Page 55 of Santa Baby

I’d told him I didn’t understand what I’d done wrong. I apologized for choosing a dress worth more than most people spent on a car, paying it off over the course of four years in staggering increments. I told him I’d return the diamond cluster earrings. That I was sorry for whatever I did. That I was sorry for not being born rich, that I wasn’t a socialite, that I didn’t have a model’s body type and couldn’t wear designer clothes off the rack.

But the text turned angry as my heart spilled itself on my phone screen. Angry that he’d let me see a glimpse of who he really was, that he changed his mind after what we did, that he was using me for more than I bargained for.

That having these crushing feelings wasn’t part of our original deal.

I hadn’t sent it. I didn’t delete it, though. I couldn’t bring myself to, and I wasn’t sure why.

“I have to stop at the deli to pick up the baccala,” Mom said as I followed her off the train at a station pretty far from the family home. “Do you mind the walk? Fresh air will be good for you.”

“I don’t mind.” I was already numb anyway. I followed her up onto the street, walking down the streets I grew up on and past shops where everyone knew us. Mom stopped in a few places, handing out cookies, wishing everyone a Merry Christmas. Eventually we reached her favorite deli, where she proceeded to haggle over everything she bought every single year for my entire life, and left without the price she wanted, but that was just part of the game.

Finally, as the sun hung high overhead, we reached the house.

“Go change into something comfy and get on the couch. You’re spending the night.”

“I’m not that sick, Mom⁠—”

She shot me a look that immediately shut me up, and I did what I was told, quickly changing and curling up on the living-room couch in a fluffy blanket while Mom clattered away in the kitchen.

My phone rang. I answered it without even looking at the screen. “Hello?”

“Is this Ms. Fia Webster?” A vaguely familiar female voice rang through the line and I straightened up.

“Yes.”

There was a heavy sigh of relief. “This is Heather Schuyler. We met at Deck the Decks?”

I sat up, my heart leaping out of my chest. Heather Schuyler was about as old money as you could get in New York, her family going all the way back to pre-revolutionary times. She was a high-profile socialite and philanthropist, known for her parties and charities, and for some reason she was calling me. “Yes,” I managed to croak. “I remember. How are you?”

“Terrible, darling. I need your help.”

“My—my help?”

“I was so impressed by you when we met. My foundation covers the library, and I spoke with Shelly a few days ago about the event you helped her with off the books and I knew I had to give you a ring. You might be the only person who can help me now, in so short a time.”

I couldn’t find words. My head was spinning.

“Please tell me you’re not busy on the twenty-second.”

“I’m not,” I replied, even though I had no idea if I was in fact busy. I might have been, given my scheme with Mason, but I hadn’t heard from him in days, so what was the point?

“Perfect. I need you. I need your creative mind at my disposal. I’ve decided to throw my own version of a Christmas Gala, the day before Christmas Eve. It’s terribly last minute and my usual event organizer is in Bora Bora for the holidays, so you’re my only hope.”

“You want me to plan it for you?” I asked.

“Oh, yes! Why do you think I’m calling, darling? I’ll send you the details. It’s being held at my house. My chefs are setting up their menu, and I have staff to manage the event, but the rest of the details, the decorations, that will be up to you. Is that something you’re up for?”

I gaped. “Yes.” The word slipped out before I could stop myself.

“Fabulous. I’ll have my secretary send you the details. Would you be able to come over tomorrow to tour the house?”

Touring Heather Schuyler’s New York City mansion on Fifth Avenue, which was likely protected by the Historical Society? “Yes. I’ll be there.”

“Lovely, darling. Oh, I am just thrilled. See you tomorrow!” The line went silent.

I lowered my phone, shell shocked.

“Who was that?” Mom hollered from the kitchen.