Page 10 of Filthy Rich Santas

“Actually, Wade won’t be able to join me,” I murmur, not really expecting my boss to push for more information but dreading the chance all the same. Wade does travel in the same circles as the Sanders and my parents, after all. It’s why they like him so much.

It’s also why I haven’t been able to tell mine the truth yet. They know he’s not coming for Christmas, of course, but I haven’t admitted to them that we broke up. I just don’t want to deal with their disappointment in me. Again. As always.

I nod along, making appropriately encouraging sounds, as Mr. Sanders thankfully gets back to business and wraps up the long list of assignments for me. At least half of which—like handling his dry cleaning—are definitely not in my job description, but still expected.

Thankfully, it doesn’t actually take that much of my attention to follow along, though. After last night’s embarrassingly disappointing end to my big attempt to explore my options at Radiance, the reminder that I wasn’t good enough for Wade, either, stings more than I’d like it to after all this time.

The man asked me to marry him. And even if saying yes to him felt a little bit like I was sinking under a heavy weight, it was also really validating in ways I’m not sure I’m proud of to know that someone like him wanted me forever.

Until he didn’t, of course.

He broke it off only a few weeks later, after I found out?—

Well, I don’t want to think aboutthatright now, either. It’s just one more thing I’m not ready to share with my family. Although in the case of my engagement to Wade, at least I dodged that bullet.

Sure, they’ll be disappointed when I finally have to confess that we’re not together anymore, but we were going to announce the engagement at Christmas, since both our parents are back in New Hampshire. This way, at least, mine will never realize how close I came to making them proud by marrying the man they practically hand-picked for me, only to fail once again.

“I’ll be sure it’s waiting on your desk when I get back from lunch,” I tell Mr. Sanders as he ends his monologue with another request for a hard copy of the latest filings in the Wallington case.

“Good. See that you do,” he says crisply, as if I need the reminder.

I’m always on top of things with my job.Always. But I shake off my irritation as he walks away, because I’m finally free. At least for an hour.

And honestly, after I got over my hurt at how abruptly Wade dumped me, I have to admit thatfinally freeis also how I feel now that he’s out of my life.

It definitely left me reeling at the time, and it took me a little bit to find my bearings after the path I’d been following all my life—well, sort of just plodding along on, really—suddenly blew up around me with no warning. But with the distance between me and my family limiting our contact and Wade out of the picture, I realized I could just bemefor once.

As soon as I figure out exactly who that is, of course.

I head to the pretty little rooftop alcove that gets too much wind but has a fantastic view of the city, and unpack my low calorie lunch, munching through the sandwich as I stare out over the valley. I’ve had a lot of time to think about all the ways I want to reinvent myself over the last few months, and last night was supposed to be a part of that.

It’s pretty obvious that if I’m going to explore kink, I’m not going to be able to do it at Radiance, though. The thought leaves me feeling just as embarrassed and dejected as I did last night when Beckett sent me off in a car instead of ravishing me the way he would have if fantasies actually came to life. But that’s the problem with looking too closely at fantasies in the hard light of day. They really don’t hold up.

“Kind of like these,” I say with a little chuckle as I poke at the vegetables that I steamed last night, causing them to fall apart on my fork.

I sigh and shove them back into my lunch container, deciding to just skip it. Or maybe head down to the cute little coffee shop on the ground floor and treat myself to a cinnamon muffin?

Before I can decide whether to break my diet or not, my phone pings with an incoming message, saving my waistline.

“But not my sanity,” I whisper under my breath in a sing-song voice when I see that it’s from my sister.

VIVIAN: Please remember that we all agreed to wear red for the family Christmas photo. Carmine, not scarlet. A photographer will be coming to the party on Christmas Eve, so pack accordingly.

I roll my eyes. “We” didn’t decide anything. My mother dictated it. And I honestly don’t know the difference between carmine and scarlet, other than vaguely thinking they’re both darker shades of red. Or brighter, maybe?

Either way, I’m sure the dress I’m planning on bringing will be deemed thewrongshade, but finding something flattering for my shape is challenge enough. The red I found will just have to do.

ME: Thanks for the reminder! I’ve already packed a red dress for the party. :)

Her reply comes back almost immediately.

VIVIAN: A dress, Lana? Really? An accent piece in red is enough. You don’t want to draw too much attention. Maybe go with black as your base, since it’s more slimming.

“Damned if I do, damned if I don’t,” I murmur, doing my best to ignore the pang in my chest over yet another reminder that my choices are always the wrong ones. At least, according to my family.

ME: Thanks for the advice. See you soon!

I brace myself for her next jab, but am pleasantly surprised when she lets it go.

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