My Favorite Holidate: A Standalone Holiday Romance
My Favorite Holidate: Chapter 22

Fable

Is there a handbook somewhere for fake dating? If so, I could use it right now as I slide on red-and-white-striped tights under my little green elf dress on Thursday afternoon. I’m in the ladies’ room on my floor, getting ready to hand out the corporate Christmas gifts with Wilder.

It’s the first time I’ll have seen him since I learned exactly how good he is with his hands. A blast of heat rushes through me. I could barely get that first office kiss out of my head, not to mention the mistletoe kiss, and now the session on his desk has claimed a permanent spot in my brain.

But I’ve got a job to do before the Blaine Enterprises holiday break begins tomorrow. I cinch the black belt at my waist, smooth a hand over the flouncy green skirt, then adjust my elf hat. No elf ears for me though. A woman has her limits.

I fluff out my red strands of hair, slick on some lipstick, then take a deep, fueling breath. I’m ready to elf it.

I head to Wilder’s office, where Shay is thrusting his arm in the air in a rocker salute behind his desk. “We won!”

I tilt my head, a tad concerned. “The door-decorating contest?” It seems kind of unfair for the CEO to win, even though Santa’s butt is so cute.

“Yes, Lucia and I! We decorated the door in ops with cat drawings for a Meowy Christmas,” he says, then shows me a picture.

Oh, that we—Shay and his wife, not Shay and the boss.

“And you deserve it,” I say.

“We get three free nights at The Resort hotel in the honeymoon suite.”

“Can confirm that hotel is amazing. And I hope you have a great cat-mas,” I say, and I’m about to knock on Wilder’s half-open door when I stop. Just because his fingers were inside you doesn’t mean you can walk in like you own the place. Check with his assistant.

“Is Wilder here? We’re doing the stockings,” I explain, and oh…is my voice squeaking with nerves? Yes, yes, it is.

“I am,” Wilder says in that rich, brandy voice, emerging from his suite in a charcoal black suit, with a cheap drugstore Santa hat atop his thick hair.

I huff. “Wilder, are you Scrooge?”

“How am I Scrooge?”

I flap a hand his way. “You’re wearing a regular suit and a hat, and we’re handing out gifts.”

Shay rolls his eyes. “Total Scrooge.”

Wilder lifts a challenging brow to me, then Shay. “Does Scrooge deliver stockings full of gifts for every employee?”

I park my hands on my hips. “No, but Scrooge also does not have an elf. This elf works for Santa.”

“Ah, but you look good in an elf costume,” he says, and his gaze lingers on me for a good long time. So long that chills erupt along my skin.

“You two want me to just leave right now?” Shay jokes.

He doesn’t know the half of it. But even so, I return to making my case. “Wilder, you’re supposed to be Santa. You need the whole regalia—the beard, the red suit, the boots, and everything.”

“No,” he says.

“No?”

“No.” It’s a line in the sand.

Shay coughs under his breath, muttering, “Lovers’ spat.” Then he points to Wilder’s office. “Go fight in there, kids.”

“We’re not fighting,” Wilder says.

But we kind of are. So I grab his hand and drag him back into his office, shutting the door. “I thought you were going to dress up as Santa for us to deliver the stockings?”

He gives me a look like that’ll never happen. “Do I need to remind you?”

What is he talking about? “Remind me of what?”

“What my Christmas girlfriend once said,” he prompts then says, “I quote, Santa’s not hot. Of course you aren’t going as Santa.”

Ohhhhh. That’s what I said about the Christmas movie costume party. “That does ring a bell.”

“You also said Santa as a nickname gave you the ick.”

I gasp, all over the top. “What is wrong with me? Am I a Santa hater?”

He smiles smugly. “Maybe you are.”

“No! I can’t be.”

He gives me an I told you so look. “Be that as it may, I’m wearing a suit instead.”

It takes me a moment to fully register what he’s saying. “Because I said Santa’s not hot?”

He nods. “Yes. And because you also said You’re my boyfriend. You’ll look hot.”

“And you want to look hot…for me?”

“Yes.” His eyes pin me with a heated stare, like he did the other day on his desk. He looks like he wants to bend me over it. A spark slides down my spine at that wild thought. Then he nods to the door. “Now let’s go deliver the presents, little elf. I have a busy day, and we have a busy night.”

