Page 100 of Fake It 'Til You Sleigh It

She made damn sure to cut out any kissing when I fake propose to her at the end.

I raise my mic. “We’re only halfway into our show, so use this commercial break to call your nanna, your auntie, your dry cleaner—heck, even your ex if you’re bold enough—and ask them to subscribe!” I wink at the camera. “And stick around because you won’t want to miss the moment when I ask the love of my life, Chase Pemberton, a very important question.”

Her voice cuts through the buzz. “And we are clear for commercial!”

I turn, hoping to catch her eye, but she’s already barking orders at the crew. “Set up for the ‘Santa Baby’ dance number. We have three minutes. Everyone to your marks!”

Taylor appears at my side. “Chase says you’re doing great.” She hands me a water bottle along with a paper. “And she asked me to give you this.”

I take a drink and glance down at the page. Written in letters so big you can see them from space, she has scrawled:STICK TO THE SCRIPT!

I let out a chuckle. “Assure her not to worry. No spontaneity, no deviation. Pinky swear.”

I say it as a joke, but I mean it.

Mid-gulp, I spot the Barrett clan. Mom is waving so enthusiastically she could be an air traffic controller. Dad is giving me not one, but two thumbs-up. And Nolan? He’s perfecting his “I’d rather be anywhere else” face, complete with an eyebrow twitch that seems to say, “I support you, but I’m also considering the sweet release of death.” I laugh.

My eyes dart back to the subscriber counter.Damn.The numbers are crawling up, each new subscriber coming in at a snail’s pace. It’ll be tight, but I’ve got this sense—we’re gonna make it.

Only minutes stand between now and me asking Chase to marry me on live television. She thinks this is all for show, but I’m planning something bigger.

This proposal? Step one.

Operation Win Chase’s Heart: Initiated.

Once we’re back in Los Angeles, I’m going to sweep her off her feet. We’ll film together for months, finishingShamrock Shenanigans. It’ll be the perfect opportunity to prove to her I’m not some shallow playboy. I’ll be there every morning with her favorite tea. I’ll stay late to help her review dailies. I’ll listen to her ideas, support her vision, and prove that I’m the man she can depend on.

Not just on set, but in life.

What we have isn’t some Hollywood fling. It’s that once-in-a-lifetime bond, the kind she writes into her movies. I’ll wait, fight, and do whatever it takes till she admits she’s as crazy about me as I am for her.

Her grand breakup scheme once we’re home?Yeah, that’s not happening.

“Thirty seconds. On your marks!” Chase’s commanding tone makes my whole body perk up.

God, I love how this woman takes charge.

Our eyes lock, and for a split second, the rest of the world can go fuck itself. It’s just us.

“Ethan, you’re live in 3, 2…”

I step back into the spotlight, and the crowd lets out a massive cheer. Their energy surges through me, electrifying every nerve. I see their outstretched hands, and I want to crowd-surf their wave of adoration. But nah, I promised the woman I love to stay on my best behavior.

“You may call me the King of Christmas,” I say, a grin spreading across my face. “But there’s someone who rules the North Pole with more magic than I could ever muster.” I pause, letting the anticipation build. “You know who I’m talking about—Santa Claus.”

On cue, the music starts and dancers flood the stage. Santa gets wheeled out on his sled to the sultry tones of “Santa Baby.” I half expect him to break into an Elvis-style hip shake. Now that would be entertaining.

I slip offstage, mentally rehearsing the next segment’s lines, when I’m ambushed by the Perpetual Saints of Frowning—Ms. Riley and Mr. Wiley, Cherish Channel’s notoriously stiff CEOs.

Ms. Riley, a bundle of tweed and disapproval, stands with her frail frame swallowed by an oversized blazer. Her hair is pulled back so tightly that her eyebrows are practically on the back of her head. Beside her, Mr. Wiley, a walking raisin with glasses, has jowls so droopy they could double as a neck pillow. His sunken eyes peer through thick, horn-rimmed glasses.

“Mr. Barrett,” Ms. Riley’s voice creaks out. “Your little… performance, seems to be drawing attention.”

Wow. This is literally the biggest compliment she’s ever given me.

Mr. Wiley’s eyes narrow behind his glasses. “Yes, quite the spectacle. Though I doubt if allocating resources to this endeavor will be money well spent. For your sake, I hope it is.”

Talk about friendly fire in a hostile environment. I feel a twinge of guilt for all the times I stirred up trouble on set and Chase had to fight with these soul-sucking fossils for our productions.

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