Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Once in the car, my aunt sips her morning fuel and adjusts her hat. Today’s installment of the twenty-five hats of Christmas is a red baseball cap with a pom-pom on top. “So, how was the shower?” she asks casually.
“It was fine.” I can’t get all hearts and fluttery and tell her that it was wonderful and that spending time with Fable is too good, too fun, too fantastic. Sure, it would help keep up the ruse, but I don’t want to give Mac any ideas, and I’ve got a full day ahead. I can’t walk into the office like a cartoon version of me. I don’t want to linger in memories of kisses that felt all too real.
This is why nothing can come of this dangerous attraction. I can’t even trust our fake real kisses. My head hurts just trying to untangle if they’re authentic or not.
“Did you have a nice time with Fable?” Bibi asks.
“I did,” I say, again keeping my answers simple, remembering the rules Fable and I set last week—People get busted when they try too hard to sell something.
Bibi smiles. “Good. It’s good to see you dating.”
Yes! Even if she’s not responsible for the pairing, Bibi seems pleased I’m paired. That’s a relief. I’ve succeeded in avoiding her holiday romance machinations so far. Shay’s and Caroline’s too. I just need to keep it up a little longer.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying my love life,” I say dryly as the car weaves through Monday morning traffic en route to Abernathy School.
Bibi takes another drink and crosses her legs. “I am. Especially since you’ll bring her to the team party this week, right?”
I sit up straighter. Blink. Wait. “What? We’re not having one this year. The staff voted to donate the money we’d spend on a party to charity.”
“Wild child,” she chides. “I know that. I don’t mean the staff party. I mean the fancy team holiday party—the one for all our sponsors and corporate partners. It’s Thursday night at your own hotel. Did you forget?”
I did.
I fucking did. Because I’ve spent the last week thinking of that kiss, and that wedding shower, and showing up for Fable and being the best damn fake boyfriend I could be so Brady would know he was a stupid jackass to do wrong by the best woman ever. So, yeah. Maybe I nearly forgot the party.
Okay, correction: I couldn’t possibly forget the annual holiday party for the football team I own—the one where we make the sponsors happy by giving them a chance to fanboy with the players. But yes, I absolutely forgot that, of course, I should bring my girlfriend to that fete.
There’s only one problem—I haven’t asked her yet. Is she even free? My chest tightens, and I’m about to improvise when Mac tilts her head and smiles Bibi’s way. “Dad didn’t forget. He just mentioned it this morning,” Mac says about as subtly as a kick under the table. “Right?” she prompts. “We talked about it at breakfast.”
“We did.”
“And weren’t you mentioning it to Fable yesterday? She said something about needing a new dress. I hope she has time to shop.” Mac smiles serenely. She is the greatest sidekick ever.
“Yes. I hope she does too,” I say.
“I’ll make sure the party organizer knows you have a plus one then,” Bibi says.
After we drop off Mac, I send Fable a text.
Wilder: Desperately need your help. Can you come to my office in thirty minutes? Avoid Bibi at all costs.
20
DO YOU WANT A LITTLE SNOWMAN
Fable
Well, that’s foreboding. It’s also impossible because when I look up from the message on my phone, I come face-to-face with said avoid-ee coming toward me in the corridor. One very determined woman with stylish tortoiseshell glasses, wide-leg slacks, and lasers for eyes stops in front of me, and the hair on my neck stands on end with worry.
“Fable,” she says in a warm voice that tells me she’s also up to something. “Just the person I wanted to see.”
“Oh?” I ask, clutching both my phone and a little gift I made for Wilder last night after the party. I wish I could surreptitiously text the world’s fastest SOS to my fake boyfriend. Why, Wilder, why? Why must I avoid her?
“Yes,” says Bibi. “I understand you need something to wear.”
It’s an answer, but I don’t know the question. Something to wear for work? For the wedding? For a meeting? “Definitely,” I say, stalling.
Her shrewd eyes size me up and down as she holds her tablet like a clipboard. “What’s your favorite style?”
For binge-watching Christmas flicks by the fire? For a cocktail party? A caroling contest? Given that the Christmas competition at Evergreen Falls starts this weekend, she could be asking about any of those. But I might blow our cover if I’m clueless about something I should know.