He leaves first, leaving me with the admission—he wants to look good for me. Because I’m his holidate? Or just because?

No idea, but I really could use that handbook.

Especially since he’s all business as we deliver the gifts, stopping by Shay’s desk first of course.

“I’m going to use the bonus on more hideous sweaters for next year,” he declares.

“Excellent plan.”

Then we stop by the marketing department, where T-shirts are admired, and chocolate is popped open, and bonuses make for sparkly eyes. We visit Sandra’s office, where my direct supervisor oohs and aahs over the gifts. “I knew you were working on this but it’s even better than I imagined,” she says of the shirt. “Can’t wait to advertise it and sell it.”

“A marketer after my own heart,” Wilder says.

As we make the rounds in human resources, I keep thinking of the picture we present—him in his sharp suit and Santa hat, me in the elf dress. Like we match. Like the couple they think we are. But do fake boyfriends want to look hot for their Christmas girlfriends? Do they want to bend them over desks? Do fake girlfriends want their pretend lover’s fingers fucking them in the office?

My face flushes at the memory and I try to push it away, but the questions chase me as we visit the operations department.

I finally push them aside when we pop by Bibi’s office. She’s wearing a red-plaid Santa hat today, and she eagerly takes the stocking. “I wonder what could be in here,” she says, like she means it.

“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 replace 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 replace 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.

And as I’m entering the party, chin up, I nearly walk into Sandra, the head of marketing and the woman I report directly to. “Hey,” she says, furrowing her brow. “I didn’t realize you’d⁠—”

But she must cut herself off before she adds be here. Of course she’s not used to seeing me at functions like this. I’m not usually senior enough to be invited to the fancy team party. I’m only here because I’m the owner’s arm candy.

I smile and give a cheery “Happy holidays,” since that’s easier than talking about the elephant in the room—that I’m dating the guy (wink, wink) who signs everyone’s paychecks. Including hers.

Ugh. I feel sick.

“But it’s good to see you,” she says, quickly recovering. “You’ve been doing such great work this year. You deserve to be here.”

Oh.

I didn’t expect those kind words. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“You really have. I never would have imagined merch would become so important, but you have your pulse on what people want.”

I smile. No, I beam. “That means a lot to me.”

“And you mean a lot to the team,” she says, then sets a hand on my arm before she’s called away by a group of well-dressed people as they walk through the door.

That was unexpected and a nice little ego boost. I turn around to hunt for my friends again when I hear a familiar voice.

“Wow.”

As if I summoned her with my thoughts, Rachel appears by my side, dressed in a short, sexy, silver cocktail dress that hugs her curves and hips. She wears a necklace I made her—with a jumping reindeer on it. My necklace is from the same line, a shimmering snowflake on a pendant, made from old glass bottles.

“Wow to you too,” I say, focusing on her since that’s easier than taking the compliment. “You look amazing. Especially your bling.”

“Thank you. But you really do, Fable,” she says, apparently intent on laying the compliment on me. She reaches out her arm, gently touching the strap of my dress. “This is gorgeous.”

“I guess I clean up okay,” I joke.

But she’s serious. Her amber eyes laser in on the red dress Wilder sent me. I love the way it feels. And looks. “Where did you get this?”

My cheeks pinken. Maybe from the lie I’m here to unspool, or maybe because it thrills me a little to say, “Wilder sent it to me.”

Her jaw comes unhinged. “Girl!”

“He has good taste.”

“Understatement. He picked it out and sent it to you. Like in the movies?”

Well, yeah. But I honestly think that’s part of being the best fake daters there have ever been. It’s easy to turn to fiction—TV, film, books—for examples of how to pull it off. Now that I think about it, that office tryst probably falls under the same heading—it’s helping us pull off the act. There won’t be any awkward moments now that his hands have been up my skirt. In fact, maybe I should write that handbook for fake dating. I’ll include the recommendation for at least one consensual hands-on session to increase believability of affection. “Yes.”

“So, this romance between you two is…?” She waits for me to explain more.

I gulp. What the hell do I say? I was wrong. I shouldn’t write the handbook, I need to study it.

