Chapter 17

“I got him a baseball glove.”

Alex shook his head, feeling deflated. “You couldn’t think of anything more personal?”

“You know the Secret Santa gifts are given during the Christmas party. I can’t make it personal.”

That was true, but how did his brother happen to be his secretary’s Secret Santa—unless he’d had a hand in it? Maybe things were promising.

“Come on. I believe you promised me lunch.” 6

Parrish peeled open an eyelid and sat up in slow, cautious increments. His head felt like some heavy metal band was whaling away on their drums in it and that at any second it was going to fall off and roll around on the bed. His stomach seemed okay, which was a relief. It wouldn’t have been pretty otherwise. As for his breath, he was glad no one was nearby, because going by the way his mouth tasted, he had a feeling his breath could peel paint off the Hearst Tower.

And weren’t these the same symptoms he’d had for his first and only hangover?