“Five minutes.” Pierce checked his watch. “Or we carry you out as is.”
My gaze darted between Vix’s challenging smirk and Pierce’s immovable stance. They weren’t bluffing.
“Fine.” I snatched the bag off the counter. “But I’m lodging a formal protest.”
Pierce’s eyebrows rose a fraction. “Noted.”
In my bedroom, I dumped the contents of the bag onto my bed. A folded T-shirt in deep crimson fell out. I held it up, groaning at the white letters that saidVery Naughtyacross the chest, withNaughtycrossed out andNicewritten above it.
I glared at my reflection as I pulled it on. With my roots growing more obvious by the hour, I looked like a walking Christmas advertisement.
When I emerged, Vix let out a low whistle. “Now that’s festive.”
“I hate all of you.” I grabbed my purse and phone from the counter. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Your enthusiasm is overwhelming.” Pierce opened the door, gesturing for me to exit first.
The vehicle parked in my driveway was not what Iexpected. A massive red electric pickup truck gleamed under the streetlights, its chrome accents catching the glow.
“Subtle.” I climbed into the backseat, already regretting agreeing to this field trip. Where the hell were they even taking me?
Vix slid into the driver’s seat while Pierce took shotgun. “Subtlety is overrated.”
“Where are we going?” I buckled my seatbelt as Vix backed out.
“East.” Pierce didn’t even turn around.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s directionally accurate.”
I slumped against the window, watching as we drove through town. “Is kidnapping part of the standard Christmas spirit restoration?”
Vix adjusted the rearview mirror, catching my eye in it. “Only for the particularly stubborn cases.”
I maintained a steady stream of complaints for the entire fifteen-minute drive. The shirt was itchy. The AC was too cold. The Christmas music playing softly from the speakers was giving me hives.
Neither man seemed bothered by my griping.
I pressed my face against the window as Vix pulled into a lot illuminated by strands of multicolored lights crisscrossing overhead like a drunken spider had been tasked with decorating. The sharp, unmistakable scent of pine hit me as soon as the truck door opened, making me freeze halfway out of the vehicle.
“Welcome to Evergreen Wonderland.” Vix spread his arms wide, like he was presenting me with my own personal nightmare.
“A Christmas tree lot?” I stepped out onto the gravel, my stomach tightening. “You brought me to get a Christmas tree?”
Pierce closed the passenger door. “Palm Springs has a disappointing lack of natural Christmas tree options. We would have preferred to cut one down, but this will have to do.”
The lot was nearly deserted, with only a few othercustomers wandering between rows of pre-cut pines. Somewhere in the distance, Michael Bublé crooned a jazzy rendition of a song that made my teeth ache. I wrapped my arms around myself, cold despite the mild evening temperature.
“Think of this as exposure therapy.” Vix bumped my shoulder with his, gesturing toward the fragrant prison of holiday cheer.
I took two steps away from him. “I don’t need therapy. I need immunity from holiday harassment.”
Pierce’s eyes tracked a young couple as they struggled with a tree, his expression calculating. “The lot closes in forty-five minutes. We have sufficient time.”
“Time for what?” My voice went up an octave.
“To find your perfect tree, obviously.” Vix’s grin was infectious if you were the type to catch Christmas fever, which I emphatically was not.
