Page 35 of Fake It 'Til You Sleigh It

Ethan’s been parading me around town all day, showing me off like his personal Instagram accessory. Every store we’ve hit has turned into an impromptu meet-and-greet, with adoring fans lining up for selfies. Mr. Charm happily obliged each request, always reminding the starstruck fans to subscribe. He also invited every single one to our polar plunge this evening.

I hate to admit it, but I’m lowkey impressed. Watching Ethan in action has given me a new appreciation for what he does and how well he does it. Unfortunately, it also stirs up something I thought I’d buried long ago.

See, I’ve been in this industry for years, fighting for every bit of respect. At first, I tried being nice, but that only led to actors ad-libbing my carefully crafted scripts and crew members ‘forgetting’ my instructions. So I raised my shields and became the Ice Queen of directing. Because it’s not a popularity contest. People don’t have to like me; they just need to know I’m the damn boss and I get the job done.

So why does seeing Ethan interact with people make me feel so conflicted?

“More ice!” Ethan yells, getting the excited crowd to chant with him. “More ice! More ice!”

We’re standing on a tiny stage in a park, in front of the massive Marco Island Christmas tree. It’s almost as tall as the palm trees around it, all decked out with twinkling lights and tropical ornaments like seashells and starfish.

And what’s right in front of us? A not-so-hot tub that Ethan has converted into a giant polar plunge jacuzzi, decorated like Santa’s sleigh. Because nothing says Christmas like frozen nips.

I’ve heard jumping into ice baths is a trend or something. It’s good for your circulation, celebrities do it, blah blah blah. Ethan loves it, claiming it “makes you feel alive.”I’m alive enough, thanks.Besides, I’m pretty sure that hypothermia makes you feel dead.

“Can’t we just pretend it’s cold?” I ask.

“No way. It’s gotta be authentic, sweetheart. The fans will know.”

“Sorry, but you think people wearing shirts with Chathan on them are smart enough to know the difference?”

“This is why you need me,” he responds. “You don’t respect the fans.”

“I know what the subscribers pay for,” I argue, bristling at his accusation. “My movies. They love the stories that I write.”

“Getting them to watch the movie is one thing,” Ethan says. “But getting them to keep coming back for more? That’s a whole other level. It’s like the difference between a one-night stand and a committed relationship.”

“You’ve never had a real relationship, so how would you know?” I snark.

For a hot second, I catch a glimpse of something in his eyes. It’s quick, but it’s there. A flash of… hurt? Before I can dive deeper, Nolan materializes next to Ethan, holding a cooler filled with ice.

“Okay. It’s cold,” he deadpans, dipping his hand in the water.

“Keep pouring ice till it’ll freeze off a snowman’s dick,” Ethan instructs his brother.

I lift my gaze, and the number of admirers has tripled since we got here. Ethan raises his phone and shoots a quick video. “Only thirty subscribers to go. Time to call your mom’s Bunco pals or your long-lost cousin. We need them. We’re so close.”

He posts the video and then keeps waving at all the loyal supporters waiting for a pic.

His tactics make me cringe, but I can’t argue with their effectiveness. Sure, we’re not even close to a million, but damn if the man doesn’t know how to rally people to a cause. It’s annoyingly impressive.

Darla runs up to us wearing a Chathan shirt with boundless enthusiasm. “Wow, hun. Great crowd,” she gushes. “Oh look, there’s Mayor Seabrook!” She waves frantically. “Hiya, Teddy!”

“Darla, you don’t sell scuba suits at your store, do you?” I ask.

She gives me a playful arm slap. “You’re funny, Chase. That must be why my boy loves you.”

If she only knew.

“Sweetie, we gotta get your dad a picture. He’s running late at work.”

I want to protest, but Darla’s already staging Ethan and me close together. She takes a few steps back. “Smile!” she says, holding up her phone.

After a moment, she frowns. “Shucks, that’s not it. Ethan honey, how about you dip Chase? That’ll be cute.”

I whisper rage, “Ugh. Will you just dip me and get this over with?”

The second Ethan pulls me in and leans me back, the crowd swoons with applause.

---