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)
“She could come to the wedding as your plus one and compete in the Evergreen Falls games with you. Can’t you picture them, Fable?” Bibi coos, not even trying to hide that she’s using my designer to sway me.
My gutsy designer who’s got the chutzpah of a Broadway star. Who else could wield a glitter Christmas dick shirt with that much panache?
My bold designer who found a way out of the snafu like a queen. The way Fable flew out of here to grab a lint roller was one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen.
My gorgeous designer, with waves of shiny auburn hair, a constellation of freckles across her nose, and honey-hazel eyes that radiate warmth and humor. Fable, who opened her heart to me and whose outrage couldn’t disguise the hurt I spotted underneath.
But it doesn’t look like my designer wants to be a conspirator in Bibi’s matchmaking game. Maybe she wants to be…another player? I try to read Fable as closely as I can. To understand what’s happening in her clever mind when her gaze shifts subtly to me. It’s like her eyes say do it, then her mouth says, “I can’t really picture Wilder with her.”
Is she testing the waters? Letting me know it’s nice in here and to feel free to jump in?
If I had been attracted to Fable before, that attraction has ballooned now with her savvy.
But this is my building. My stadium. My playground. I need to bring this deal home. You don’t get to the top in business without taking a few calculated risks. Fable wants a date for her sister’s Christmas Eve wedding. I want to get Bibi off my back during the holiday season. And I’d like to show that Brady guy how a woman should be treated. More so, I’d like to show Fable.
I turn to my aunt. “I can’t picture going to the wedding with CJ, either, but I need a moment with Fable…” A smile tugs my lips as I roll the dice big time.
Like I did years ago in Vegas when I found a way to pay for school after my father gambled away the money I’d saved for college. I was the first in my family to go—that had been my mother’s dream for me and, later, for herself. I taught myself the markets. I took what little funds I had left and invested it. Learned the value of compound interest. Made it grow fast and furiously. Paid my way, built my own business, and created the life I wanted for my mother, her family, and me.
I’ll ask Bibi to leave, then ask Fable if she’d want to be my fake date for the holidays.
But before I can make another move, the bold, brave woman in my office says, “He can’t take her since I’m his date for the wedding.”
8
MY CHRISTMAS GIRLFRIEND
Wilder
Sometimes, when you play cards, you get lucky. When that happens, you need to bluff so you don’t show just how good your hand is.
I don’t grin too big at Fable. I don’t reach for her. And I definitely don’t make Fable wait for an answer from me. I simply flash her a good boyfriend smile and go all in. “You are, little elf.”
Her eyes flicker briefly with relief, then amusement, no doubt at the nickname, as she says, “And I can’t wait, sugar plum.”
I fight off a laugh. This woman wastes no time.
Bibi’s brow creases. “Sugar plum?”
I smile even wider, feeling a little fizzy. “That’s what Fable calls me. What can I say? The woman loves Christmas.”
Fable and I are sitting across from each other with plenty of space between us, but she leans my way with obvious affection. “And he calls me little elf since I help with the stockings. But also,” she says, like she’s sharing a secret just with Bibi, “I have the cutest elf costume.”
I can picture it now—a short skirt with faux fur trim. I can picture it all too well. “Yeah, it’s great,” I say, my voice a scrape.
“I should get you a sugar plum tie,” she adds, looking my way with doting affection before covering her mouth with her fingers as if silently screaming in excitement. “That would be the best,” she says when she lets go.
Bibi studies Fable with some skepticism. Possibly confusion. “But I thought you were dating that Brady character? The one who practically had ‘secret fraternity handshake’ written all over him.”
Fable winces, like ouch.
I hate seeing her hurt, even by the reminder. “He was the wrong man for her,” I say, and there’s nothing fake about that sentiment.
Fable gives me an adoring look. “I tried to distract myself with him. But only because it was always Wilder I crushed on.”
I nearly blink.
That word—crush.
It sounds too good on her pretty pink lips. Too tempting coming from her lovely mouth. It makes my pulse speed faster than it should.