Page 11 of Santa Baby

She zipped up the first dress—a stunning blue lace number—but it didn’t look so stunning on me. She frowned, chewing on her lower lip. “This is a no. It does nothing for your waist.”

Again and again, I was undressed and redressed, occasionally made to step out into what I can only describe as a viewing dock, where Liv was living her best life with two other associates, drinking champagne and scrutinizing every detail of the gowns I tried on.

Liv, who liked to describe herself as having the body of teen boy, said, “None of this is doing anything for your tits, Fia. You need to put those babies on display.”

To my great surprise, everyone seemed to agree, and soon more dresses were brought out. Gone was the lace and beading, and in was the sleek, silken fabrics, jewel-tone blues, and dangerously low necklines.

“Oh, my God,” Charlotte breathed as she zipped me into the satin dress I’d found on the rack earlier. “You picked this out, didn’t you?”

I’d had my eyes closed while she helped me into it. I’d tried on ten dresses already and was losing hope. I opened one eye, then another, and gaped at my reflection in the trio of mirrors.

It fit me like a glove. My breasts were high and tight in a heart-shaped bodice, and thin shoulder straps showed off my shoulders, neck, and collarbone. The waist was tight and flattering, showing off the sharp pitch of my waist before clutching the soft curve of my hips.

Charlotte, slightly breathless, turned me around and marched me out to the viewing platform where everyone in attendance went perfectly, utterly still.

“Holy shit, that’s the one,” Liv gasped, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“The color is perfect on you.” Charlotte nodded, walking around me to adjust the pale, sapphire blue fabric. “It makes your skin glow like gold.”

I turned to the mirror as the women around me started discussing jewelry and shoes to go with the dress and how I should style my hair. My reflection was shocking. I loved clothes. I loved to dress up and go out, but this felt different somehow.

Why was I thinking about how Mason would react?

I swallowed hard, turning back to the group. “I’ll take it.”

6

MASON

Rex, my personal driver, was never late. I made him pick up Fia tonight, however, and I still wasn’t totally convinced she was capable of being on time for anything, so the fact that it was five minutes past seven either meant Rex was in a terrible car accident or Fia was holding him up.

It shouldn’t matter, honestly. It was my nerves talking. So what if they were a few minutes past the time I highlighted, underlined, and wrote in bold on the schedule I emailed her? It wasn’t like this was a sit-down dinner. It wasn’t casual, by any means, but still.

I glanced over my shoulder at the crowd making their way through the foyer of the Plaza Hotel toward the entrance to the ballroom, everyone dressed in shades of blue, and wondered, not for the first time, what Fia chose to wear tonight.

I’d seen the charges on my credit card statement, of course. Not that it mattered, either. I wanted her to use the card. I felt excited, actually, when I got the notification that she’d swiped it. I couldn’t explain why I suddenly felt so off kilter. Reminding myself that this was just business didn’t seem to be working any longer, especially when Fia walked through the doors into the hotel and I lost the ability to breath.

I walked forward without realizing I was crossing the foyer, brushing past partygoers moving in the opposite direction, just to confirm I wasn’t seeing things. But no, there she was, handing her coat to the concierge with a dazzling smile on her beautiful face, her body draped in blue satin that made her glow like liquid gold.

She turned to me and her smile widened, but her eyes were glassy, a hint of nerves lingering there. Her thick brown hair was loose and falling in gentle waves down her back, framing her face, and God, she was just stunning. I was awestruck. I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting. I couldn’t explain it otherwise.

“Mr. O’Leary,” she said, stepping toward me in a pair of heels that made her a few inches taller. I still had to look down at her as we met toward the entrance of the hotel, ignoring the other gala guests flooding the area. Her smile faltered a bit as her eyes fell to her heels. “Does the dress meet your standards?”

“Uh. Yeah.” I had to clear my throat to continue, “You look—you look absolutely breathtaking.”

She looked back up at me, her expression soft and tender, which did something strange to my insides. “So, I met the dress code this time?”

“Yeah, you did.” I was losing it. The dress hugged her body in a way that tastefully showed off every curve and I was in a trance, to say the least. I desperately needed a drink. “Shall we?” I offered her my arm, and she took it, resting her hand in the crook of my elbow, and we turned toward the ballroom.

“Have you ever been to the Plaza before?”

“Yeah, a few times. They have a great restaurant,” I replied, my mouth going dry. “Have you been here?”

She laughed. “No, God no. I’ve walked past it plenty.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“Well, I’m here now, aren’t I?”