My forehead knits in confusion. “My question?”
“When you brought my drink, you asked if there’s anything else Santa can do for me,” she reminds me.
I grin. “Santa’s at your service. Just tell me what you need.”
“Well, Santa,” she says slowly, chewing on her bottom lip, “I seem to be in need of a fake fiancé—ASAP.”
Two
Allison
My heart thunders inmy chest.Adam just broke up with me.
I try to process my feelings about that, but they’re a jumbled mess. I know I’m not upset about the breakup itself. It’s been coming for a long time. Adam and I aren’t compatible. He’s an uptight workaholic and on the rare occasions that we’re intimate, I’m bored as hell.
In fact, I felt more arousal from shaking this hot bartender’s hand than I ever did with Adam’s cock inside me. I can count the number of times we had sex in the six months we’ve been dating on one hand.
The number of orgasms? Zero.
And Adam would never have defended me from the creep at the bar the way Mitch just did. He’s probably never shoved a man in his life.
Good lord, that was hot as hell.With his take-charge attitude, I bet he’s amazing in bed.
But I can’t think of that right now. I’m in the middle of a crisis. My sister, Delia, little Miss Perfect, is having a Christmas wedding in two days. And not only was Adam supposed to be my plus-one, but my mother also now thinks we’reengaged.
What a fucking mess. How do I get myself into these situations?
I just couldn’t help myself. My mother is constantly ridiculing me for not being more like Delia.Why do you insist on teaching at a public school, Allison? You’re not a common pauper.
Never mind that I love to teach, and I’d rather support myself than rely on my rich father the way she and Delia do.
Even worse than the criticisms about my career are the things she says about my body.Goodness, Allison, you really must watch what you eat. Men don’t marry fatties, you know. Delia’s lost fifteen pounds for her wedding—and she was half your size to begin with. So, you really have no excuse…
Just once, I’d like to hold Mother down and force-feed her cake. Or even just a piece of bread. In her world, bread is the devil’s ambrosia.
I twirl a piece of hair around my forefinger and attempt to bat my eyelashes at Mitch. Flirting has never been my strong suit. “Any chance you’d be interested in being my fake fiancé for the rest of the week?”
He raises an eyebrow. “What would that entail?”
“Well, for starters, you’d have to be an orthopedic surgeon named Adam?”Pretty please, and thank you very much?
He frowns. “An orthopedic surgeon? That’s bones, right?”
I nod. “And muscles. But you don’t need to know much more than that. No one in my family’s circle will ask for details.” To them, even surgeons are beneath them. My family comes from old money. A few generations ago, my ancestor created one of the world’s largest soap companies.
Yup. Our claim to fame is bath soap. The cringey slogan,Keeping you clean is our guarantee,is well-known throughout the world. It’s the butt of many jokes and the inspiration for countless memes.
Mitch doesn’t look convinced. “You mentioned a plus one? What’s the occasion?”
I sigh. “A wedding on Christmas day. Formal attire, two hundred and fifty guests, etcetera. There’s also a rehearsal dinner that we’d have to attend.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Who has a wedding on Christmas day?”
“My narcissist sister,” I say with a shrug.
“But what about gifts from Santa on Christmas morning?”
I laugh without humor. “It’s adult only. Delia wrote a social media post explaining that she’s generously allowing parents to spend the holidays observing Santa Claus and Elf on the Shelf traditions with their children. Sheforgivesthem for prioritizing their families over her wedding.”
