Flames in the Frost

“The boiler’s completely dead?” Clutching a cup of warm, peppermint-flavored coffee in my mittened hand, I dodge a cluster of tourists gawking at the Saks window display. Around me, Manhattan sparkles with holiday décor, but my stomach is in knots. I duck under an awning to avoid the frigid rain, phone pressed to my ear.

“Landlord says repairs could take days,” Chloe says. “The kids last night finished their mentor meeting in their coats. Oh my god, this poor old warehouse. I’ve got space heaters running, but we don’t have enough extension cords, so I put another call out on social media for donations.”

“Did you call the property management company?”

“They’re dragging their feet. Said they’ll send someone soon, but with the holidays, who knows what that means.” Chloe sighs. “We’ve got twenty kids expected tonight for homework help, and it’s freezing.”

“I’ll call the emergency contact,” I cut in, dashing out into the rain to cross the street. “Maybe I can light a fire under them.”

“Good thinking,” Chloe says. She’s been my best friend since college, and we founded the charity together. “We can’t have the kids working in the cold.”

“Hey!” a voice calls out. “Watch where you’re going!”

“Sorry,” I murmur, looking up from my phone to notice a very angry man who’s standing on the sidewalk outside of my towering office building. He grunts but keeps walking, and to me, that’s a win in New York City during the holidays.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself as I stare up at the large, all-metal building that’s been my office for the past few years. With the holidays just around the corner, it’s decked out in carefully curated Christmas lights with tiny little decals pasted to every window on the first floor.

Cute on the outside, but inside, it’s all business. A haven for bankers, tech companies, and retailers.

I love working here, right in the heart of New York City, but it’s a hike from my small apartment across town. And to make matters worse, it’s in the opposite direction of the charity I manage.

Before I head inside, I glance down at my phone, reading an email from Chloe that lays out in painful detail how we’re over budget and at risk of not being able to make January rent.

I shake my head because lately the charity has seen way more obstacles than wins—much like my life.

I push open the door, letting the rain drip off my coat, and then punch the button to the tenth floor where I work. The elevator climbs at a glacial pace, and when the doors finally slide open, my friend and coworker Liv is already waiting for me, as if she knew I was about to arrive.

“You’re late!” Liv hisses at me as I stumble into the bustling office of Green Festive Co.

No surprise to anyone—I’m late.

Again.

I could lie, pretend this is out of the ordinary, but at this point, it’s a pattern. A bad habit formed from too many late nights, too much stress, and an ever-growing to-do list that never seems to shrink.

The nonprofit has swallowed my focus whole, pulling me into longer and longer hours. While Chloe matches teens with mentors and runs daily operations, I handle the big-picture stuff.

Which lately means lying awake at night wondering how long I can keep my job at Green Festive Co. The company’s funding keeps our charity’s doors open. Sixty kids counting on us, and I’m officially screwed unless I figure out how to get back on the good side of Trevor—my boss, the micromanager of the century.

Liv’s eyes widen as she looks me up and down. “Come on.” Then she grabs my wrist and drags me down the long office hallway toward the conference rooms.

The morning commute was full of last-minute holiday shoppers and sheer holiday chaos. Not only did I sleep through my alarm, but I wasn’t able to find any clean dress pants, opting for a tight gray pencil skirt and green pullover with red heels instead.

“What are you even wearing?” Liv teases over her shoulder as she continues to drag me down the hallway.

I take another desperate sip of my lukewarm coffee while pulling my long, brown hair off my shoulders and into a bun.

“I heard we have our new big-shot CEO coming in today,” I say. “Have you heard anything about him?”

Liv nods, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. “I’m surprised you didn’t already hear about him. Maxwell Preston. Rumor has it he’s young, ambitious, and got his hands on the majority shares for the company. He’s practically the new king of the corporate jungle, and I heard he looks like one too.”

My eyes widen as I choke on my coffee.

I pound on my chest, trying to clear it just as we turn our last corner.

“I doubt it. Sounds like he’s from Seattle and just moved to the city after acquiring us. Started in tech, working for a startup that was bought out by Microsoft. Their buyout afforded him the luxury of early retirement, and he’s been snatching up companies ever since.”

“Oh, great, he’s in a mood,” Liv whispers in my ear as we step through the doorway packed full of bodies dressed in suit jackets, dresses, and skirts just like mine. A sea of gray and black worn by serious faces.

“By the way”—her voice lowers even quieter so that only I can hear—“any ideas for the revamp of our wreath launch that totally tanked last week?”

