Page 21 of Faking With Mr. Steele

“Zoe,” Trudy turns her attention onto her, “you understand that’s not cost effective, right? You understand business?”

I don’t give a fuck if Trudy questions me all night about my business practices, but don’t fuck with Zoe. Leave her alone.

“Trudy, drop it already. I didn’t come all the way here to talk business over the holiday. I’m here to spend time withmyfamily, which, by the way, you aren’t a part of.”

“It’s ok,” Zoe says, focusing her gaze on Trudy. “I’m sure you understand you could’ve gotten this breakfast at a much cheaper price at the grocery store, but you wanted something premium as a luxury for the people enjoying it. Even though it’s not cost effective.”

York smirks beside me at Zoe’s damn good response. I push back my chair and head over to the spot where Lindsey sits next to Zoe. “Can I sit by my fiancée?”

Lindsey gets up without saying a word. I slide into the seat, and take Zoe’s tiny hand into mine and bring it to my lips and give it a kiss.

“I agree with Graham,” my mother says, “we’re not here to talk about work.” She turns her attention onto Lindsey and asks her a question about the girls, effectively ending the discussion.

And then the whole table comes alive with easy conversation, and I know one thing is for sure, Trudy does not look happy. And that makes me very happy.

The next day, I’m not so happy. After Trudy’s little breakfast debacle, Zoe seemed to be avoiding me the rest of the day. And night. I knocked on her door, only to get a crack with her eyepeeking out telling me she was fine, just needed to rest up for her entertainment extravaganza today.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” York says, patting me on the shoulder.

“What day is that?”

“The day you’d become pussy-whipped over some chick.”

“Ok, let’s get one thing straight. I’m not pussy-anything. She’s my fiancée.”

“So, you’ve told us. I don’t care how much I love someone, I wouldn’t wear an ugly Christmas sweater for anyone,” he says as we watch my mother, sister, nieces, and fake fiancée all drive away to shop for Zoe’s entertainment day—an ugly sweater party.

“Well you will be,” I inform him. “It’s her day, and you’ll be participating.”

We step back inside and move to the family room.

“Ugly sweater party.” York takes a seat on the sofa, raises his hands behind his head and leans back, propping his feet on the coffee table. “I repeat, she’s going to get you an ugly sweater.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“Don’t mind him,” my father says, dropping down into the recliner, “he’ll be single for the rest of his life. I think I like Zoe for you.”

I meet his eyes, a little shocked by his statement. “Oh really? Why’s that?”

“She’s lively.”

Ain’t that the truth. I’ve never met anyone like Zoe before. And I find myself loving that about her, loving the fact she’s unique, like the engagement ring around her finger. “Yeah, I kind of like her,” I let slip out, forgetting the moment. “Ireallykind of like her.”

My father chuckles, loud and deep. “Well, I sure hope so, son.”

Before I mess up any more, I excuse myself to take care of business. When they arrive back a few hours later, giddy and laden with bags, I pull Zoe to the side. “What’s my sweater look like?”

She dabs my nose with her index finger and then digs into a white bag. She pulls out a red and green sweater, unravels it and holds it against her chest.

Horrified, I stare into the button eyes of Santa, and well, she’s got to be kidding. “Umm, what is that?”

“It’s an ugly Christmas sweater.”

“Ugly is right. I’m not wearing that.”

“Why?” Her face twists into an adorable pout of disappointment, complete with big eyes and plump bottom lip. My dick hardens instantly, and all I want to do is kiss this girl.

My hands land on her hips. “I just can’t wear tinsel.”

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