Page 53 of The Holiday Games

“I will,” she says. “I had a wonderful time.”

“Me, too. I can’t wait for dinner tomorrow night. And I’ll get us tickets to the Rockettes for Thursday, as obnoxiously close to the stage as possible.”

“Sounds perfect,” she says, pushing on tiptoe to kiss my cheek. Lingering there for a beat, she whispers, “Kayla said we should go for it, by the way, and forget about Vivian.”

“I forgot about her the moment I laid eyes on you.” When she pulls back, I add in a softer voice, “I forgot about every other woman on earth about five minutes later.”

“Good.” She beams up at me, her smile enough to take the edge off the cool breeze. “See you later, Leo Fenton.”

“Later, Caroline Cane.”

I shut the door behind her and stand on the curb, watching the car until it disappears around the corner, turning onEighth Avenue.

Then, I start toward the fish market, grinning like a fool as I wander the empty streets. Even the horrific smell of the dumpster behind the shop and the rats that dart over my feet on my way out of the alley can’t harsh my vibe. Neither can the fact that I’m heading home without my runaway cat.

Greg is a survivor. He’ll be okay.

And I think even Satan is happy that I’ve finally met her…the woman I didn’t think existed, the one who’s meant for me.

I can’t wait to see her again, to make love to her again, to hear her voice and her laugh and to hang on every word that slips from her beautiful lips. I’m smitten, so drunk on falling-in-love chemicals that for the first time in a decade, I go to bed without checking my email.

I’m already brushing my teeth when the text from Caroline—Home safe, thanks again for a night I’ll never forget. Let me know if there’s any sign of Greg—pops through to my phone.

Smiling, I text back—Will do, beautiful. Can’t wait to see you again. Sleep well—and then set my phone to Do Not Disturb.

I leave it charging in the living room, and head to bed.

I sleep hard and dream of Caroline, remaining blissfully unaware of the shit storm erupting in the wider world until the next morning, when I wake to five emails, two dozen texts, and a handful of panicked voicemails.

twenty-one

. . .

Caroline

Something’s wrong.

When Grace, one of the junior production assistants, shows up with a camera crew to escort me to the spa, her energy is…weird. She won’t meet my gaze for more than a second or two, and when I ask if everything is okay, she exhales a semi-hysterical laugh and insists, “Oh yeah, fine. Totally fine,” in a tone that assures me everything is not “fine.”

Not fine at all…

I chew my lip as the city streets flash by outside our town car’s windows, wondering if my late return to the hotel last night was a bigger deal than I thought. But before I can ask Grace if I violated a curfew that I wasn’t aware of or something, my phone rings.

It blares, in fact, meaning it’s Kayla calling from the inn’s office phone, our emergency number. We only call each other from the office if something has gone hideously awry, and we need immediate troubleshooting assistance. And I know Kayla wouldn’t be calling while I’m out of town unless it was serious.

“Sorry, I need to take this,” I tell Grace and the two cameramen sitting in the bench seat across from us.

“Of course, no worries,” Grace says, still looking very worried indeed.

But that’s a mystery that will have to wait until later.

Right now, I have another potential crisis on the horizon.

“Hello? Kayla?” I whisper, shifting to face the window as I answer the call. “Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not,” Kayla says, her voice panicked and clogged-sounding, like she’s been crying. “I’m so sorry, C.C. I fucked up. I fucked up really, really bad.”

Instantly, every hair on my body stands at attention.

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