Holiday Truce – DO Robinson

At 5 AM I give up and pad to my kitchen, make coffee I don’t really want, stand at my window watching Atlanta wake up. The park across the street is dusted with frost, everything crystalline and temporary in the pre-dawn light. My phone buzzes. Text from Micah. Micah: You up? My pulse jumps. I stare at the message. Me: Can’t sleep. You? Micah: Same. Keep thinking about tomorrow.

Me: The party? Micah: Among other things. I wrap both hands around my coffee mug, needing something to hold onto. Me: What other things? Three dots appear and disappear three times. Finally: Micah: You know what things. Heat floods through me despite the cold apartment. I think about lying, playing coy, maintaining some kind of distance. But we’re past that now. Past pretending. Me: I had a dream about you. Micah: Yeah?

Me: Yeah. Micah: Good dream or bad dream? Me: Depends on your definition. Micah: Lena… Me: It was very good, Micah. The kind of good that made me wake up frustrated. Long pause. Then: Micah: Are you trying to kill me? Me: No. Just being honest. You said after the party we stop acting. I’m practicing. Micah: It’s 5 AM. We have a full day ahead. And you’re telling me about dreams that got you frustrated.

Me: Should I stop? Micah: Absolutely not. Tell me more. I smile despite myself, curl up on my couch with my coffee. Me: We were at the venue. Alone. You had your hands… Me: Actually, no. You’ll have to wait until after the party to hear the rest. Micah: That’s cruel. Me: That’s fair. You made me wait. Now it’s your turn. Micah: I’m going to remember this. Me: Good. See you at the venue tonight. 4 PM. Micah: Can’t wait. I set my phone down and finish my coffee, watching the sun come up over Atlanta This is a problem.

The day crawls by. I try to focus on work but every email from Micah makes my stomach flip. Every text about logistics or timing or last-minute details feels weighted with subtext. Micah: Troy confirmed delivery for noon tomorrow. We’re set. What I read: Tomorrow night changes everything. Micah: Tionne says we can access the venue at 6 AM for setup. That work for you? What I read: I’m counting down the hours too. By 2 PM I give up on productivity and head home to change.

The outfit I wore to the office this morning—gray slacks and a cream blouse—is perfectly professional and completely wrong for tonight. I stand in my closet for twenty minutes, pulling out options and discarding them. Too casual. Too formal. Too obvious. Not obvious enough. Finally I settle on a black pencil skirt that hits just above my knee, the one that accentuates every curve without being inappropriate.

A taupe silk blouse that’s fitted but not tight, sophisticated but suggesting things underneath.

Listen. This is a romance novel about two grown-ass Black women who cannot stand each other until they absolutely can. There is fucking in this novel. Explicit fucking. They are lesbians fucking. We don’t fade to black around here. There is also: ● Workplace power dynamics ● Profanity (obviously) ● Slow Burn (Interpret how you want) There is NOT: ● Homophobia as a plot device ● Trauma porn ● Coming out angst This book is for adults.

If explicit sapphic sex scenes, corporate drama, or the word “fuck” used liberally makes you uncomfortable, this may not be for you. Everyone else: enjoy the ride. Just D. OceanofPDF.com THE HOLIDAY TRUCE A Sapphic Holiday Workplace Romance D. O. Robinson OceanofPDF.com M CHAPTER 1: LENA icah’s voice cuts through my presentation like a blade through wrapping paper. “That’s not going to work.” My hand freezes on the remote.

The projection screen behind me glows with my carefully curated mood board—rose gold accents, champagne wishes, elegant serif fonts spelling out Auburn & Ink’s holiday vision. I’ve spent three weeks on this campaign. Three weeks of late nights and color theory and focus groups. I turn slowly. Micah’s leaning back in her chair at the far end of the conference table, arms crossed over that gray button-up she always wears. The overhead lights catch the light brown of her eyes, and even from here I can see the challenge in them.

“Excuse me?” “It’s performative.” She sits forward, elbows on the mahogany. “We’re a Black-owned company selling to real people who want real connection. This looks like a Hallmark store threw up on our brand.” Heat crawls up my neck. The cashmere suddenly feels too tight across my shoulders. “Performative,” I repeat. My voice comes out sharper than I intend, but I’m past caring.

“This campaign speaks to aspiration. To the beauty our customers want to bring into their homes.” “It speaks to white suburban Pinterest boards.” Micah’s jaw tightens. “Our customer base is fifty-three percent Black women between twenty-five and forty-five. Where are they in this vision?” Around the table, six other executives shift in their seats. Monte’ pretends to check his phone. Tanisha suddenly finds her notepad fascinating. Only Simone Webb, our CEO, sits perfectly still at the head of the table, her dark eyes moving between Micah and me like she’s watching a tennis match she might need to referee.

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

Book Information

• Unique ID: 4d44ae5de2c76f2e
• File Extension: .pdf
• File Size: 1,168,823 bytes (1.115 MB)
• Title: –
• Author: Unknown
• Pages: 148
• Language: English (en)

Reading & Word Statistics

• Estimated Reading Time: 204.88 minutes
• Total Words: 40,976
• Total Characters: 234,078
• Average Words per Page: 276.86
• Average Characters per Page: 1581.61

Most Frequent Words

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