Page 7 of Storybook Christmas

“What? How?”

Guilt’s etched on his face. “When I was getting interviewed, Joshua asked me how I’d reimagine Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer as a sci-fi story. That was my answer. I’m sorry, Lacy.”

“Oh.” Sothat’swhy Finn was so uncomfortable before. Suddenly, my cheeks burn and sweat beads on my brow. Is the heat blasting in here? “I’m sorry. The idea’s notghastly, it’s just… you know. A glowing butt.” Nope, that’s not good either. “I mean, it’s cute—fluffy and all—as you said. And now, radioactive.”

Shut up, Lacy.

“I don’t love it either. It was the best I could do on the spot.” The corners of Finn’s mouth quirk up. “Look, there’s no reason I can’t help you out—as long as I’m finished with my tasks from Joshua.” Finn puts up a finger. “Who, by the way, is your ex, no?”

“Correct.” I fight off an eye roll. I guess itwasobvious.

Finn’s not one bit smug when he nods. “So, can I talk to the author of Fireflies Save Christmas for you?”

That’s a really nice offer, and I stare out my window as I consider it. The book was written by Sage Katz—our brilliant children’s book author—who’s very sensitive and dramatic, which is why she’s going to kill me. She was planning on receiving her advanced reader copies by the nineteenth, which can’t happen now that the book’s on hold. Knowing she’ll eat Finn alive, I say, “Thank you, but I better be the one to talk to her.”

Finn clears his throat. “Want me to get in touch with the manufacturer of the firefly stuffies? Put them on hold?”

I grit my teeth. As much as I’d love to move forward, it’ll tarnish my reputation if I make thousands of stuffies that have to be written off. It physically pains me to say, “That would be great, thank you.”

I shouldn’t, I don’t have a reason—not a justifiable one, anyway—but Ireallyhate The Hurricane.

3

The Flub

I WALK TOBertha’s desk, which has a jar filled with fidget spinners and Pop Its. I both love her and hate her for it. Once, she had the entire office popping Pop Its at the same time in a headache-inducing symphony.

She holds out a holiday fidget spinner with a nervous smile. “What’s up, buttercup?”

I take it and spin the crap out of it. “Thank you. You suck. And rock.” I raise a brow. “So. I met Finn.”

“Did you, now?”

I side-eye her. “And you hear everything.Everything. So, you knew Joshua hired him before…” I spin the trinket in rotation with the wheels turning in my mind, “… beforeyouhired him…” I whisper when I say, “to take off his clothes.”

“Possibly.” She lifts her chin and pats her poofy salt and pepper hair. “Spin your spinner. Chill.”

“Why, why,whywould you do that? Have you lost it?”

“Merry Christmas to me!” She feigns a smile. “A little early.”

“So youhavelost it. Completely,” I scold in a whisper.

Her cheeks go Santa Claus red. “It was a flub, okay?”

“Aflub?”

She’s shifting so much in her chair, she’s actually doing a butt dance. “Fine. A complete and total screw up.” She puts her hand on her forehead. She lowers her voice when she says, “I’d hired The Hurricane before—for my niece’s bachelorette party. When Finn came to interview last week, I thought they lookedjustalike.”

“You don’t say.”

“Anyway, Finn reminded me of The Hurricane, and how great he was. So, I called and hired him again to get you to loosen up. I never ever,everthought they were the same person. It’s not like I really looked at The Hurricane above the neck.”

“Bertha.”

“I know, I know.” She waves a hand, her fingers adorned in various colors of bright nail polish. “But this is a secret we take to our graves. You gotta keep your trap shut, and we’re talking with a steel door. The medieval kind—with those massive, rusty spikes.”

My eyes bulge. “Okay, but what about all my girlfriends? What if they see him and recognize him here?”

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