I roll my lips under my teeth because that product launch is the last thing I want to think about right now. It feels like my professionalism and my ability to deliver well are being tested at every corner. Whether it’s at the nonprofit that I founded or at my job, I can’t seem to get things right.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I have a few ideas.” I smooth down my skirt and adjust my top, deciding not to get into it right now with Liv.

Liv and I take our positions on the outskirts of the room, huddling near some of the developers that we work with.

A quiet hush falls over the group as a large figure moves to stand at the head of the conference room table.

I take another sip of my coffee, the name of our new CEO still bouncing curiously around in my mind but freeze as soon as the figure turns around to speak.

“Good morning, everyone. Thank you for joining me at such short notice. I’m Maxwell Preston, the new owner and CEO here at Green Festive Co.”

My breath catches in my throat as I stare back at the familiar face. Maxwell Preston stands at the front of the room, confidence rolling off him in waves, his sharp suit tailored to perfection. He moves like he owns the place, which, according to Liv, he apparently does.

His piercing gaze sweeps over the crowd, sharply assessing his new employees until it lands on me.

For a brief second, our eyes lock, and I could swear a flicker of recognition flashes across his handsome face. But just as quickly, it hardens into a stern, unreadable expression as he moves on, scanning the room again with a critical eye.

“Over the next few weeks, I’ll be meeting with each of your departments to get an understanding of how each team operates. Given the fact that it’s December and peak season, I don’t want to impede the progress that teams are making toward your year-end goals. Please continue as usual, and let’s end the holiday season strong.”

As the group claps, my phone buzzes, and I open a text from Chloe.

“Whoa, he’s dreamy,” Liv whispers in my ear.

Seeing Max for the first time in fourteen years is so disorienting that I can barely process Chloe’s text—and the fact that I’m going to have to scramble across town on my lunch break, which will definitely make me late for our afternoon meeting with Trevor.

Liv finally turns to me, catching me frozen, unblinking, hardly breathing, with the cup still pressed to my lips in shock.

“Hey, are you okay, Emma? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Maxwell Preston is the definition of dreamy, standing well over six feet tall with an athletic build, dark tousled hair, and piercing brown eyes. Who wouldn’t find the man who is our new CEO attractive?

To top it off, he hit the genetic jackpot with his chiseled jawline and perfectly straight teeth—no braces in high school needed for him.

And that suit? It looks like it costs more than three months of my salary.

But it’s the subtle hint of stubble on his otherwise smooth jawline that reminds me of the sixteen-year-old boy I once knew.

I wonder if he remembers his first friend in New York City or if I’m just another face in the corporate crowd of the new business he’s bought up.

Trevor suddenly appears at the head of the room and signals for everyone’s attention by putting his hands on his hips and scanning the room sharply. “Since we’re all here,” he announces, “Emma can present the holiday sales projections.”

My heart stops. The presentation isn’t due until next week. I fumble with my laptop, stalling, but Trevor’s smirk tells me this ambush was intentional. From the corner of my eye, I see Maxwell settle into a chair, his gaze intent.

While Trevor stands smirking beside me, I pull up last night’s rough draft—the one I was working on instead of sleeping. As I click to the first slide, my phone buzzes: another message from Chloe. I silence it, hands shaking slightly as I begin to speak.

I switch into the practiced autopilot of someone who’s used to thinking on her feet in a conference room.

“Any questions?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady after stumbling through projections I’d meant to refine next week.

“Just one.” Maxwell’s voice cuts through the silence. He hasn’t looked away from me since I started presenting. “Your forecasts show a thirty percent growth in eco-friendly products, but your department’s last three launches missed targets. What makes you confident about these numbers?”

My throat tightens. Of course he’s already studied our track record. I force myself to meet his gaze.

“We’re implementing new design protocols and testing procedures,” I respond. “Kevin has designed new metrics to better predict our margins. We’re confident that the numbers for the upcoming holiday wreath line will reflect these newly refined approaches.”

I force a smile, which I hope comes across as confident and not desperate.

After a pause, Maxwell nods. “We’ll have a chance to discuss this further,” he says, that stern CEO mask never wavering, though I could swear I saw a flicker of something else in his expression. Recognition, maybe?

Maxwell rises and gives a single clap of his large, strong hands. “Thanks, everyone,” he says, dismissing us back to our offices as he turns to leave.

I turn to look out the large conference room windows, unable to shake the feeling that Maxwell’s presence is more than just a strange twist of holiday fate.

The rain continues to fall on the streets below, but the freezing temperatures have begun to turn the drops to flurries. Just like that December day fourteen years ago when a shy boy from Minnesota changed everything.

As the first snowflake settles, it whispers secrets of a winter tale waiting to unfold—and this time, I have so much more to lose.