Page 3 of Santa Baby

He ignored me, continuing. “I mentioned you, and he asked if I could try to make it happen.”

“Are you literally insane?” I hissed through gritted teeth.

“It doesn’t mean anything, okay? You’d just be at his side, looking pretty, pretending you’ve been in a long-term, committed relationship with him for a while, and after New Year’s, you’ll be off the hook. He’ll provide whatever you need. Money, clothes, rides, getting your hair done.” He picked up his phone, sending a text as I gaped at him. A soft chime drifted through the air between us as a new email popped up in my inbox. “That’s an NDA, of course, and he said he’d be sending you a list of instructions for the party tomorrow about how to dress, how to act, the whole nine yards.”

“I haven’t said yes!”

“I know it’s weird, but Fia, you love this shit. You love the holidays.” He leaned forward in his seat, his eyes boring into mine. “Just do it. It’ll be fun. These parties are great for networking, all right? Think of it as a business opportunity and an opportunity to go to the hottest parties in town this season. You’ll definitely meet prospective clients. I even told Mason about your degree in event management and how you’ve been struggling to find your footing there. He’s more than willing to introduce you to his contacts…”

I looked at my mostly empty inbox. There was a single email from a sender I didn’t know, but I guessed it had to be Mason or his lawyer. My brain couldn’t catch up with everything that was happening right then.

Mason was one of the most eligible bachelors in New York City. Why would he need a fake date? Women would pay him for a night together.

I could definitely use the introductions to potential clients. Networking was a necessity in my line of work and he had access to a very exclusive network. Plus, my brother wouldn’t have even suggested the idea to me if there was anything weird or unsavory about it.

Another look at Colin’s face, at the silent plea in his eyes, had my mouth moving before my mind could cast its vote. “Fine. But we’re even now, okay?”

He grinned. “We’re even. And the dinner tomorrow night is a trial run. If you’re not into it, or if he isn’t into it, we can call this off. No harm no foul.”

I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest. So, I was pretending to be a billionaire’s girlfriend for the holidays, huh? What was the worst that could happen?

2

MASON

The restaurant felt oddly empty even with the sea of waiters preparing the formal, private dining room. A long, rustic wooden table had been decorated to the nines with candelabras and other festive things I hated. I stared blankly at the cornucopia, the centerpiece that vomited sparkly pumpkins and leaves, wondering if it was really necessary. But none of this was really up to me. If it had been, I would be in my apartment overlooking Central Park with a beer in my hand, watching the game. Alone. Just how I liked it.

“What do you think?” a male voice asked over the rush of silver flatware being arranged on the table. Ellison, the maître d’ for the restaurant and the man I went to when I needed this space to be anything but its usual rugged self, slid up to my side in a slick black-on-black tuxedo, not a single hair on his head out of place.

“Do you think it’s too much?” I asked. “The decorations, I mean?”

The man looked around. “Isn’t that kind of the point? It’s a Thanksgiving dinner. It should feel festive.”

I nodded and scanned the table again. Twenty seats. Twenty crystal wine glasses from Tiffany’s. Twenty matching champagne flutes. Everything was a wash of rich burgundy and burnt orange, which I believed were colors associated with fall and Thanksgiving. I thought, at least. “I want whiskey served first, with the appetizer. Top shelf, the original recipe stuff.”

“Bottles one and two, perhaps? It is a special occasion. I can fetch them from the vault.”

I shook my head. “Whoa, not those.” Sighing heavily, my eyes moved from one end of the table to the other, imagining where my father might decide to sit. “Grab bottle twelve. That was a good year.”

Ellison nodded and moved quickly out of the private dining hall. I shut down the entire restaurant for this tonight, not that we’d be open anyway. It was Thanksgiving, after all. A time to sit around a table with family and say what you’re thankful for or whatever.

My worst nightmare come to life. It had been years since I celebrated anything with my family, and never here, in the kingdom I built off a single recipe given to me by my grandmother.

The recipe that inevitably tore the family apart.

I checked my watch for the fifth time in the last ten minutes and turned to look at the door leading out to the street. It was a quiet night in New York City. The sprawling metropolis always simmered to a low boil during Thanksgiving. I was doing what everyone else in the city must have been doing right then—waiting. Waiting for family to arrive. For food to finish cooking. For their dates to show up, late, apparently.

I eased my hands in the pockets of my tailored tuxedo pants. My white dress shirt was set aglow by the soft echoes of light coming from the dozen or so candles decorating the table as I walked along it one last time and into the main area of the restaurant, waiting.

Where was she?

I’d sent Fia specific instructions for the evening. Number one, she was expected to show up to these events on time, always punctual and ready to go. Second, she’d been instructed to wear all black tonight. I had a dress sent over to wherever she lived in the East Village. The list went on, of course, detailing the events I needed her to attend, but I never once mentioned why.

I glanced again at the main table before walking toward the entrance and fought back the overwhelming nerves blinding my senses. I was a businessman, not a social butterfly. That was why I had called in the favor Colin owed me. I trusted his judgment, but now I had doubts. His little sister was almost ten minutes late.

Her tardiness set my teeth on edge. It was disrespectful. Irresponsible. And, quite simply, really damn annoying.

A flash of pink lit up the front doors. A dark-haired young woman knocked on the glass door like something was hunting her down and this place was her only chance for refuge. A hostess walking by stopped to let her in.