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)
“As if you don’t know,” Wilder teases.
“Hush. Let me have my fun,” she chides him, then retrieves each item in the stocking one by one, delighting in all of them. “Well, this is a surprise. Thank you, Santa and his elf.”
“You’re welcome,” I say.
“Enjoy,” Wilder says.
“See you tonight at the team party,” Bibi calls out.
When we’re heading down the hall again, Wilder looks my way, then scans the hall, perhaps making sure it’s just us as he lowers his voice. “How was your class? The paint-and-sip.” He’s no longer using his boss-in-the-office tone. He’s thoughtful, interested, and entirely boyfriend-y.
I smile, thinking both of the class and how he made it happen so I could attend the party tonight. “It was amazing. Rana is so talented, and my friends had a blast,” I say. And Maeve and all my friends think you have a crush on me, and I’m beginning to wonder if maybe, possibly they’re a little bit right? I shake that out of my head. “And the dinner was incredible. And so was the suite.”
His smile is of the closed-mouth variety, but pleased too. “Good. That’s very good.”
Something flickers in his eyes, almost…like a gleam. Like Tuesday night was all part of some grand plan. But that’s a wild thought too. “I really appreciate it,” I say, placing a hand on his arm and stopping him. “I mean it,” I add, genuinely. “You said you wanted to show Brady how a man should treat a woman, but really you’re showing me.”
That smile of his? It gets a little bigger. That gleam in his irises? It sparks a little more. “Like I said, it’s my pleasure.”
I arch a skeptical brow. “Really? Is it?”
His smile burns off, and he stares at me with red-hot lust. “Yes. Really. Treating you is an absolute gift.”
My breath catches once again. And I feel…like champagne. Everything is heady and lovely right now. “Thank you,” I say, briefly wondering if he got my thank-you gift that I sent to his home with two-day delivery. Wondering, too, if it’ll ever be enough. “I wish I could properly thank you.”
He gives an easy smile. “You gave me a wreath. That was wonderful.”
“A wreath?” I ask with a laugh.
“It was homemade,” he says. “And the crocheted snowman too.”
“Well, then, wait till you see what I can do with glitter and T-shirts,” I tease.
He drops a kiss to my cheek, then pushes my hair off my ear to whisper, “I can’t wait.”
Chills erupt over my skin, and I want to tug him into a closet, an empty cubicle, anywhere. But we’re at work, and even if we’re publicly dating, I can’t publicly climb him in the hallway.
Shame.
I wrench away, saying, “I’d better behave in the office.”
A smile shifts his lips. “Yes, or Santa will put you on the naughty list.”
“Pretty sure I could find my own way there.”
His eyes darken, and he grits out, “I have no doubt.”
Then he gives a nod, like he’s resetting. Me too. We continue on our way.
After we finish delivering the stockings full of special-edition T-shirts, Elodie’s chocolate, and big holiday bonuses to every employee, he checks his watch and says, “I’ll see you tonight. I’m sending a car for you at six.”
“Not you yourself?” I try to quell the flicker of disappointment in my chest. It’s fake—he doesn’t need to knock on my door.
“I have to drop Mac at her mom’s place on the way.” His eyes darken as he steps a little closer to me outside his office. “But I can’t wait to meet you there.”
Same. It’s the same for me. But I don’t dare say that out loud. It’s too scary a thought.
That evening, the grand ballroom at The Resort is bathed in a soft glow from the twinkling blue-and-white lights that adorn every corner. A towering Christmas tree stands proudly in the center, its branches heavy with red glittering ornaments and shimmering silver tinsel. Laughter and festive tunes about sleigh bells ringing bounce off the walls, mingling with the clinking of glasses and the rustling of guests—women in eye-popping dresses and big athletes in sharp suits.
High tables are draped in red linen, boasting centerpieces bursting with fresh poinsettias.
As I stand in the entryway, flanked by open French doors, hunting for my date, nerves flutter through me. Sure, I know all the football players since I work for the team, but they aren’t my friends. I can’t glom onto them at the party.
Well, except for Carter, since he’s married to Rachel. Maybe I can find them. Latch onto my friend and never let go. It’ll be better if I hang with Rachel anyway. Surely, Wilder will be busy the whole party. He’ll need to shake hands, smile, and say hi to all the guests. Everyone will want a moment with the owner. I’m simply here to keep up the dating ruse. I channel my best, bold, sassy self as I smooth a hand down the fabric of my dress. You’ve got this.