Page 55 of Mr. Big Shot

I have a hair and makeup appointment near my apartment. While I’m getting ready, my parents offer to swing by and pick me up for the party, but there’s no way I can let that happen. I need Hudson to actively forget who I am if this is going to work. Reminding him of my last name, of who my father is—that’s akin to throwing an ice-cold bucket of water onto the meager kindling I’ve managed to stoke between us.

So I arrive solo.

I deferred to the hairstylist and let her pull back my hair and pin it in this pretty knot at the nape of my neck. Beneath the faux fur, my entire back is exposed from my hairline to the little dimples above the base of my spine. Despite my mother’s encouragement from earlier about my outfit being “totally demure” and “cute even”—I feel too provocatively dressed, but I’m already here, at the party.

It’s a hell of a time to come to the revelation that I should have just gone with something understated and quiet. Everyone keeps looking at me, and I can’t tell if they’re good looks or bad looks or if there’s even a difference between the two.

Good going, Scarlett.

Booze is the only thing that might make this better—or worse, but I’ll take the gamble. Just like at the Halloween party, there are signature cocktails. No clowns this time though. The drink list is written on a gold-leaf-rimmed menu board sitting atop the bar, and I go with a Mistletoe Mishap, which just sounds plain fun and ends up being dangerously good.

“Come find me if you need another one,” the bartender tells me with a wink.

I frown at him, then realization dawns, and oh shit. Like a superhero who’s just recognized the terrifying extent of her new powers, I’m only now coming to terms with the silver dress effect.

I thought it was a suspiciously fast turnaround time between me walking out of my apartment building to me finding an available cab. And once I arrived at the bar Elwood Hoyt rented out for the party, an attendant from the valet offered to escort me into the building even though I wasn’t confused about where I was going and there were people jingling their keys at him impatiently.

Dammit.

I really should go home and change. I made a grievous mistake, but just when I think I’ve totally lost my nerve and need to vacate the premises as soon as possible, Hudson walks in dressed in a black suit underneath a camel-colored wool coat and I almost pass out.

The sight of him almost knocks me out cold. Just straight heart attack levels of sexiness. I’m obsessed with his dark hair, the trimmed scruff along his jaw he’s been sporting lately (ever since I made an offhand remark about liking it, actually), his sharp eyes as they come to rest on me. He doesn’t even pretend to want to talk to anyone else.

I wave and point over to the food. He deposits his coat and comes to join me in line just as I pick up a festive plate and start to peruse the charcuterie selections.

“You’re late,” I say, keeping my attention down on the various cheeses.

Hudson falls in line a half-step behind me. I want to pause and stay where I am to let him creep gently closer, but I’m too scared to do it.

“I almost didn’t come.”

I smirk at him over my shoulder. “Scared of what the townspeople will do to you now that you’ve stolen Christmas?”

I’m teasing because a few days ago, I was in the hallway coming back from the break room when I saw a group of actors dressed like Whos of Whoville standing at Hudson’s door, caroling and attempting to deliver a basket of Christmas cheer courtesy of Zion Oil. Lucy was clapping along and singing, really letting loose. Hudson shook his head.

“No. All right. Move along. Let’s go. Get your props.”

Their song trickled off awkwardly as each one of them stopped singing at different times. Hudson shooed them down the hall toward the elevators with little regard for their theatrical performance and the fact that they didn’t get to finish it.

“It almost went on for fifteen minutes!” Hudson says now in an attempt to defend himself. “What was I supposed to do when the third person went for a solo?”

“It was impeccably done. My only regret is that I didn’t come up with the gift myself.”

“Don’t think I didn’t consider you as the culprit.”

I smile warmly, like he just paid me the highest compliment. “Torturing you is my favorite hobby.”

“I know. It’s why you’re in that dress…”

I turn and shuffle ahead in line, picking over the cheeses while trying to suppress my shit-eating grin. So he’s not immune to me tonight.

Good.

As we continue on, I convince Hudson to try the brie drizzled with honey and he makes me take some of the jalapeño goat cheese I originally passed on. It absolutely melts in my mouth. I want to marry the goat.

“That was phenomenal.” I’m already spinning on my heels. “I have to go back and get more.”

“Relax. Let the other people have their cheese, you greedy thing.”

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