Page 42 of A Very Daddy Christmas

“People can’t really be trusted, Cora. You can only trust yourself. Time has a way of showing the truth, sooner or later. As long as you stay loyal to yourself and the work you do, as long as you stay genuine, the right people will see you for who you are.”

“I guess social media has a way of warping one’s vision.”

“And then some,” he says, resting one hand on my knee. His touch alone is enough to make my skin tighten all over. The effect this man has on me is immediate. “It’s more or less what the guys and I do for a living these days. We build images of businesses and convince online visitors that theirs is the best product. Theirs is the best experience. But it’s a jungle out there. Reputations are built over years, yet they can be torn down within weeks or even days.”

“All you can do is pick yourself up, right?”

He nods once and squeezes my knee. “You’re one of the strongest women I’ve ever met. I reckon the new year will treat you infinitely better than the one that’s about to come to an end.”

I hope he’s right.

“Here we are,” Sebastian says as we pull up outside a swanky hotel in the city center.

“Wait, I know this place.”

We get out of the car, and Sebastian passes the key over to a spry valet in a red and gold vest. “The Lancaster,” he says as the valet climbs into the SUV. “They’ve got the best Italian restaurant on this side of the state.”

“Sebastian…”

“And you deserve a treat for all the hard work you’ve been doing.”

I stop before the massive front doors, gold-brushed frames and the hotel logo elegantly scrawled across in gilded letters. A concierge comes out to greet us in his sleek, red-and-gold tuxedo uniform.

“Welcome to The Lancaster. May I be of assistance?”

“We have a reservation for six o’clock tonight at The Osteria,” Sebastian tells him.

The concierge nods politely but doesn’t hesitate to measure me up and down with a slightly critical eye. Of course. Sebastian is donning his usual custom-tailored dark green suit with a crisp white shirt and fine leather shoes, while I’m in a plush brown jacket, camel-beige boots, and have a streak of flour on the left thigh of my jeans. Classy.

Suddenly, I’m reminded of who I am. I don’t really belong here, do I?

“If you’ll follow me, sir,” the concierge calmly replies, giving me one last judgmental look before leading us inside.

Sebastian rests his hand on the small of my back, guiding me. I think he can tell I feel out of place, but he doesn’t say a word.

Riggs and Waylan are seated at the farthest table by the eastern window, both lighting up like two gorgeous suns as they stand to greet us. They’re both dressed impeccably, as usual. Damn, none of this is helping me feel any better. If anything, their attire just exacerbates my preexisting anxieties regarding this relationship.

“You look gorgeous, as always,” Riggs proudly declares, clearly reading my discomfort.

The concierge is gone, and I barely noticed the nicely dressed hostess who took his place. I didn’t hear her, either. I was too busy taking all of this in and feeling smaller with each passing second.

“Cora?” Riggs asks.

“Are you okay?” Sebastian chimes in, both of them giving me worried looks as we take our seats.

I can’t even speak. I can only look around, bitterness testing my nerves and dousing everything in a terrible taste.

Waylan gives me a soft, understanding smile. “It was supposed to be a nice surprise.”

“It is,” I mumble. “I’m just not adequately dressed for this. I look like I literally fell out of the oven.”

“You’re beautiful and perfect,” Sebastian insists.

“Gorgeous,” Riggs says it again.

I try hard to smile, but even that feels like it’s coming out wrong.

“Cora,” Waylan says in a low voice. “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter how you’re dressed. Besides, you look fantastic in anything.”

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