Hello Everyone! I'm back! Yes, I'm back again. I had a very, very long break. To be honest, I've been out of touch with all these writing stuff that I didn't even want to write stories again. Oops! I think that came out very harsh. I guess I've been too busy with other stuff that I didn't had time to sit in front of my computer and continue with my fics. I wish I could tell you everything that happened during that long break. I can probably write a good novel with the things I experienced and went through during that span of time.
Anyways…let's get on with this. I have a new story for you. Since Christmas is coming up, I thought I should have a Christmas story for you guys. It's my favorite holiday and I always look forward to it, and since I haven't done anything for quite a long time, I thought this story would be a good Christmas present for you.
Hope you like it! Oh…and I'd love to hear your reviews.
Disclaimer: I do not own Digimon. All OC's here are created by me.
"Why not? We have plenty of time…"
"No, we do not." Sitting stiffly in her chair, Mimi Tachikawa carefully avoided meeting her boss's eyes across the wide expanse of his oak desk. Focusing on the view of the Tokyo Tower in the window beyond his broad shoulder, she added, "Mr. Haoru might be here at any moment and the last thing I want is for a client to catch us fooling around."
"He's not coming for at least another thirty minutes…"
"Twenty then. That's enough time." Yamato Ishida studied his secretary's unrelenting expression, then said, "C'mon, Mimi, it'll help me relax. There's this big project that's really stressing me out."
Unable to stop herself, Mimi stole a glance at his face. His ocean blue eyes met her caramel ones, and her stomach flipped in a way that had nothing to do with the nausea that had been plaguing her all morning. Breaking away from that intent stare, she pushed her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose and let her gaze wander over him, trying to asses the truth of his claim.
He certainly didn't look stressed. As usual, he was leaning back in his chair with his long legs stretched out in front of him and his hands thrust into the pockets of his custom-tailored gray suit. But maybe he was feeling the pressure. No one knew better than she how stressful working at his business firm could be, and heaven knows, as President of the company, Matt had more than his share of challenges.
On the other hand, no one knew better than she did how good Matt was at getting his own way. Even the absurdly hopeful expression he had couldn't hide the stubborn determination indelibly marked in the hard lines of his face. Matt Ishida was tough. From the tight, muscular build of his six-foot-tall body to the shrewd, cynical intelligence gleaming in his ocean-blue eyes.
Catching a glimpse of amusement in their depths, Mimi's spine stiffened even more. "Well, it doesn't relax me," she said, trying to make her soft voice sound firm and implacable. "All I end up with is a lot of frustration."
"That wont happen this time…I promise," Matt said quickly.
She looked at her notepad, pushing her glasses back up as they slipped down her nose again. She doodled on the paper, pretending to add more items to the list she'd made.
"I'll even let you go first."
Her pen fell. To her inner disgust, Mimi could feel herself weakening. She bit her lip, trying not to give in.
His deep voice turned husky with persuasion, "Please, Meems…"
The last of her resolution crumbled. In the three years she'd worked for Matt, she never had been able to resist that half-demanding, half-coaxing tone…so why did she think today would be any different? Especially when she wasn't feeling well enough to deal with him.
She slapped the notepad down on his desk. "All right…you win. I'll play you one game…but just one! And let's make it quick."
Triumph flashed across Matt's face, and he sprang to his feet. "Great! You sit at my desk and I'll set things up."
Mimi walked over and sat on his chair. The supple leather still retained the warmth from his body, and she sighed as the heat comforted her, helping to dispel the small shivers chasing along her limbs. Even the thick brown sweater and long wool skirt she was wearing weren't helping much to keep her warm today.
She wrapped her arms around her middle as another pain tightened the muscles in her stomach. She couldn't be coming down with the flu…not now. The niggling thought that it might be something else, something even more serious, she pushed right out of her mind. She didn't have time to deal with any personal problems. There was too much work to be done. The meeting with Mr. Haoru this morning and the future meetings she needed to set up to prepare for Matt's project. There are contracts to be made, decorations to plan for the company Christmas party…the list was endless. And right at the top of it was trying to handle a boss who insisted on wasting valuable time.
