Page 18 of Santa Baby

“Sorry to disappoint, darling. You could have hired a sugar baby, you know, if you wanted someone to fawn over you.” She took another sip of her coffee. Her cheeks were stained a soft rose in the dim lighting above our heads. “But I think you get enough of that already, don’t you?”

“If you’re trying to tease me, Fia, it’s not going to work.”

“I’m just stating facts, Mason.” She leveled a stern look at me, at least her attempt at one. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the way everyone at the auction last weekend not only gawked at you but melted in your presence. Everyone was looking at you, and you hated it. You really hate the attention⁠—”

“Everyone was looking at you,” I cut in, and Fia held my gaze for several seconds longer than either of us should have. Something shifted in the air between us, the unusual, unexpected tension crackling like the air before a lightning strike.

She cleared her throat. “Remember how we were out on the balcony?” She crossed her legs, looking down at her lap. “I was going to ask you, before Colin interrupted us, why you were doing this.”

“Why I needed a date to these events?” I asked.

“More than that.” Her eyes met mine again. In the soft, amber light, they took on an array of warm fall colors. “You want this to feel real, like we’ve known each other for a very long time and you’re content.” She bit her lower lip and the motion made my head start to spin. “I thought maybe you were trying to make an ex-girlfriend jealous, or that you needed to impress an investor but… I looked you up.”

I arched a brow.

She looked a little uneasy as she continued. “On Wikipedia.”

“A fantastic and very credible source.”

“They cite their sources.” She frowned. “You’ve never been in a public relationship and you sure as hell don’t need any help with your business, so what’s the real reason?” She shifted toward the edge of the counter, her gaze holding on mine.

I wasn’t sure how to begin. It was messy and complicated—and not something I was ready to share. So, I deflected, like usual. “What was your reason for saying yes?”

Money. Fame. Connections. All three came to mind, but Fia just smiled softly, maybe a little sadly, as she shrugged. “I didn’t have anything else going on, and it’s the holidays. Being bored over Christmas is my worst nightmare.”

9

FIA

Thursday evening rolled around before I knew it. The past week had been a blur of last-minute editing, shooting a very cute engagement in Central Park, and wondering what the hell was my problem when it came to Mason.

I shrugged out of my coat and lazily hung it up on a hook, then tossed my purse into the chair by the front door of my parents’ cozy carriage house in Brooklyn. They had owned it since the dawn of time, according to Dad. I grew up in those snug halls, walked the worn floorboards and memorized every piece of fruit on my mom’s favorite wallpaper that she refused to change even though we were well past the nineties.

The same smells greeted me as I walked through the living room, then the dining room, and into the kitchen, where a familiar scene greeted me. Dad sat at the kitchen table with a glass of port, reading the newspaper and complaining at length about the state of affairs on his side of the bridge, while Mom fought for her life pulling a tray of baked ziti out of the oven that’d been begging us to let it die for the past ten years.

“Fia!” Mom beamed, her curly black hair pulled away from her face with a claw clip.

I wrapped my arm around Dad’s neck and squeezed. “Mom, Dad. What’s new?”

Dad folded up his newspaper and I sat down, leaning to the side to eye the boxes of Christmas decorations stacked on the formal dining-room table in the next room. Mom caught me looking and smiled as she stuffed her oven mitts back in their designated drawer. “Want to help me after dinner? I have to get the tree out of the attic still, but Colin said he’d do it when he got here.”

“I didn’t think Colin was going to make it.” I stretched my legs beneath the table and rested them on the opposite chair, kicking my dad in the process.

He swatted my foot away, frowning over the rim of his glass. “What’ve you been doing lately, Fia? Colin said something about you going to that auction with him last weekend at the Plaza.”

“Yeah, I did do that.” I wondered what else Colin told him. “He introduced me to some of his… work friends.”

“Andy, she’s making connections. That’s what Colin said.” Mom pulled some plates out of the cabinet and set them on the table. I divided them out and took care of the cutlery next, all while Dad looked at me with nothing but skepticism.

“What, Dad?”

“I don’t like it.”

“Andy,” Mom growled.

“What, Gianna? You like her running around with Colin’s friends? All those rich, uppity⁠—”

“Sorry I’m late,” Colin said as he burst into the kitchen. He immediately strode to Mom’s side, kissed her firmly on the cheek, and then slumped into the chair beside me. He grabbed my chair and pushed me a few inches away, then proceeded to serve himself at least a quarter of the ziti before anyone else could even come near it. “Looks great, Mom.”