“It’s early days and all.” I feel terrible not telling the full truth. Rachel is a good friend and a mentor in a lot of ways. Her store was the first to carry my Treat Yourself line of necklaces.

“Looks like the early days have been good,” she says, and guilt twists in me. Rachel lets out a low whistle of admiration. “That’s a skill, Fable. Picking a dress like that.”

“He’s a smart guy,” I say, trying not to read too much into it. Wilder’s good at everything, plain and simple. He’s amazing at gifting. This present isn’t really about me anyway. Besides, I felt bad enough fibbing to my sister. I don’t want to feel worse lying to my good friends too, like Elodie and Rachel.

“Anyway, how’s the store been going for the last week? I know this is the busy time.” I turn the focus on her. That’s second nature to me, anyway. It’s so much easier to focus on other people. Then I don’t need to crack open my heart or my feelings. Pesky things.

Rachel catches me up to speed on her jewelry shop, which is busy, busy, busy for the holiday season, and that makes me very happy. I tell her more about how things are going as the team designer, how creative the students were at my jewelry-making class last night, and when I finish with the bling-y shirts for the new year, she says, “I always knew you’d do big things. And you’re still working on opening your own shop someday?”

It feels so far off, but I suppose that’s how dreams are. “Someday. I have no idea when. I’ve been working on new designs for it at night.”

“I love that. You’d better let me carry some even when you compete with me,” she says, and she’s teasing. We both know that a rising tide can lift all ships.

Carter strides in next to her, wrapping an arm around Rachel but meeting my gaze. “Good to see you here, Fable.”

That’s a reminder that I’m not usually here. That I won’t be here next year. Wilder and I will split up in late December or early January…and that’s a sour thought. One I don’t want to linger on. “You might be seeing a lot of me tonight. This is not my scene, so I plan on following the two of you around like a puppy. Cool? Cool.”

Carter laughs. “Whatever you need.”

Rachel smiles. “You can hang with us, but…” Her eyes latch on something behind me, then she leans in, whispering, “Someone is coming for you.”

Is the heat turned up in the room? I can’t even make out the click of Wilder’s wingtips amongst all these other expensive shoes and tailored suits, but from Rachel’s words, I can feel his presence. He’s coming closer, then goosebumps rise on my bare arms when he moves next to me.

“There you are, little elf,” he says, meeting my gaze. He drops a kiss to my cheek. It feels too good, I have to work to regain my bearings.

“Hi,” I say, and it comes out soft and maybe a little seductive. Was that intentional? Perhaps it was.

“Sorry I couldn’t pick you up,” he says, apologetic. “I wanted to though.”

“I understand,” I say. “Was Mac happy to see her mom?”

“Very much so. And Felicity was excited too. It was nice.”

I love that he gets along with his ex. That they co-parent so well. I’ve never heard a bad word about Felicity from him, and it’s refreshing.

Wilder turns to Carter and Rachel. “Good evening, Carter. Rachel, you look lovely. What do you two have planned for the holidays? Well, besides destroying the competition in the final games on the schedule.”

“That’s always at the top of my list, Mr. Blaine,” Carter says, and we chat about football for a few minutes until they excuse themselves to mingle.

Wilder turns to me, and he’s a little more relaxed than the Wilder of this afternoon when we delivered the gifts. He probably had a lot on his mind then, with him delivering the Christmas bonuses and shutting down the main office for the rest of the year. Now he seems like the man who kissed my cheek in the hallway and whispered that he can’t wait. His green eyes are fiery as they travel up and down me. “I’d like to say I knew the dress would look this beautiful on you, but you have continued to stun me. The dress doesn’t make the woman. The woman makes the dress,” he says.

The thermostat shoots through the roof from the weight and heft of his compliment. It makes me feel heady, unlike any I’ve had before. “Thank you.” It hardly feels like that’s enough.

“But my favorite part?” he adds.

I’m giddy as I echo him eagerly with, “What’s your favorite part?”

“Your necklace,” he says, and a burst of pride swirls through me since I made it. I lift a hand to the snowflake, touching the smooth surface. “I picked it…for you.”

He gives me a look that burns through me, sending sparks of flames licking higher in me. Casually, like this is a familiar gesture with us, he lifts his hand and runs his fingers across my pendant. He barely brushes my skin, and still, my knees go a little weak, my head a little fuzzy.