She watched Matt as he paced off approximately seven feet on the plush cream carpet. He placed his empty trash can on the spot. Then he strode back toward her to retrieve a small orange hoop, complete with a net, from a drawer in his desk.
Mimi shook her head at the satisfaction on his face as he crouched down to attach it to the rim of the can. "Don't you ever get tired of playing these silly games?"
"Nope," he answered without bothering to look up from his task. "I like to win."
"You'll probably end up with ulcers," Mimi told him, the thought prompted another wave of nausea. "You're much too competitive."
Matt gave his secretary an amused glance. If that wasn't the pot calling the kettle black, he didn't know what was. Mimi was competitive, too. She just didn't know it.
Not many other people would realize it at first glance either. She was definitely a girl who would play with Barbies and tea sets with her mother, rather than sports with her dad. Everything about her was, well…sort of wimpy. She wore glasses that constantly slipped down the bridge of her small nose. The thick lenses gave her caramel-brown eyes a slightly surprised look blinking in the sunshine. Her mouth was unremarkable, and her thin face and pale cheeks were framed by straight brown hair.
Her movements were precise, her attitude was prim. She didn't talk about herself much, but Matt knew her father died when she was five or so. As a result, she wasn't used to the rather crude way men could talk…never mind understanding the way they thought. Nor did she even have the slightest clue about the purpose, rules, or even star players of the games men loved. Not football, hockey, soccer, baseball…not any game for that matter. Matt discovered that amazing fact barely a week after she started working for him. He mentioned Michael Jordan and was totally stunned when she asked in all sincerity if Jordan works for the company.
Matt knew right then and there that his new secretary needed help. She needed to get out more. She needed to quit being so serious all the time and so polite. She needs to loosen up a little, build some confidence and learn to survive in the big city. Most of all, as part of his team, she needed to develop some fighting spirit. And nothing was better for achieving all those goals, Matt thought, than a little healthy competition.
So being the athletic, competitive guy he was…he took Mimi under his wing. Every couple months or so, he'd introduce her to a new game, to broaden her experience and help de-wimp her. They tackled soccer, football, baseball…but his favorite game so far was trash-can basketball. Now there was a game that required skill.
Not that Mimi had any. Her depth perception was dismal and her coordination sucked. Still, he couldn't help believing she had to have potential for something, he reflected as he pulled out the orange foam ball he always kept in his office. She was slim for her height of about five-foot-six or so, and had nice long legs. Her body at least looked athletic enough…until you put her to the test.
He tossed her the ball, then shook his head as she reached out awkwardly and fumbled the catch. Pathetic…simply pathetic.
But her lack of talent wouldn't stop her from giving the contest her best shot, he knew. Mimi always sucked at first…she had completely outdated notions about correct behavior at work…but once he bullied, convinced or tricked her into playing, her competitive nature would rise to the occasion. She hated to lose, and entered each of the ridiculous contests with a fierce determination to win.
Matt hid a slight grin. She was already frowning over his placement of the basket, her slim brows drawing down over her eyes.
"Isn't that father away than you set it last time?" she asked doubtfully, pushing up her glasses as she glanced at him.
"But…Matt!" Her frown deepened as he shrugged out of his jacket. "What are you doing? Mr. Hauro…"
"Doesn't give a damn how I'm dressed, as long as I get the job done…and I do. Every time." Matt lifted his brows, studying her disapproving face as he began to roll up his white shirtsleeves. "Surely you don't expect me to play a serious game in my suit?"
"Why not? You know you'll beat me with or without it."
She made the last comment almost beneath her breath, but Matt heard it anyways. Like his coordination, his hearing was excellent. He gave her a reproachful look. "Hey, don't I always give you a sporting chance?" She opened her mouth, but before she could reply, he interjected, "Of course, I do. I'll shoot at double the distance."
"Like that's going to matter," Mimi grumbled, but he could tell he had her hooked. She made a practice motion with the ball toward the can before adding, "I think you just like me to play because you can always win."
Matt suppressed another smile at the faint disgust in her voice. It wasn't like Mimi to complain. She usually participated in each game in complete silence.
