Page 14 of Holiday Hoax

“I’m not actually. I might do a little work from home this afternoon, but I have a dinner tonight to get ready for.”

Her eyes snap up to mine with a hopeful shine. “A date?”

“More of a business dinner, but I will be taking a woman with me.”

“Who is she? How did you meet? What does she do?” She peppers me with the questions in rapid fire.

“Her name is Mia, and she’s my brother-in-law’s younger sister.”

“How much younger?” She hits me with her patented side eye.

“She’s twenty-six.” I smile when Marta’s brows raise. “I know, but she’s very down to earth.”

“And her job?”

“She works at an art gallery. But it’s not a real date. She’s agreed to accompany me to various events for a few months. Just to give the impression that we’re dating.”

“Why you lie?”

“It’s not a lie. A few of the board members feel like I need to show stability outside of my work ethic. Getting a girlfriend is the easiest way to do it.”

“Why not date for real? Find a nice woman and settle down, so I can stop cooking for you.”

“I don’t for a second believe you’ll ever stop cooking for me. And no one interests me.” Except for Mia, which could become a problem if I’m not careful. “And I don’t want to be set up with women that Mom finds.”

Marta snorts in agreement and has apparently squeezed all the information from me that she needs. “Go, you stink up my kitchen.” She shoos me out with her hands before covering the dish with aluminum foil.

I grab a few grapes from the bowl on the counter and pop them in my mouth as I walk back to my bedroom. The bed is already made with militaristic attention to detail thanks to Marta. Pulling my shirt over my head as I enter the bathroom, I make sure to toss it into the correct hamper. The rest of my clothes follow while the shower heats up.

As I open the glass door and step inside, steam escapes in tendrils into the air. I sigh with relief as the heat envelopes me and the spray relaxes my muscles. My mind wanders to thoughts of last night as I go through my wash routine.

I hope I wasn’t too overbearing. The tendency to bulldoze over people is ingrained in me. It’s especially prevalent when Iwant to help someone I care about. That thought hits me with an intensity I wasn’t prepared for.

I do care for Mia, though. More than I probably should. Every moment I spend around her deepens that feeling.

The thought of her selling feet pics, or worse, just to scrape by every month is killing me. I wonder if I should go to the HOA and pay her fees for the next few years. If I didn’t think she’d hate me for it, I would.

The fact of the matter is that I respect the hell out of her for helping her parents. But not to the point where she’s suffering, especially when I know how easy it would be for Nico and Stella to step in. I get her worries about involving them while Stella is going through her health battles, but living off peanut butter and ramen—yes, I snooped in her cabinets—isn’t sustainable.

I wonder if she’d hate me for ordering groceries for her? Probably. There’s got to be a way I could convince her to let me help her though.

She seemed to acquiesce when I mentioned paying for incidentals. I could make up some story about needing to always have certain foods available and then start spending more time at her apartment. Or I could find ways to get her over here. Marta always makes more than enough for me. At least I’d know she was eating regularly that way.

How to get her here is the question, though. There’s really no reason for either of us to be in each other’s apartments unless one of us is picking up the other. I glance around the white marble walls of my bathroom as if they’ll have the answer to all my problems.

Then it hits me.

She sells art. I have nothing hanging on my walls. Why didn’t I think of this sooner? I could invite her over to help me figure out what my apartment is missing to make it feel homier. A bonus is that she’ll get the commission from my purchases.

I could solve at least some of her problems temporarily and maybe find a way to convince her to let me do even more.

The decision to use a car service for our first dinner was a tough one. On the weekends I prefer to drive myself if possible, but I thought it might be nice to sit in the back and chat with Mia on the drive to the restaurant. I want to be able to give her my undivided attention if she has any questions.

Another plus is that I can go up to her door to pick her up instead of sitting in the car outside her lobby. I lift my hand to knock on her door just as it swings open. She blinks in surprise and then aims her megawatt smile in my direction.

My jaw goes slack as I look her over. She’s wearing a cream color cashmere turtleneck sweater tucked into a crimson skirt that hits her at mid-calf. Her nude-colored pumps give her a few extra inches in height, but she’s still quite a bit shorter than me. Her hair is pulled back in an artful bun on the back of her head, but sadly I don’t see the lilac strands I’ve come to love.

“You look beautiful.”

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