Page 68 of The Holiday Makeover

Reluctantly, I answered the phone.

“Hello,” I said, my voice coming out rough.

“Tate.” He said it so cheerfully, I was immediately suspicious.

“Quinton,” I ground out.

“You don’t sound happy to hear from me, but you should.”

“Why’s that?” I sounded braver than I felt. This man had the power to ruin me. And if I was being honest, I hated how much that scared me.

“I have good news for you. I just spoke with our marketing team, and they’ve granted your request to light Aspen Lake’s Christmas tree. In fact, we’ve had a brilliant idea.” He paused, no doubt for dramatic effect, waiting for me to beg him to tell me.

Unfortunately, I had to play along. I knew how this game worked. Sometimes I wondered if I was too good at it. “What idea is that?” I asked, forcing enough enthusiasm into my voice to give him the satisfaction he was after.

“They—I mean, we . . .” Of course he wanted credit for whatever stroke of genius this was.

“. . . think it would be ratings gold if we sent a crew out for the tree lighting. Grab some additional footage of you around town. We could build the whole thing into a Tate Homecoming Special. Exactly the kind of event programming your show needs.”

I swallowed hard, not seeing that one coming. I didn’t know what to say. Because honestly? It wasn’t a bad idea. It was actually a good one.

But there was Rory.

A tree lighting was one thing. A full-blown production in Aspen Lake was something else entirely.

I cleared my throat. I knew I had to tread carefully here. My job was on the line, but so was my relationship with Rory, and I would do nothing to jeopardize that. I wouldn’t lose her again.

“It’s a good idea,” I said evenly. “But you know why I’m here. I’m helping Rory honor her grandmother, and I’m not using her grief or the work we’re doing on her childhood home to sell the show. And Rory is off-limits. She will not be part of this.”

“You made that clear the last time we spoke,” he said crisply before sliding right back into charm mode. “Naturally, we don’t want to impose. We’ll keep our footprint as light as possible and only take the time we need from you, which shouldn’t be too much. But this is the kind of opportunity we can’t afford to miss. Think about what it could do for the future of the show.”

He was careful not to make it sound like a threat.

But I heard it all the same.

I swallowed hard, trying to calculate my next move. What kind of future did I want? Ideally, one that both Rory and my show were a part of. But could I really have both?

Rory had offered to help me come up with ideas to save the show. And now one was sitting right in front of me. A good one. One that didn’t involve her.

Still, I knew I had to bring her into this decision. I didn’t want her thinking the show mattered more than helping her. More than her.

“Seeing as Rory and I are in the middle of several projects, I’d like to talk it over with her before I commit to anything. Can I call you right back?”

“Of course,” he said too easily. “I look forward to hearing from you soon. The clock is ticking,” he added.

I got the message loud and clear—my show was about to expire unless I gave him the answer he wanted.

“I’ll get back to you soon.”

I ended the call and gripped my phone in my fist, staring at the doorway.

How was I supposed to walk out there and tell Rory that the very part of my life she wanted no part of—the lights, the cameras, the attention, the whole production—was about to show up on her doorstep, and I was actually considering letting it?

My gut twisted.

We’d broken up over the show. Over me blurring lines that never should’ve been blurred in the first place.

And yet . . . Maybe this was my chance to prove to her that the show was my job. Just my job. And she was the woman I would always come home to. That she came first. That even with cameras around, I could get this right.