He kept his mouth shut, although he could have told her it wasn't beating her that he enjoyed so much, but rather watching the fierce determination she put into the games. Like now, for instance. She'd forgotten all about Mr. Haoru's imminent arrival and abandoned that aloof, grave expression she seemed to feel lately was appropriate as his secretary. Instead, her face was screwed up in a fierce scowl of concentration, her eyes narrowed behind her glasses as she visually measured the distance to the goal.
He let her studied it for a few seconds longer, then prompted, "Ready?"
She nodded, her long, straight brown hair swinging gently. "Ready."
She lifted the ball. Just as she was about to release it, he said, "Wait!"
Mimi almost fell out of her chair. She gasped, her caramel-brown eyes wide with alarm, her glasses askew on her small nose. "What's wrong?" She straightened her glasses and glanced nervously at the door. "Is Mr. Haoru coming?"
"Nah. We just forgot to make a bet."
Her eyes narrowed again…on him this time. "I don't want to bet. I keep telling you, betting is illegal."
"Now would I suggest doing something illegal?" Her expression said yes, but before she could answer, he did it for her. "Of course not," he said smoothly. "I was just thinking of a simple, friendly wager…maybe for a small exchange of services."
She still looked suspicious. "What services?"
"Oh, I don't know…" He pretended to consider a moment. "How about if you win, I make Christmas donation to the women's shelter you're collection for. A big donation." No need to tell her, he decided, that the check was already made out and ready to be donated in either case. The incentive would spur her on.
Sure enough her eyes lit up, then turned wary again. "And if I lose…"
"If you lose, then all you have to do is a little Christmas shopping for me. Pick up something for a few of my friends."
"Oh, I dunno…my female friends."
Now she really looked disapproving…and definitely torn. Matt kept his expression serious with an effort. He asked her last week to pick up some gifts for the women he was currently dating, and she responded with a stiff little speech about "gift-giving being a personal thing" and "not feeling right about doing it for him" and how she was sure "his friends would rather have something he'd chosen himself." He listened and agreed, but heck, he had no idea what to get women, and he hated buying gifts anyway. It would be much better if Mimi just did it for him.
He knew he wasn't actually giving her any choice; the women's shelter was a big deal to Mimi. She really got into stuff like charities and child-care facilities…anything she felt would help make someone's life better always caught Mimi's attention. No way on earth would she be able to refuse a possible donation.
But he asked her anyway, "So what do you say? Just get whatever women like and charge it all on my credit card."
"Fine," she answered, gritting her small white teeth. She pressed her lips together and picked up a pen. She deliberately wrote down a line on her notepad, and even took the time to scribble something in the margin.
She glared at him, then glared at the basket. Jabbing at her glasses, she set her delicate jaw and pushed up the sleeves of her brown sweater. She even wiggled forward to perch at the edge of the chair, tugging down the hem of her brown plaid skirt as it inched above her knees. Settled into position, she lifted her arm again. With a mighty scowl and a jerky flip of her wrist, she released the ball.
The orange foam ball shot straight toward the basket and plopped down…two feet short.
Matt wanted to howl at the frustration on her face. She was stiff as a baseball bat now with her hands clenched into small fists by her sides. But instead of laughing, he shook his head in mock commiseration. "Ah, damn. That's too bad," he said sympathetically. He scooped the ball up from the carpet. "Let's see if I can do any better."
He made a motion of measuring off his shooting range, making sure he doubled the distance Mimi had thrown from. Then with a casual toss, he threw the ball.
He nodded in satisfaction as it sank right in the can. Man, he was good. He glanced at his secretary to see if she fully appreciated his prowess, and his smile disappeared.
Mimi looked sick. Her pale skin had a yellow cast and as he watched, she flinched, then wrapped her arms around her waist.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Of course," she said, but the words ended on a small gasp. "I just have a small pain in my stomach."
He frowned as she tightened her arms again. "What do you mean pain?" he demanded. "Like appendicitis?"
"No. Really…I'm fine."
"There's a flu bug going around…"
"It's nothing," she insisted, dismissing his concern with an airy wave of her hand.
A second later, however, she clasped that same hand over her mouth, her eyes widening in alarm. Jumping up, she looked frantically at the trash can…still decked out with its silly net…then dashed out the door.
A/N:So what do you think? Do you guys like it? Let me know if you do and I'll continue with this story. If you have any questions, feel free to ask. See ya later!