Page 77 of My Favorite Holidate

She seems flummoxed momentarily, but then she nods. “You’re very capable.”

‘‘Did you think I was…what? Spoiled?”

“Actually, I don’t know.”

“I wasn’t raised with money, Fable.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that,” she says.

“I know how to change a flat tire. To cook a meal. To perform CPR. To fix a faucet and change a lightbulb,” I say.

She dips her face, like she’s hiding a smile. One I want to kiss off. When she raises her face, she says evenly, but like it takes some effort, “That’s good.”

I have to know. “Why? Why is that good?”

She presses her teeth into her lips, then says, “I like that you’re normal too.”

My heart pounds too fast, then too recklessly. I blame that damn organ for the next thing I say, “I like your apartment. It’s very you.”

“Thanks.” She pauses. “That actually means a lot to me.”

As we leave, I take the suitcase, then set a hand on her back despite the fact that no one’s watching. But it feels right to touch her like this. It’s not helping my intention to compartmentalize, but that’s fine. I’ve got a plan, and a plan always helps.

When we reach the car, I load her suitcase into the trunk, shut it, then scan her block. “Now, let’s get you breakfast.”

Fifteen minutes later, she has a toasted bagel and a coffee in hand as she slides into the passenger seat.

Once I’m in the driver’s seat, I push bagels and thank yous out of my mind, shoving them next to desk orgasms and hot mistletoe kisses. It’s time to work on our fake romance plan—phase two.

“Now listen, we can’t fuck up again like we did at the party.”

“With Bibi? You felt that too?" Fable asks, and of course she noticed—she’s the kind of woman who really seems to see people and understand nuance.

“I did. That arched brow of hers gives me nightmares. She can sniff out a lie like a bloodhound in a Santa hat. But I have an idea to keep us on track when we’re in Evergreen Falls.”

“I’m all ears.”

I flick the turn signal as I near Divisadero Street, then toss her a playful smile. “It’s a naughty and nice list.”

24

BOARDROOM BOSS

Fable

Well, then. “Santa Blaine is in the car,” I say.

His lips curve up the slightest bit—a tease of a smile. “It seemed…on brand for us,” he says evenly, an explanation even though he doesn’t need to justify his list. “A naughty and nice game.”

But because I can’t seem to resist teasing him, I add, “And if I’m a good girl, will I get an extra present?”

He flashes me a quick glance as we near the Golden Gate Bridge. Correction: a quick, stern glance. “Ah Fable, you’d have to be an extra good girl to get an extra present,” he says, like a command.

I sit up straighter in the seat. “I can be very, very good,” I say, obedient. Then I arch a brow his way. “I promise.”

He breathes out roughly, like he’s enjoyed those words from me—the promise of them. But maybe that’s just part of this fake dating game, just like I’m into his naughty and nice list because I like a little competition. That’s all.

“What do you want for Christmas then?” he asks, his tone genuine.

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