My Favorite Holidate

by Lauren Blakely

This book is dedicated to anyone who ever wanted to bang under a Christmas tree.

She looks far prettier than is good for me, and this isn’t the first time I’ve thought that about my employee.

I’m fine. I’m totally fine. A little water, a little lip gloss. No one will know I’m angry. Make that livid.

But I’m also not completely surprised about the ‘nog job. Not because Brady’s a hanger-on, not because Brady wears out all his welcomes, and not because he’s a scheming, two-timing jerk apparently—though he is absolutely all those things. But because…relationships always break down.

Romance and I aren’t vodka and tonic. We’re orange juice and toothpaste.

fuck you, Brady. You don’t deserve to see me sad.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Brady catching Iris’s gaze and mouthing, Want to be my date? And if I’d thought this day couldn’t get any worse, I was wrong.

“The sass. Dear god, the sass from you, Mackenzie Elizabeth Blaine.”

How could I? I’ve only been looking forward to that meeting since I woke up.

I check my reflection in the window. This suit does look sharp. I run a hand over the midnight blue jacket. I did pick it for a reason. This is my best suit, and I like to look nice. The fact that the meeting is with Fable has nothing to do with my selection. Fine. Maybe it has a little something to do with it. But it’s nothing I can’t handle. Or hide. Just like I’ve been doing for the last year or so.

“What did I do to deserve you?” “You were born second,”

I’m a scent girl. If a man takes the time to smell good, it says he cares. It says he tries. It says he doesn’t take things for granted.

Wilder nods slowly. “You deserve to be treated with respect. With adoration. With real affection.”

And I’d like to show that Brady guy how a woman should be treated. More so, I’d like to show Fable.

“I’ve always been a sucker for a man with abstract ink. Something that makes you think and feel. Something that’s not hitting you over the head, but instead inviting you to…wonder.”

Fuck me. She didn’t simply notice the tattoos on my forearms—not that they’re hard to miss. They’re on my knuckles too. But she has a goddamn opinion on them, and it’s an opinion that sounds like poetry. The back of my neck goes warm. Settle down, man. She’s just playing along. I try to cool my desire.

“And I’d very much like your ex to see how a man should treat a woman.” Fable snorts. “Bonus points if you make him cry.”

“Looks like I just ordered myself a Christmas boyfriend,” she says, shimmying a little at the prospect of revenge. “I’ll take twenty-five days of this gift, thank you very much.”

“This is a you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours situationship.”

I open my mouth to speak, but once again, I come up empty. I’m at a loss. I feel a little wobbly. Like my breath is coming faster than I’d expected. Like my skin’s a little tingly. Like…holy shit. I’m stupidly attracted to my boss. This is bad. This is so bad.

What even are words?

He’s quiet for a beat, while his words sink in. He doesn’t see me differently. He sees me…as an equal. We may be boss and employee, we might be a billionaire and just a woman who’s barely paying off her college loans, but here tonight, in the context of our pretend Christmas romance, we’re on even footing.

He smiles, the corner of his lips lifting in an electric grin that makes my chest squeeze.

With his chiseled jaw, light dusting of dark stubble, and emerald eyes, Wilder Blaine is obviously good-looking. Of course I’ve always known that. But I’ve known it in a distant way. An inaccessible way. In the way you admire the ocean, or the Golden Gate Bridge, or a photograph in an art gallery.

He’s been out of reach. He’s not distant now. He’s the man sitting across from me on a December night as holiday lights twinkle on the heated patio. He’s the man...

Which seems wild, because this time two weeks ago I was dating someone else. Someone who turned out to be a lying, cheating jerk. Funny, how seeing someone’s true...

I may not read romance novels, but I know plenty of fake dates turn into something more, and I won’t let that happen. No matter how easy Fable is to talk to, how beautiful she is with her lush copper waves, her honey-hazel eyes, and her glossy lips, nothing more will ever come of this—because you can’t trust love. I learned that growing up.

Nothing good can come from a lie.

