Page 36 of His Until Christmas

“It’s all covered,” I promise as I leave him to do what he does best. “I raided Rex’s dog-treat budget.”

Repaying that embezzlement is also easy—I send Rex a photo later of Reece on a hairy sofa surrounded by smiling faces, to which Rex replies with a video-call request.

“Smart thinking,” he says over the sound of waves crashing and his dogs barking, so I guess I’m forgiven. “Hang on. Let me find somewhere quieter.”

The screen freezes, then I’m faced with Rex looking in dire need of so much more than my lint roller. His hair is a salt-stiff disaster. He’s also haloed by light streaming through the window of his family’s chapel as his voice echoes.

“Can I say hello to the kids?”

I deliver my phone to Reece and leave them to it, then I get busy with my laptop at the kitchen table, filling gaps in a party planning template.

Staying focussed is hard each time laughter drifts along the hallway to distract me.

I can’t have shut the study door behind me—Reece’s laughter rings out, and I like that so much better than his pre-party gruffness. I know exactly when Rex joins in. Hishur hur hurmakes the children giggle.

I also get distracted by my scarf when Reece heads off without it later to walk his guests back to the station. “Wait!” I follow him outside, aware the families watch as I loop it around his neck and then can’t help straightening each tassel.

Reece smiling down at me makes my hot throat worth it. He also murmurs, “Don’t worry. I’m not planning on staying out for long. I haven’t forgotten tonight’s party.” His sigh clouds, white and gusty. “Thanks for this, Jack. For everything. Maybe Icanbalance both parts of the job. I only wish…”

“You wish what?” I edge closer, our feet practically dovetailed. “Tell me.”

His voice lowers and he tilts his head at a little girl who hopscotches on paving stones in one of London’s most expensive boroughs. “It’s little Leena’s birthday. She hasn’t made many friends yet, but she drew a party for me.” He passes me a crumpled square of sticky paper, complete with balloons and a cake with five candles. “I know which party I’d prefer to attend if her folks could afford to hold one.”

It’s so easy to fix that. “Take her to Penny’s restaurant. She makes every meal a celebration.” I dig into my wallet for the company credit card and thrust it into his hand before pulling my phone out. “Go treat them all to dinner. I’ll call ahead for you.”

“But tonight’s?—”

“—banking party is my idea of fun, not yours? I’m happy to stand in for you.” I straighten my scarf on him, neatening already tidy tassels, then I send him on his way without me, and so what if I’ve worked off the clock once this week already?

I go chat up bankers so he doesn’t have to, and it’s worth it for the photos Reece sends me later of a very different celebration.

A birthday girl blows out candles on a cake smothered with them, and seeing those tiny flames lights a huge fire under my arse. Because kids are the whole point, aren’t they? The actual reason for the seasonandfor the foundation.

Sure, I wasn’t fond of the ones I shared a classroom with when I was younger, but you better believe I get busy tonight doing more than fading into the background like I always tried to at school. I stalk a red carpet all on my own and summon my inner glitter to hit up every attendee on our potential guest list. Of course, I drop Smallbone’s top-dog position into each conversation. It isn’t as good as ending an evening with a little light rule-breaking, but my phone pinging at the crack of dawn the next morning makes another late night worth it.

For a moment, my breath catches, only it isn’t Reece sending a single word to start my morning. It’s Rex, and he’s excited.

Rex:What the actual fuck happened last night?

He’s spotted new donations, several of which top Smallbone’s contribution.

ha ha, loser

Rex:Second thoughts. Don’t break the spell by telling me how he did it.

Rex:Just let Reece keep working his magic with potential donors.

I don’t point out that it was me who prowled last night’s party on a money-raising mission, not the man in question. Getting to sit across from a different version of Reece at nine o’clock on the dot is reward enough for me getting brave in front of flashing cameras.

Today’s version of him is centred.Balanced.Ready for more of a challenge, as though a little girl’s birthday party has also confirmed why fundraising matters to him.

“Right,” he says, clapping huge hands together. “Let’s get this planning template finished.”

So that’s what we do all morning, even if I’m not a fan of how little time there is left to dot eachi and cross each t. Past-me shouldn’t have done so much preparation. He should have been smarter.

To keep Reece here for longer.

Of course, wishing that is pointless. We’re already halfway through our one and only week together. I’m not sure how it can be Wednesday, or how there can only be two more days until Reece will head home for an early Christmas tradition, and I’ll be busy with a Christmas shopping trip where I’ll need to tell Arthur I’m leaving.

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