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)
And as I’m entering the party, chin up, I nearly walk into Sandra, the head of marketing and the woman I report directly to. “Hey,” she says, furrowing her brow. “I didn’t realize you’d—”
But she must cut herself off before she adds be here. Of course she’s not used to seeing me at functions like this. I’m not usually senior enough to be invited to the fancy team party. I’m only here because I’m the owner’s arm candy.
I smile and give a cheery “Happy holidays,” since that’s easier than talking about the elephant in the room—that I’m dating the guy (wink, wink) who signs everyone’s paychecks. Including hers.
Ugh. I feel sick.
“But it’s good to see you,” she says, quickly recovering. “You’ve been doing such great work this year. You deserve to be here.”
Oh.
I didn’t expect those kind words. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“You really have. I never would have imagined merch would become so important, but you have your pulse on what people want.”
I smile. No, I beam. “That means a lot to me.”
“And you mean a lot to the team,” she says, then sets a hand on my arm before she’s called away by a group of well-dressed people as they walk through the door.
That was unexpected and a nice little ego boost. I turn around to hunt for my friends again when I hear a familiar voice.
“Wow.”
As if I summoned her with my thoughts, Rachel appears by my side, dressed in a short, sexy, silver cocktail dress that hugs her curves and hips. She wears a necklace I made her—with a jumping reindeer on it. My necklace is from the same line, a shimmering snowflake on a pendant, made from old glass bottles.
“Wow to you too,” I say, focusing on her since that’s easier than taking the compliment. “You look amazing. Especially your bling.”
“Thank you. But you really do, Fable,” she says, apparently intent on laying the compliment on me. She reaches out her arm, gently touching the strap of my dress. “This is gorgeous.”
“I guess I clean up okay,” I joke.
But she’s serious. Her amber eyes laser in on the red dress Wilder sent me. I love the way it feels. And looks. “Where did you get this?”
My cheeks pinken. Maybe from the lie I’m here to unspool, or maybe because it thrills me a little to say, “Wilder sent it to me.”
Her jaw comes unhinged. “Girl!”
“He has good taste.”
“Understatement. He picked it out and sent it to you. Like in the movies?”
Well, yeah. But I honestly think that’s part of being the best fake daters there have ever been. It’s easy to turn to fiction—TV, film, books—for examples of how to pull it off. Now that I think about it, that office tryst probably falls under the same heading—it’s helping us pull off the act. There won’t be any awkward moments now that his hands have been up my skirt. In fact, maybe I should write that handbook for fake dating. I’ll include the recommendation for at least one consensual hands-on session to increase believability of affection. “Yes.”
“So, this romance between you two is…?” She waits for me to explain more.
I gulp. What the hell do I say? I was wrong. I shouldn’t write the handbook, I need to study it.
“It’s early days and all.” I feel terrible not telling the full truth. Rachel is a good friend and a mentor in a lot of ways. Her store was the first to carry my Treat Yourself line of necklaces.
“Looks like the early days have been good,” she says, and guilt twists in me. Rachel lets out a low whistle of admiration. “That’s a skill, Fable. Picking a dress like that.”
“He’s a smart guy,” I say, trying not to read too much into it. Wilder’s good at everything, plain and simple. He’s amazing at gifting. This present isn’t really about me anyway. Besides, I felt bad enough fibbing to my sister. I don’t want to feel worse lying to my good friends too, like Elodie and Rachel.
“Anyway, how’s the store been going for the last week? I know this is the busy time.” I turn the focus on her. That’s second nature to me, anyway. It’s so much easier to focus on other people. Then I don’t need to crack open my heart or my feelings. Pesky things.
Rachel catches me up to speed on her jewelry shop, which is busy, busy, busy for the holiday season, and that makes me very happy. I tell her more about how things are going as the team designer, how creative the students were at my jewelry-making class last night, and when I finish with the bling-y shirts for the new year, she says, “I always knew you’d do big things. And you’re still working on opening your own shop someday?”
It feels so far off, but I suppose that’s how dreams are. “Someday. I have no idea when. I’ve been working on new designs for it at night.”