Page 34 of Santa Baby

“Why are you doing this?” she pressed. “Why did you need me to pretend to be your girlfriend?”

“Because of my dad.” I held her gaze. “I needed to prove to my dad that I’m capable of—of carrying on what he believes is the family legacy. That I’m capable of doing something like this.” I motioned between us at the table, at the untouched food. “That I care about the family name and therefore my business and the recipe that built it. I thought pretending to have a girlfriend would mend something between us and he’d get off my back.”

I couldn’t even look at her. I hadn’t admitted the truth to anyone. My investors didn’t care if I was married or single. I was so out of touch with the media that my reputation didn’t matter, especially since I had never given them anything juicy to write about.

Fia sighed heavily, eyeing me through her lashes. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

I fought back a smile, meeting her gaze. Her mouth ticked up at the ends, and she laughed.

“You’re joking?” she said. “Why do you care what that old grouch thinks?”

“Guilt, I don’t know.” That was enough spilling of secrets for now.

“You know what we forgot?” Fia looked at the bags scattered around us.

“What?” I finally took a bite of my pizza.

“I have nothing to put these decorations on because you don’t have a Christmas tree, do you?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Well, I know what we’re doing next. Hurry up.” She started gathering our bags. “You’d better call Rex.”

“Why?”

“We’re going to Brooklyn. We’re getting you a Christmas tree.”

15

FIA

Imanaged to stifle my shock as I crept into Mason’s apartment. Although it wasn’t just any apartment. It was a modern palace with sweeping straight lines and dark, moody colors. My sneakers squeaked on his hardwood floors as I stepped out of the entryway and into a hallway that branched off in three different directions. I wasn’t sure where to go, so I went straight, hopping out of the way of the eight men fighting for their lives with a live Christmas tree behind them.

“Living room,” Mason grunted to Rex, tilting his head in my direction.

I flattened myself to the wall, holding all eight shopping bags as they walked by. When Mason mentioned he’d be able to fit a twenty-foot tree in his living room with no problems, I’d been more than a little curious about what this place looked like. He’d mentioned it was a man’s apartment, but the second I stepped into the living room, I realized I was in the apartment of a king.

Ceiling-height windows stretched wide and high, showing off a cloudy view of Manhattan, tall towers glimmering in the sunlight unable to reach street level through the clouds. A black staircase—modern and curving—led to the second floor balcony with plush chairs overlooking the living area and the sunken space at the center, where a fireplace made of what had to be black marble, or something equally as expensive, was the centerpiece of the room.

I gaped, ignoring the muffled conversation taking place in the far corner closest to the fireplace, where Rex and Mason were trying their best to set up the nine-foot Christmas tree without breaking any more branches like they had trying to stuff it in the service elevator.

The sunken seating area was totally carpeted in a fine, soft black I was sure felt like clouds when walked on. I turned in a circle, noticing the modern chef’s kitchen tucked on the other side of the room behind an archway. There was a formal dining room beside it, with more windows overlooking the city. He must have the entire floor to himself.

A curling, twisting sensation bloomed through my stomach as I slowly set the bags down. I felt chilled as I took in the space, the art, the meticulous design. His description of the place had made it sound boring and empty, but this was anything but.

“I’ll take her home, don’t worry about it.” Mason’s voice drifted toward me with a slight echo. No wonder. This apartment was at least ten times the size of mine.

“Bye, Rex.” I grinned as Rex, dressed in a sharp black suit now covered in pine needles, walked past me.

“Bye, Ms. Webster.” He gave me a little wink and disappeared into the depths of the palace.

Finally, alone with Mason, I let out the disbelieving laugh I’d been choking back for the last ten minutes.

“What’s so funny?” Mason planted his hands on his hips.

“Are you serious?” I waved an arm.

He shrugged. “This is my apartment.”