Page 3 of Her Holiday Arrangement
“This isn’t appropriate,” Elizabeth said, voice low. “You’re upset. Perhaps we should speak later, in private.”
Sophia laughed, sharp and brittle. “Thereisno later, Liz. That’s the point. We’re done.”
Elizabeth didn’t move. “Understood.”
That was it. No protest. No anger. No pain in her voice.
Just two syllables, crisp and lifeless.
Sophia stared at her, something like disbelief in her face. “Seriously? You’re just going to stand there and let me walk out?”
Elizabeth met her gaze. “I don’t believe in begging people to stay where they don’t want to be.”
A long beat passed between them; the silence louder than Sophia’s heels had been on the tile.
“Well,” Sophia said, reaching for her coat with a dramatic whip of her hair. “At least you’re consistent. Cold to the end.”
And then, just before she stepped back into the elevator, she turned to Riley, who flinched at suddenly being acknowledged.
“Good luck with her,” Sophia said, lips curled in a cruel half-smile. “You’ll need it.”
The elevator doors closed behind her with a hiss.
Silence fell like snow.
Elizabeth stood still, eyes fixed on nothing in particular, her whole body locked in frost. For a moment she wondered if she might crack, splinter apart right there in the middle of the room.Then, with a sharp exhale, she forced herself to turn back toward the window, spine straight, face smoothed as if nothing had happened at all.
Behind her, Riley’s throat worked around a sound, half a cough, half a question. “Should I… um… should I go?”
Elizabeth blinked, startled; she’d almost forgotten Riley was still in the room.
“No,” she said too quickly, the word sharper than she intended. “Stay.”
The silence that followed Sophia’s departure pressed hard against Elizabeth’s ribs. She didn’t need to look to know Riley was still standing by the elevator, tense and uncertain, fingers tugging restlessly at the sleeve of her cardigan as though she needed something to hold on to.
Elizabeth, across the room, moved with crisp precision, each step deliberate, each movement practiced. She crossed the open expanse of the penthouse with the cool grace of someone who wasn’t just used to being in control, butwascontrol itself. Floor-to-ceiling windows glittered with the reflection of the city’s December lights, casting her tall silhouette in sharp angles and softened gold.
She reached for the crystal decanter on the bar cart and poured herself two fingers of scotch with a steady hand. No ice. No hesitation. Her face was an elegant mask: sharp cheekbones, sculpted lips, unreadable eyes.
Riley’s voice broke the silence like a dropped ornament.
“I mean… plenty of people get dumped before Christmas.” A half-laugh slipped from her lips, nervous, too loud in the cavernous room. “It’s practically a Hallmark movie plot. All you need now is a flannel-wearing lumberjack and a sled accident.”
Elizabeth turned, one brow arching so high it could’ve reached the penthouse’s crown molding. She took a slow sip ofher drink, then set the glass down with aclickon the marble countertop.
“Am I supposed to find that comforting?” she asked, voice silk-lined steel.
Riley winced. “Right. No. Sorry. That was a bad joke. I wasn’t—god, I wasn’t trying to…” She trailed off, eyes darting everywhere but Elizabeth’s face. “I’ll just…shut up now.”
Elizabeth’s silence was louder than Sophia’s tantrum had been.
Riley turned back to her laptop, cheeks visibly flushed, fingers fumbling over the keyboard in a frantic attempt to close windows Elizabeth doubted she was even reading. She yanked at the power cable too fast, and it snagged against the edge of her bag, sending a reusable coffee cup clattering to the floor. It rolled under the table with a hollow, traitorous thud.
“Perfect,” Riley muttered, crouching to retrieve it.
When she re-emerged, hair static-charged and cheeks pink with effort, Elizabeth was watching her. Not with pure annoyance, though there was certainly a trace of that, but with the same weary fascination one might feel toward a cat that had managed to wedge its head inside a cereal box.
A sigh slid from Elizabeth’s lips. She took another sip of scotch, leaned one hip against the edge of the bar cart, and said, “You’re chaos incarnate.”
