Page 2 of Her Christmas Fix
I do what any actress worth her salt would do in this situation.
I scream. It’s not a slasher flick shriek—I have professional standards, even in a crisis. The raccoon gang doesn’t look impressed, but they don’t move either. Neither do I, but notbecause I’m planning to kick some nuisance pest ass right now. My legs seem to be made of the same concrete I’m standing on.
In the midst of my inadvertent standoff, I hear a car door slam outside, followed by heavy footsteps on the front walkway.
“Hello? Who’s here?”
The deep male voice seems to release my frozen body from its prison, and I spin away from the raccoons, heart hammering in my chest. My first thought is that the man who fills the doorway looks like he belongs here. He’s all broad shoulders and casual confidence. It’s kind of annoying, to be honest. He has the kind of solid presence that suggests he knows how to handle anything life throws at him, including hysterical women and wayward wildlife.
“Are you okay?” he asks as his whiskey-colored eyes trail over me in the fluorescent glare. I tamp down the ridiculous urge to smooth a hand over my hair or sniff my pits to assess how ripe I am.
“Do I look okay?” The words come out sharper than I intend, but I’m standing in the shambles of my dream house after sixteen hours on the road, being judged by a family of raccoons, and now this hot stranger is witnessing what might be my rock-bottom moment.
I am not, in fact, anywhere close to okay.
2
MONIKA
The stranger steps inside,his gaze flicking from me to the now-empty room. The raccoon gang has scampered back into the walls, leaving me on my own to face Oregon-coast Ken on my own—cowards.
I draw in a deep breath and try to look like I wasn’t about to pee my pants as we study each other. His dark hair needs a cut, and that strong jawline boasts at least two days of stubble. His eyes seem to flash in the harsh light of the bare bulbs lighting the space.
“What the hell are you doing here?” The edge in his tone matches mine.
“I own this house,” I say, like that explains everything. “I’m---”
“I know who you are,” he snaps.
Most people who recognize me are star-struck. This guy sounds personally affronted by my presence. Almost as irritated as the raccoons.
“Then you have the advantage,” I answer, tipping up my chin and offering what could pass as a smile. “You are...?”
“Griffin Meyer.” He says the name like it’s supposed to mean something to me, and those whisky-hued eyes go cold when itdoesn’t. “I’m the guy in charge of this project. The one you screwed over when you stopped paying the bills.”
A new rock bottom moment. How special. “My ex was supposed to be overseeing the renovation,” I admit. Humiliation flares in my stomach, burning up all the silly pep talks I gave myself on the drive here like a wildfire racing through rotting timber. “I thought he was taking care of everything.”
I wasn’t exactly looking for sympathy but still feel a wave of surprise ripple down my spine when Griffin’s expression shifts from chilly to downright arctic. “You expect me to believe you didn’t know?”
His implied judgment causes my spine to stiffen. I’ve spent endless hours blasting myself for being stupid, so I can do without a pile-on from this dude.
“How would I know? I was on location in Europe for months. Daniel said the renovations were done, the place furnished, and...” I shake my head, then tuck a stray lock of hair behind one ear with trembling fingers. “I only recently discovered that every word of his mouth is complete bullshit.”
“Right.” Griffin’s laugh holds no humor. “Let me guess. You’re far too busy and important to check on a seven-figure renovation project? Pretty sure I saw a snap of you at some fancy party on the cover of a tabloid the last time I was in the grocery store check-out line.”
The condescension in his tone hits like a physical blow. To him, I’m a stupid, careless celebrity throwing money at my problems and expecting other people to handle the details. He’s not exactly wrong, but something about being dismissed so easily makes my temper flare.
“It wasn’t a recent pic because I’ve been working sixteen-hour days on set, but thanks for assuming the worst.” I cross my arms over my chest, acutely aware that the gesture makes me look defensive. “For your information, I’ve also been wadingthrough the details of all the ways Daniel screwedmeover like it’s my full-time job. Because it’s been his for years. I didn’t realize this house was part of it until I got here.”
As excuses go, it’s lame. I’m thirty-six and have been making my way in Hollywood for over fifteen years, so I hate sounding so naive.
“That sucks.” Griffin’s voice is flat. “Not quite as much as three months without a payment before your boyfriend—sorry, ex-boyfriend—ghosted me entirely. I had to eat the cost of materials, pay my guys what I could, and then watch them walk off the job.”
“Why didn’t you contact me directly?”
“What was I supposed to do—slide into your DMs?”
It’s a rhetorical question, but I shake my head anyway. “I get it, and I’m sorry. So sorry. I trusted Daniel to—” I cut myself off before I can say something even more pathetic.
