White Hot Christmas | h.s | COMPLETED

Chapter One

   TO Harry Styles' way of thinking, Christmas was a useful holiday for two groups of people:

        (1) Children under the age of ten who still believed that a fat man really could shimmy down a chimney, eat a dozen cookies, then shimmy back up again.
        (2) Retailers, especially the ones adept at convincing last minute shoppers that yes, their brother-in-law really did want a year long subscription service to gourmet salami.

As at thirty-three year old attorney, Harry fit into neither category.

He didn't hate Christmas. He wasn't a modern day Scrooge or Grinch. But he was a bachelor, and one without much family.

Christmas Day to Harry mostly meant that he got a very rare day off from work. An opportunity to drink whisky and read a book without his phone ringing—much. Christmas Eve though? Bah humbug.

At 7 p.m. on Christmas Eve, Harry was right where he usually was: in his office at Bryant and Barnes Law Firm.

He didn't mind, not really. The combination of the holiday and the doomsday weather forecast meant he had the office to himself, which was a rarity at the fast-paced, high profile firm where he worked.

Still, he'd been in front of his computer too long, and a headache was looming. He pushed back from his desk and stood, setting both hands atop dark hair as he turned to look out at the night sky.

Harry blinked in surprise at the swirling snowflakes. Sure, the forecasters had been rambling all week about the atypical convergence of this, that and the other weather system that would be resulting in a supposedly epic snow storm.

But the weather guys got it wrong more often than not, and Seattle wasn't exactly known for having brutal winters, much less blizzards. However, with the way the snow was whipping around, it looked like all the dire warnings about road closures and power outages might not been off-base.

Harry sighed and dragged his hand over his face. Time to head out. Maybe he'd even get to bed early and get the first decent night's sleep in...weeks? Months?

Shit, years?

He blew out a slow breath. It's not that he felt sorry for himself. As a rich lawyer, Harry was living the dream. His dream. An early addiction to courtroom drama had led Harry straight into law school. From there, he'd made a list of his top five Seattle law firms, biding his time until his number-one offered him a job.

They had.

He'd accepted.

Harry had only been at Bryant and Barnes for six years, which was barely a blink in a law career, and yet his eyes had never left the prize: partner. And he was close. It wasn't imminent, necessarily, but his entrance into the firm had been fortuitous as some of the Bryan and Barnes "legacy" partners were eying that elusive sunny-weather retirement home. He may only be thirty-three, but he was more than ready for the next step in his career.

The only obstacle?

Avery Hart.

He snarled at the thought, deciding that bed could wait, and the snow could suck it. He needed to work twice as hard as Hart. Twice as long. Harry turned his attention back to work and lost track of the time. By the time he finally registered that his stomach was grumbling, it was half past eight. An early end-time by his usual standards, but later than he'd intended given the weather.