“The eggplant parmigiano with asiago and goat cheese. But I’ll get two. Mac just entered her leftover phase.” “I’ve never left mine.” “I haven’t either. Leftovers are the unsung heroes of the food world.” “Because the flavors have had time to hang out together,”

“Because I like snow. It’s soft, it’s quiet, it’s peaceful. Snow makes everything beautiful. You can have the busiest day, a million things going on, but when the snow falls, it calms the whole world down.”

“And it’s romantic,” I add. “When you look out the window and you see the flakes falling and everything goes hush, it makes you want to spend the day, and the night, with…that special someone.”

Damn, his strategic mind is hot.

The Fable picture becomes clearer. She doesn’t like to be the center of attention. She likes to focus on others. She adores her sister.

“I wanted your office to look the best. And you’ve been so generous with your gifts. The least I could do was make you something from scratch.”

I stare at the wreath, even more astonished. “This is incredible.” “You think so?” she asks, beaming. “I do.” I roam my eyes up and down the door, then turn my gaze to my designer. The woman who enjoys making homemade items. The woman who went all out for me. The woman I can’t stop thinking about. Decorating might not be my thing, but I could decorate all day with her.

“It’s not fine,” I say, correcting my earlier statement. “It’s the finest.” “Thank you.” Her smile is its own reward. It’s wide and joyful, and I want to swipe my thumb along her bo...

“Yes. But will it cramp your style if some corporate bigwig comes into a meeting and sees the flashing lights on your desk? I don’t want to ruin the big bad wolf vibe you’ve got going on.”

I lift a brow. “Is that how you see me?” Her lips curve up the slightest bit. “I don’t know, Wilder. Do big bad wolves send mint ice cream?” Two can play at her game. “Perhaps they send them to Little Red Riding Hood,” I say as we head into my office. “Well then, Little Red Riding Hood approves.” “So does the wolf,”

and I am so fucked. Five minutes after telling myself to follow some rules for self-protection, I already know that I won’t stop sending her gifts. I won’t stop texting. This has been the most fun I’ve had in a while and I’m…addicted—and I’m allowed to be. Nothing can come of this ruse, of course. How could...

I can’t think. I can’t breathe. She keeps surprising me left and right, and I barely know what to do. I’m a man who prides himself on control, on strategy, on knowing what cards to play at all times. With her, I’m knocked senseless,

A tilt of her head. A curve of her lips. “You don’t bite, do you? Like the big bad wolf?” A bolt of lust shoots down my spine. I try to ignore it, to resist it when all I can think is the better to eat you with. “Only if you want me to.”

I lean in then drop my lips to hers. It’s a barely-there kiss. Just a brush of our lips. But it makes my bones crackle and my mind buzz.

My instincts are to cancel this meeting and haul you into my arms. Kiss you deeply till you melt, grab my collar, and tug me against you.

Darkness flashes in her eyes, and solidarity too. In this moment, in my office, I suddenly feel far closer to my fake girlfriend than I’ve felt to a woman in a while.

But a funny thing is happening to me as I walk down the block to my friend’s chocolate shop. My brain keeps replaying that three-second kiss in Wilder’s office earlier today.

I can still feel the confident brush of his fingertips across my cheeks, the way he held my chin, how he coasted his lips across mine. My skin tingles from the memory of an innocent kiss that didn’t feel innocent at all. It felt more like a hint of an after-dark kiss.

I’m too shocked to say anything but, “yes, it is.” Because this is nicer than anything a real boyfriend has ever done for me.

And it doesn’t stop. When we head into Better With Pockets so I can pick up something for Everly, the man at the register says the same thing. When I go to An Open Book to buy some books for Josie, everything has been covered there too.

When we pop into Bling and Baubles, Rachel grins and says, “You can have anything you want. Plus, free gift wrap.” For some reason, that last part makes me laugh the hardest. Maybe because Wilder even inc...

When I stop in the vintage shop to pick up a jacket that Maeve has been eyeing, the same song play...