“Listening…” Charlie prods.
I should not say what I’m about to say. I know this. And yet?—
“I knowonedance that I’ve had to perform.”
Charlie’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh?”
“A bachelorette party. A few years back. The client specifically requested a…performance. It was a wholeMagic Mikekind of thing.”
Charlie’s face transforms. Her eyes go wide. Her mouth drops open. She looks like a kid who just found out Christmas is coming early.
“You learned a wholeMagic Mikeroutine?”
“I dabbled.” Oh, no. I don’t like how she’s looking at me like a starved coyote, ready to feast.
“Taio.” Charlie hops off the island. “Do the dance.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Do it.”
“Charlie, it’s inappropriate. The final move is me ripping off my pants.”
“Uh-huh.” She crosses her arms. “Do. The. Dance.”
“No.”
“Do it or you’re fired.”
I stare at her. “You can’t fire me. Sage hired me.”
“I outrank Sage. I’m the talent. The talent gets what the talent wants.” She flicks her hair, which is silly because there’s not one diva bone in her entire body. But she’s grinning now, clearly enjoying my discomfort. “Come on, show me your moves. Or do I need to hit the ATM first?”
“Hilarious,” I gripe.
“Taio,” Charlie says, dead-ass serious.
“Charlie,” I repeat, equally as serious.
We stare at each other across the kitchen. She’s not going to let this go. I can see it in her eyes, and that stubborn set to her jaw—the barely contained delight at having found a new way to torture me.
I’m going to regret this.
“Fine. Get a chair.”
Charlie
Sometimes Christmas means pine trees decorated in lights and ornaments. Early morning warm cinnamon rolls to munch on while we dive into presents by the fire… And sometimes Christmas means a hotter-than-hell escort, who is so tall he could hunt geese with a rake, doing body rolls in his slutty little gray sweatpants.
Well, deck my halls and jingle my bells, because Christmas is right here in front of me.
Taio drags one of the dining room chairs into the center of the kitchen, positioning it with the back facing me. His black T-shirt clings to his chest and shoulders like it’s trying to win a koala-hugging competition.
“I want it on record that this is basically quid pro quo,” he says.
“Noted. Now dance, monkey, dance.” I clap my hands together like they’re cymbals.
He shoots me a look that saysI’ll remember that, then pulls out his phone and scrolls through what I assume is his music library. A moment later come the opening notes of “Rodeo (Remix)” by Lah Pat and Flo Milli. I specifically remember this song because everyone on TikTok was doing that trending dance that I couldn’t decode to save my actual life. I learned the choreography and showed it to my social media manager who sweetly asked if we could just tuck that away for a rainy day.
