Page 2 of Mistletoe Bargain with the Billionaire

“In less than three weeks?”

“‘Tis the season for miracles,” Anthony says with a shrug. “We’re still on for Vegas next weekend, right? We can take your new toy for a spin to get there.”

It’s a nine-hour drive but it’ll tear up the long stretches of pavement. Not that I’m looking to get a ticket or anything. “Right,” I say, sighing.

“Cheer up. Maybe you’ll win yourself a date at Blackjack or something.”

That sounds highly unlikely.

“Or you can just pay a girl to pretend if you get desperate.”

Well, that’s just depressing.

2-Carol

‘Tis the Season, my favorite time of year. Growing up in Whistler, I think it’s in your blood. Frosty nights, twinkling lights, bright paper packages and holiday cheer. I love it.

But the cold, cruel realities of adulting have taken some of the magic from the holidays for me these last few years. I'm so busy getting by there’s no time to stop and smell the gingerbread.

And, I somehow know tonight will be a rough one the moment I receive Janey’s email invitation.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot?

Heck no! Join us for a Wilder Family Reunion on the 23rdof December

Eggnog, Memories and Good Times!

Janey & Jim’s house

“Good times. Right,” I mutter.

My cousin Janey acts like the Hostess with the Mostess but she’s always been the devil to me. I know Mom and Dad want me to come home for the holidays this year and I’ll admit I’ve been putting them off, wanting to have something exciting to report regarding my career before I return.

It’s been six years since I’ve been home and still no big break to share. Sad, right?

But if going home means I’ve got to suffer through Janey’s poison dart put-downs hidden behind her fake smile, I think I’d rather yule my tide with just my cat again, thank you very much.

Which is depressing as hell considering my current circumstances.

“Showtime, Carol,” Wes calls through the door of the mop closet I’ve commandeered as a dressing room.

“Be right there.” I adjust my felt reindeer antlers and apply a final coat of lip gloss while peering into the six-by-four inch mirror taped to the door. “Let’s go knock ‘em dead,” I tell myself.

Knock ‘em dead, start a food fight. Same difference.

In the grand scheme of embarrassing things, being heckled by drunk businessmen while belting out Wham’s ‘Last Christmas’ – it was requested! - is not actually the worst I’ve experienced.

No, the worst is having your childhood friend there to witness it, including your subsequent firing after your very reasonable response to said hecklers.

Even better? He got caught in the cross-fire of the ensuing food fight prior to the firing.

“Shake your moneymaker, pussycat! Take it off!”

Mistake Number One: Don’t interrupt someone else’s performance. It’s so rude. Do you know how hard it is to put yourself out there this way? No? Then, sit down and keep quiet while I sing my song.

Mistake Number Two: Don’t tell me to shake it. I know how to shake it, alright? I’ve been shaking it from here to Albuquerque for six years trying to catch my big break but this isn’t the freaking burlesque show.

Mistake Number Three: Don’t call me pet names when you don’t even know mine. You don’t personally know me, my lady bits or my cat, Mr. Jinglebell.

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