Page 13 of Santa Baby

Fia started, looking up at me for confirmation that the man was someone I knew and not a random, extremely forward stranger.

I nodded curtly. “Greyson. It’s been a while.”

“Oh, hello, Mason.” He kept his dark green eyes on Fia, giving her a flirtatious smile. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes to the ceiling as Greyson Morrow, a trust-fund baby turned mega-rich and equally arrogant heir to his shipping tycoon father’s massive estate, swept his greedy gaze over my date from head to toe. I wasn’t sure what else he did for work, honestly, but he was always at these events, and he always had a glass of Heritage Spirits bourbon in his hand. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

“It was a last-minute invitation.” I narrowed my eyes at him as he continued looking at Fia, who had stepped closer to me, tucking her hand back in the crook of my elbow. “Greyson, this is Fia Webster. I don’t believe you’ve met.”

“How’d you get stuck with this old stick in the mud?” Greyson smiled, tilting his head toward me. Greyson wasn’t much older than me but still acted like he was in his twenties, constantly on the prowl.

Fia didn’t shy away, however. She placed a hand on my chest, leaning into me in a tender, subtle way that bled compassion, at least I thought so. “If anything, he’s stuck with me.”

“Huh, interesting.” Greyson’s gaze flicked to mine. “Webster, huh? Any relation to Colin Webster?”

“My brother.”

“Ah, that explains the familiarity.” Greyson glanced at me again as he sipped his whiskey. It was painfully obvious what he was doing—sizing me up. Deciding if he had a chance at getting between me and Fia and making a move. When his gaze dipped to the swell of her breasts, I cleared my throat, eyeing him coldly.

“Fia is my girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend? Well, I’ll be damned. I didn’t think I’d live to see the day Mason O’Leary went public with anything other than his company.” He took a sip of his drink in emphasis, then saluted us. “I’ll be seeing you lovebirds around.”

“Sure.” I dipped my head in farewell, but Fia tugged on my arm as Greyson walked away, throwing another glance over his shoulder.

“Who was that? You’re so tense right now.” Her fingers curled into my flexed bicep in emphasis.

“No one of importance.” I turned her toward the bar. I’d expected to run into people I knew here. I’d been nodding my head in hello for an hour already, at least, but Greyson was the first to actually approach us, even if it was just to eye-bang my date. I wasn’t sure why it made my blood simmer to think of anyone even looking in Fia’s direction. That was why she was here in the first place. To make it look like I was in a committed relationship, that I would have a family and be able to pass my secret recipes down one day. That was what Heritage Spirits was built on.

What a farse.

I led her up to the bar. “Another champagne, or do you want something stronger?”

“I’m honestly not much of a drinker,” she replied, shrugging. “I like red wine, I suppose. Actually, what is that?” She pointed to a bright blue drink being served to an older woman who had to have been edging on ninety but could likely outdrink everyone in the ballroom.

“If you’re not much of a drinker, you definitely wouldn’t like that,” I said.

“I’m just a lightweight. If you’d had a circular table at your fancy shmancy Thanksgiving party, you would have seen me chugging water after every sip of those whiskey cocktails you were serving.”

I smiled, meeting her eyes. “You really hate whiskey, don’t you? I hate to break it you, darling, but that’s why you have a black card in your purse right now.”

She feigned astonishment. “And I thought you were part of the mafia. I only date mob bosses, Mason, I don’t think this is going to work⁠—”

“One whiskey straight and one Icicle Dream, sugar on the rim please.” I slid a hundred-dollar bill into the tip jar, and the mixologist nodded in thanks.

“Icicle Dream, really?” Fia chuckled, rolling her eyes as I handed her the electric blue cocktail. “You’re going to have to carry me home. What is it made of?”

“Heritage Spirits vodka and some other things I’m not entirely sure of.”

She took a sip, winced like it went straight to her head, and blinked a few times. “Whew, that’s strong.”

I smiled. “I told you. Here, try this instead.”

She wrinkled her nose at my glass of whiskey but eventually took the sip I offered. I immediately led her out to the balcony for some fresh air. We stood close to each other to fight the chill, but the raised conversation and overall thrum of noise from the ballroom faded, replaced by nothing but glimmering city lights.

“Can I ask you something?” she asked, her arm brushing against mine.

I set my glass on the railing and shrugged out of my suit jacket, draping it over her shoulders to keep the wind at bay. “Yeah, go ahead.”

Her dark eyes met mine, and her smile softened, the corners of her mouth edging downward. “Why are you doing this? A guy like you could easily have a real date to these things. Someone fancy who could bid on her own at this auction and who already knows all these people.”