Page 72 of My Favorite Holidate

That evening, the grand ballroom at The Resort is bathed in a soft glow from the twinkling blue-and-white lights that adorn every corner. A towering Christmas tree stands proudly in the center, its branches heavy with red glittering ornaments and shimmering silver tinsel. Laughter and festive tunes about sleigh bells ringing bounce off the walls, mingling with the clinking of glasses and therustling of guests—women in eye-popping dresses and big athletes in sharp suits.

High tables are draped in red linen, boasting centerpieces bursting with fresh poinsettias.

As I stand in the entryway, flanked by open French doors, hunting for my date, nerves flutter through me. Sure, I know all the football players since I work for the team, but they aren’tmyfriends. I can’t glom onto them at the party.

Well, except for Carter, since he’s married to Rachel. Maybe I can find them. Latch onto my friend and never let go. It’ll be better if I hang with Rachel anyway. Surely, Wilder will be busy the whole party. He’ll need to shake hands, smile, and say hi to all the guests. Everyone will want a moment with the owner. I’m simply here to keep up the dating ruse. I channel my best, bold, sassy self as I smooth a hand down the fabric of my dress.You’ve got this.

And as I’m entering the party, chin up, I nearly walk into Sandra, the head of marketing and the woman I report directly to. “Hey,” she says, furrowing her brow. “I didn’t realize you’d?—”

But she must cut herself off before she addsbe here. Of course she’s not used to seeing me at functions like this. I’m not usually senior enough to be invited to the fancy team party. I’m only here because I’m the owner’s arm candy.

I smile and give a cheery “Happy holidays,” since that’s easier than talking about the elephant in the room—that I’m dating the guy (wink, wink) who signs everyone’s paychecks. Including hers.

Ugh. I feel sick.

“But it’s good to see you,” she says, quickly recovering. “You’ve been doing such great work this year. You deserve to be here.”

Oh.

I didn’t expect those kind words. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“You really have. I never would have imagined merch would become so important, but you have your pulse on what people want.”

I smile. No, I beam. “That means a lot to me.”

“And you mean a lot to the team,” she says, then sets a hand on my arm before she’s called away by a group of well-dressed people as they walk through the door.

That was unexpected and a nice little ego boost. I turn around to hunt for my friends again when I hear a familiar voice.

“Wow.”

As if I summoned her with my thoughts, Rachel appears by my side, dressed in a short, sexy, silver cocktail dress that hugs her curves and hips. She wears a necklace I made her—with a jumping reindeer on it. My necklace is from the same line, a shimmering snowflake on a pendant, made from old glass bottles.

“Wow to you too,” I say, focusing on her since that’s easier than taking the compliment. “You look amazing. Especially your bling.”

“Thank you. But you really do, Fable,” she says, apparently intent on laying the compliment on me. She reaches out her arm, gently touching the strap of my dress. “This is gorgeous.”

“I guess I clean up okay,” I joke.

But she’s serious. Her amber eyes laser in on the red dress Wilder sent me. I love the way it feels. And looks. “Where did you get this?”

My cheeks pinken. Maybe from the lie I’m here to unspool, or maybe because it thrills me a little to say, “Wilder sent it to me.”

Her jaw comes unhinged. “Girl!”

“He has good taste.”

“Understatement. He picked it out and sent it to you. Like in the movies?”

Well, yeah. But I honestly think that’s part of being the best fake daters there have ever been. It’s easy to turn to fiction—TV, film, books—for examples of how to pull it off. Now that I think about it, that office tryst probably falls under the same heading—it’s helping us pull off the act. There won’t be any awkward moments now that his hands have been up my skirt. In fact, maybeIshould write that handbook for fake dating. I’ll include the recommendation for at least one consensual hands-on session to increase believability of affection. “Yes.”

“So, this romance between you two is…?” She waits for me to explain more.

I gulp. What the hell do I say? I was wrong. I shouldn’twritethe handbook, I need to study it.

“It’s early days and all.” I feel terrible not telling the full truth. Rachel is a good friend and a mentor in a lot of ways. Her store was the first to carry my Treat Yourself line of necklaces.

“Looks like the early days have been good,” she says, and guilt twists in me. Rachel lets out a low whistle of admiration. “That’s a skill, Fable. Picking a dress like that.”

---