“So you understand the choice I made earlier today.”

My mind snags, but then I connect the dots. He meant it when he said he wanted to look nice for me earlier, just like I wore a necklace for him tonight. “I do,” I say, a little breathy, then it’s my turn to compliment him, and it’s easy because the man is the definition of sexy elegance in the tailored charcoal suit, white dress shirt, and…I gasp when he tugs up the sleeves of his jacket just far enough for me to see the Santa cufflinks. I reach for them on the cuffs of his crisp shirt, fingering the metal. “You got them. I didn’t think you would wear them tonight.”

“Of course I would,” he says, like it was a fait accompli. “They’re Made By Fable.”

That’s the name I engraved on the inside of the cufflinks that I made this week for him. I…glow. “Yes.”

His lips quirk up in the most amused grin. “I saved the Santa for tonight.”

“You really did,” I say, still not quite believing he’s wearing something I made to a team party.

“Like I said, I like your homemade gifts,” he says.

The glow inside me burns even brighter. “Good. That’s so good.”

We say nothing for a beat—just hold each other’s gazes. It’s like everyone disappears. Everything feels heady, hazy, like we’re the only ones in the whole ballroom.

But I have to remember—we’re here for show.

For Bibi. For his sister, Caroline. For Shay. For all the people who want to match this man with someone when he doesn’t want that. When he simply wants to be a businessman and a father.

I nod toward his aunt, chatting by the Christmas tree with a group of well-dressed people, then run a hand down his arm and whisper, “Let’s make sure Bibi knows how very taken you are.”

He showed up for me at the shower. It’s my turn to show up for him.

“Stake your claim, Fable,” he says, those lush lips crooking up in a slight grin.

We make our way through the crowd, and as Wilder says hi to players, advertisers, and business associates, he loops an arm tighter around me. Runs his fingers over my back. Brushes a strand of hair off my shoulder. I shiver with each touch while my mind burns with hot memories of the other day in his office. Yes, that office kiss got all the tension out of my system. And it made us so much more believable.

Finally when we get nearer to Bibi, Wilder looks almost drunk on me. I feel a little euphoric, too, from his touches. Even though they’re for show, they feel so good.

When we reach her table, Wilder leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek, scratchy, warm, and all kinds of tingly. It sends sparks down my spine.

“You’re so affectionate tonight,” I say, loving each of his sweet nothings. He’s really pulling out all the stops.

“You bring it out in me,” he says, then meets his aunt’s eyes. “Can I refill your drink?” There are servers for that, but she says yes anyway.

When he leaves for the bar, Bibi offers me a small smile. “He certainly seems quite taken.”

It’s the same thing Josie, Maeve, and Everly said but I’m not going to let it go to my head. Wilder’s acting the part and, like in most things he does, he excels at it.

“The feeling is mutual,” I say.

“Good,” she says, and that’s reassuring too—that we’re pulling this off.

When Wilder returns, I slide up to him. If she thinks it’s good that he’s taken with me, I’ll give her good. I’ll give her the best. “Hi, sugar plum.”

“Missed you, little elf,” he says, using the nickname again, but this time with a little more…warmth, or maybe sexiness. Works for me.

Bibi tilts her head, watching us with those sharp gray eyes. We must look quite the couple. Arms wrapped around each other, hands on each other, dove eyes.

And…hell.

We’re selling it too hard. We went over the top with the affection and the cutesy names.

He’s staking his claim too much.

I’m doing the same. This is bad, and I didn’t even realize I was careening down this rocky path.

I can only hope Bibi doesn’t notice, but she locks eyes with him and says in a too-observant, too-inquisitive tone, “This is so interesting. I’ve never seen you like this before with a woman, wild child.”

He straightens, not quite alarmed, but clearly a little concerned. “Like what?” For the first time, worry tremors his voice.

“So affectionate.”

Uh-oh.

“Fable brings it out in me,” he says, fast on his feet.

“I’ll say,” Bibi observes with a smile. But she studies us like she’s trying to replace the flaw in a reproduction of a painting. “It’s fascinating. And so lovely to see.”

But is it? Or is she onto us? I need that handbook now more than ever since I think we just violated a rule.