Page 87 of Wylder Ranch
“What’s in London?”
“Holiday’s onGraham Norton. We’re going for dinner afterward with some of her friends.”
I smirk. “Movie friends?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool.”
Lando shrugs it off, though it sounds fucking cool. But it’s a testament to how much he loves Holiday, because usually getting Lando into London outside of his monthly meetings would be done on pain of death. He hates going to London, and he hates schmoozing, but he hates being apart from Holiday even more.
Ironically, it bodes well for me, and it’s exactly what I want to talk about.
“Well—”
Hendricks pops his head around the door. “Lan, ready to go?”
“Yeah, in ten minutes.”
I frown, I don’t normally get FOMO, but I have it now. “You’re going out with the movie stars too? I want to come.”
He shakes his head, his curls flopping over enough that he pushes them away. “No, I’m taking Max to see Father Christmas.”
“Oh, I don’t want to do that.”
“You weren’t invited.”
I return his grin. “Touché.”
“See you outside in fifteen?” He taps the doorframe, waiting for Lando’s nod of confirmation. He’s about to leave, but his eyes fall onto a red envelope on Lando’s desk. “Is that Miles’s Christmas card?”
Lando’s mouth twitches. He’s torn between laughing his balls off and trying not to find it remotely amusing. I know, because that was my reaction when I saw it.
“Yeah. The dickhead has a death wish.”
Clementine is the unwitting subject of Miles’s card this year.
I never saw him take it because I was laughing too hard, but it was earlier in the summer during a movie night. It had been Clementine’s turn to pick, and her choice was some chick flick. I don’t remember the salient details.
It was fine. I probably checked my emails through it.
But Clementine started crying two-thirds of the way through, while demolishing a tub of popcorn, and by the credits, she was nothing but blotchy, tear-streaked, and red-faced, covered in all the popcorn that missed her mouth. Extreme even for her.
The movie wasn’tthatgood. But for some insane reason, Miles decided that was the picture for his card.
“She’s on the warpath.”
I shake my head because I have sympathy, but we’ve also all been there. “Last year’s card was me drunk out of my mind, soaking wet, having fallen in the fountain after the summer fair.”
There’s a moment of silence, no doubt all of us contemplating our Christmas card fate.
“Well, anyway.” Hendricks thumbs back toward the corridor. “Ten minutes, Lan.”
“I’ll be there.”
He takes off, and I hear him calling Max’s name as he walks away.
“Did you know Story’s back?” I add absentmindedly, not expecting Lando to sit forward with speed and lean across his desk.
