Then I send:
Mom’s cooking our traditional Christmas Eve dinner, and you’ll never guess what it is. So come down when you’re done. Or if you want me to come up, just say the word
Her only response is a thumbs-up to my last text.
Funny how a girl I barely knew a week ago suddenly feels like the only thing that matters.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Finley
After Alex walks out of the room, I shut the door behind him and sink down on the edge of the bed, fighting tears.
Why did I come? Why did I ever think this was a good idea? Of course Grant is furious. He has every right to be, especially since this relationship isn’t real.
I grab my phone from the bed and pull up a travel site. Tomorrow’s flights are astronomical, and the day after isn’t much better. My stomach sinks. I don’t have that kind of money.
What am I going to do?
Of course, Alex would pay for it. He’s already said I could leave if I wanted to. But that would mean breaking our contract. The thought of letting him foot the bill makes me feel even smaller, especially when he’s made it clear he wants me to stay.
There’s only one other option. Barb and Mirna. But it’s Christmas Eve and they’re probably busy with their own families.
Still, desperation wins. I text Alex my plan, then call Barb anyway.
To my surprise, she answers right away. Behind her, Christmas music blares, underscored by a child’s wail, “I want a candy cane!”
“Merry Christmas Eve, Barb!” I say, but the words catch. Guilt floods my chest. I can’t ask this of her or Mirna. I need to suck it up and be a big girl.
Barb’s smile vanishes at once. “What’s wrong?”
“Who said anything was wrong?” I counter quickly. “Can’t I just wish you Merry Christmas?”
“You can, but we both know that’s not why you called,” she answers. In the background, another kid shrieks something about a stolen Santa. Barb walks into a room and shuts the door behind her, muting the chaos. “Now tell me what happened, or I’ll call Alex and ask him.”
Mortification floods me, because I know she’s not bluffing. “Alex’s brother showed up.”
Her eyes light up with interest. “The hot one from yesterday?”
“No, the one whose bed I stole,” I say sullenly.
Her lips purse. “You didn’t steal his bed. Now tell me what happened.”
I grimace. “He was pissed, of course.”
I’ve only seen Barb angry on a couple of occasions, and both times were terrifying—even if her fury wasn’t aimed at me. Right now, she looks even scarier. “He was pissed at you?”
I’m tempted to lie, afraid of what she’ll do if I say yes. But I’m equally afraid of what she’ll do if she finds out I lied. “Yeah.”
Her eyes bulge and her nostrils flare. “And where was Alex during this?”
“He was standing right in front of me. And for a second, with the way his hands fisted at his sides—I honestly thought he might punch him.”
Barb’s face softens, dreamy now. “That would be hot. Total alpha-male-claiming-his-mate behavior. Just like the man in Fighting the Posse for What’s Mine.”
I narrow my gaze. “I’m not his mate.”
Why does the thought send a shiver down my spine? Barb’s books must be getting to me through osmosis.
