Page 42 of The Holiday Games

The truth is that I’ve been avoiding her.

I’ve been avoiding my bestie because I can’t lie to her. And if I can’t lie to her, then I can’t keep lying to myself.

“Ugh,” I mutter, slugging back the last sip of my now cold tea before gathering my coat and purse from the table I was sharing with Eduardo.

“What happened?” he hisses, casting anxious glances Jenna’s way. “What did you say? Why isn’t she fighting back?”

“We came to an understanding,” I say, shrugging on my coat.

“Yes, but how?” he insists. “Girl, you have to tell me everything. Don’t make me wait to watch it on TV. I will literally explode with frustration. I can’t wait that long for gossip. It gives me ulcers.”

“Me, too,” Millie says, appearing beside us. She lowers her voice to a whisper as she adds, “Well, no, that isn’t really true. I’m usually not into gossip, but Jenna actually looks scared. Of you.” A delighted smile splits her face. “It’s awesome! Teach me your ways, wise one. I want to be nice, but scary, too.”

I exhale a soft laugh. “I’ll spill it all later, I promise, but I need to run right now. I have to check in with work.”

Eduardo groans. “God, don’t remind me. I have to tackle email today. It can’t wait any longer. Pedro is a fabulous assistant manager, but he simply refuses to answer email or order supplies. I swear, that man thinks the toilet paper magically appears in the rooms.”

“Good luck,” I say sympathetically, waving to Millie as I head Ainsley’s way. “Just wanted to let you know that I’m heading out.”

“Sounds good,” Ainsley says. “You did a great job today!”

“Thank you.” I smile, but some of the joy of victory has faded.

It’s hard to be proud of your performance in one arena when you know you’re failing miserable in another.

“You’re welcome.” Her gaze grows more pointed. “Are you sure I can’t send a cameraman with you this afternoon? He’ll keep a respectful distance. He won’t be able to film while you’re in the museum with your friend due to permitting issues, butit would be nice to get shots of you walking through the park, having dinner, that sort of thing.”

I wrinkle my nose as I inch past her. “I’m sorry, I really can’t. I promised my friend that we’d have time alone. She’s camera shy. But I’m all yours tomorrow, I promise. You can film me getting rubbed and scrubbed and pedicured to your heart’s content.”

Ainsley grins. “You know we will. I’m so jealous. That spa is supposed to be divine.”

“I’ll let you know,” I say, waving as I hurry out of the tent onto the sunny sidewalk outside. I glance around as I leave, looking for a sign of Leo, but he seems to have disappeared.

I shouldn’t be worried—that was the plan: for him to head out early and meet me uptown at two—but for some reason my stomach is in knots.

Maybe I’m worried about what he’ll think of my confrontation with Jenna, once he sees the footage?

Maybe I’m second-guessing the wisdom of playing hooky with my producer and lying to the rest of the cast about it?

Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m acting like a crazy person and haven’t so much as texted my best friend about it.

I take the subway uptown, but instead of walking toward the Metropolitan Museum of Art right away, I wander the quiet streets of the Upper East Side, collecting my thoughts before placing the call I’ve been avoiding.

Kayla answers on the first ring, hissing, “Tell me everything. Absolutely everything. Right now. I’m dying for an update. Dying! I couldn’t even enjoy decorating the gingerbread houses for the lobby this morning. Even the smell of icing couldn’t take my mind off the fact that my best friend is in New York, on the verge of becoming a reality television star, and she hasn’t texted me in two days. Two days, woman!”

“I’m so sorry,” I say, feeling awful. “I’m the worst best friend ever.”

“No, you aren’t! I was just teasing.” She laughs. “I get it. I’m sure you’re crazy busy.”

“No, I’m just crazy,” I say, pulling in a breath and confessing everything.

I mean…everything.

I tell her about making out with Leo in the exhibition hall to make Chris jealous and discovering that panty-melting kisses are a real thing, after all. I tell her about our Pretty Woman-style shopping trip and our day on Governors Island and all the intimate things he’s shared with me and the intimate things I’ve shared with him. I tell her about the forehead kiss and the way just meeting his gaze across a crowded room makes me feel like I’m home and the fact that I already care more about this relative stranger than the man I dated for two years.

“Wow,” Kayla says when I stop to catch my breath.

“I know. I’m crazy. Love at first sight isn’t real! I must be having some sort of breakdown or something.”

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