Page 5 of Fake It 'Til You Sleigh It

“You’ll need to keep it festive,” Riley chimes in. “Your stars should participate in interviews, social media campaigns, the works.”

Despite what their decades-old business attire suggests, times have changed. There are so many entertainment options in the world now. Gaming. Social Media. Groups of Red Hat ladies choosing cards over TV.

The point is—no one gets huge numbers anymore. Those two would have a better chance of bringing color back to their faded 90s blazers. People prefer swiping on Tinder and watching cat videos to gathering in masses and supporting the nuanced art of holiday romance.

I sigh. “How am I supposed to do that? The lead actress for that movie is pregnant. We were already playing ‘Hide the Baby Bump’ during filming, and now I hear she’s on bed rest until January.”

“That’s not a problem. You’ll do the interviews, Ms. Pemberton. We booked one tomorrow withRise and Glow LA. You and Ethan need to be there at four a.m.”

Forget coal. Santa just took a massive dump in my stocking.

Then Riley drops an ultimatum of epic proportions. “You either makeFa La La Lovethe biggest hit we’ve ever had, or you’re out. Nothing personal. Just business.”

Wiley stops frowning for a second; the closest he gets to holiday cheer. “If you manage to pull in a million paid subscribers before Christmas, we will sign you on to direct ten more films.”

Ten?! Holy shit. My brain glitches, then reboots at supersonic speed.

This is it.

The fucking jackpot.

The career-defining moment I’ve been busting my ass for, all wrapped up with a big, shiny bow.

Ten films means job security in an industry where ‘stable employment’ is about as rare as a unicorn in the North Pole. I could finally tell my creepy landlord to shove it and buy that dream house on Zillow. The one with space for a home office, where I can write without hearing my neighbors anger banging all night.

My mind is already buzzing with storylines. A holiday sweater designer who gets roasted online by a snarky reviewer. But plot twist—the troll is actually her secret admirer! Or the Christmas-obsessed podcaster who falls head over heels for the Scrooge-like guest who thinks the holidays are just a capitalist plot to sell more crap to children?

After all, who doesn’t love a good dose of holiday cynicism with their romance?

“I promise I’ll do everything in my power to ensure this promotion is a smashing success.”

Then, channeling my inner negotiator(and a touch of my inner Mafia boss), I add, “But I have one condition: If I hit that subscriber goal, I want final casting approval on all future projects, lead actors included.”

Wiley and Riley exchange a look. “Agreed.”

Holy shit! No more being forced to work with egotistical pretty boys who can’t remember their fucking lines. I can handpick actors who actually respect the art of holiday movie-making. Imagine that!

For Christmas this year, I’m getting everything I want. Hello, big directing career, and goodbye, Ethan Barrett.

CHAPTER TWO

Ethan

“I’m gonna sink myteeth into you, sweetheart.”

I take a bite out of the key lime jelly donut, savoring its tart sweetness. Am I sweet-talking a pastry? Only because she’s my favorite and never disappoints, unlike a certain uptight director. Eating powdered sugar while wearing a red velvet suit is playing with fire, but hey, I’ve never been one to shy away from a little danger.

I sink into the makeup chair like it’s my personal throne, ready to ho-ho-ho my way through another day of being everyone’s favorite holiday heartthrob. I close my eyes, surrendering to the flurry of hands that groom and polish me to perfection. Brushes tickle my face, weaving their magic. The air is heavy with hairspray and coffee—the official scent of mornings in showbiz.

Phone in hand, I press record, unleashing the smile that’s earned me my King of Christmas crown.

“Morning, beauties! Don’t miss me on Rise & Glow LA today. I’ve got a special treat in store for you. Keep it sexy.”

I wink and hitPost, feeling the familiar twinge of… something. Emptiness? Nah, probably just hunger. Nothing another donut can’t fix.

But it’s not all pussy and presents being the King of Christmas.

Every day, it’s ‘Ethan, say something charming,’ or ‘Ethan, give us that smolder.’ I love spreading holiday cheer like it’s my job(which, technically, it is), but sometimes, beneath all the tinsel and twinkling lights, I wonder if anyone sees the real me. The artist. The guy with actual thoughts in his surprisingly handsome head. The actor who wants to be more than a holiday hottie.

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