating system.
I headed straight for the supply closet, gathering my usual tools: a mop, a bucket, and a set of cleaning sprays. My first stop was the CEO’s office.
Alexander Harrison’s office was as intimidating as the man himself—spacious, modern, and impeccably organized.
Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city, while the dark mahogany desk exuded authority. I’d been cleaning his office for five years now, but I’d never once seen him use it as anything other than a battlefield for his relentless work ethic.
Within minutes, I wiped down the glass surfaces, emptied the trash, and vacuumed the floor. Everything had to be perfect before he arrived.
At exactly 8:00 a.m., the quietness of the office shattered. The ding of the elevator announced his arrival. The moment Alexander Harrison stepped onto the floor, the atmosphere changed.
He was a man who commanded attention without saying a word. His six-foot-something frame cut an imposing figure in a tailored suit, every inch of him exuding power and precision.
His sharp jawline, piercing ice-blue eyes, and dark, perfectly styled hair gave him an air of unattainable perfection. If he’d been an actor, he’d have made the cover of every magazine, but Alexander Harrison had no interest in fame. His only focus was work.
The office fell silent as his shoes clicked against the polished floors.
“Good morning, Mr. Harrison,” several employees greeted him in unison, their voices tinged with both respect and fear.
He didn’t respond. He never did. It wasn’t arrogance; it was more like indifference. People didn’t exist to Alexander Harrison unless they had something to offer.
I didn’t bother greeting him. Why would I? If he didn’t acknowledge the stunning women in the office who practically threw themselves at his feet, what hope did I have? I was invisible—a cleaner in the shadows.
And that was fine by me.
The tension in the air only eased once he disappeared into his office and shut the door behind him.
Despite his intimidating presence, Mr. Harrison wasn’t entirely heartless.
Over the years, I’d heard stories of him giving generous bonuses and approving vacations without hesitation. He wasn’t the warm and fuzzy type, but he recognized hard work.
This year, I was counting on that bonus. With no family to visit and no one to spend the holidays with, I planned to bury myself in work and earn some extra cash.
But my hopes were dashed when my phone buzzed with a notification from the company’s staff w******p group.
"The office will be closing early for the holiday season. All employees are encouraged to take time off and enjoy the festivities with their loved ones."
My heart sank. This had never happened before.
Mr. Harrison always allowed staff to work through the holidays if they preferred. For someone like me—an orphan with no family—the thought of spending Christmas alone in my tiny apartment was unbearable.
I tried to focus on my work, moving from office to office, scrubbing desks, and emptying bins. The hours dragged, each task a distraction from the emptiness creeping in.
By evening, the office was nearly deserted. Most of the staff had left to prepare for the holiday break.
I finished my rounds and returned to Mr. Harrison’s office to empty the trash. It was my final task before heading home.
The room was silent, the faint scent of leather and expensive cologne lingering in the air. I moved quickly, wanting to get it over with. But as I reached for the trash can, the door burst open.
I froze.
Alexander Harrison strode in, his expression uncharacteristically tense. His usual composure was gone, replaced by something I couldn’t quite place—anxiety, perhaps?
“Mr. Harrison,” I stammered, clutching the trash bag.
He didn’t seem to notice my discomfort. His sharp eyes darted around the room before settling on me.
“What are your plans for Christmas?” he asked abruptly.
I blinked, caught off guard. Of all the things he could have said, this was the last I expected.
“Um... I don’t have plans,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “Just staying home.”
He frowned as if my answer disappointed him.
“No family?”
I shook my head. “No, sir. It’s just me.”
For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze fixed on me. The silence was heavy, the kind that made you feel like you were being examined under a microscope. Then, to my surprise, his expression softened.
“Would you consider doing something different this year?” he asked, his voice low but steady.
I stared at him, unsure how to respond. “Different?”
He nodded. “Come with me.”
My heart skipped a beat. Come with him? Where? Why?
“I... I don’t understand,” I said, my voice trembling.
“You said you don’t have plans,” he replied, his tone matter-of-fact. “And I have made plans, I thought perhaps you could join my plan.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Alexander Harrison—the man who barely acknowledged anyone—was inviting me to spend Christmas with him?
My mind raced with questions, but one thing was clear: this Christmas was shaping up to be very different from what I had expected.
- Writer
