My Favorite Holidate: A Standalone Holiday Romance
My Favorite Holidate: Chapter 7

Wilder

Bibi isn’t a fan of waiting. Or of subtlety. The second she sets foot in my office, with another Santa hat on, she scans the situation like an AI robot examining its surroundings. When her shrewd eyes lock on Fable, they gleam with triumph.

A plan is hatching in those gray irises as she marches to my chief designer. I lift a hand in warning, trying to call her off. “Bibi.”

But my aunt is faster, sweeping over to the couch, perching next to Fable, then smiling her way. “Just the woman I wanted to see.”

I groan, and I’m about to cut in when Fable flashes Bibi a warm smile and says, “If you’re looking for someone to dress you for the holiday season, I’m your gal.”

Damn, she’s fast to the draw.

Bibi’s a gunslinger, too, flicking the pom-pom of her emerald-green Santa hat away from her forehead. “We should discuss my fabulous plans for holiday parties and the inevitable ‘what to wear’ question soon.”

I interject, “No glitter for my aunt, please.”

Fable chuckles, her hazel eyes that lean toward the honey shade meeting mine. I’ve often wondered if they’re hazel or honey. But that’s not a question you ask an employee. Right now, they’re flickering, perhaps with…a secret. Our Christmas glitter dick secret.

Get over yourself, man. The glitter dick incident is not a special secret.

“I promise to keep her glitter-free,” Fable says to me with a borderline flirty grin. But nope. I can’t start reading flirtation into her smiles or her almost wink. Not when she just got out of a terrible relationship with a flaming fuckface.

Bibi clears her throat, taking back the stage. “But this raises another interesting point.” She smiles, Machiavellian. She’s in full Bibi business mode now. “As you know, Wilder, I love to give gifts throughout the season, so I have one for you today.” Bibi takes a pause, but it’s strategically short, so I can’t stop her from where I’m pretty sure she’s going. She snaps her gaze to my designer. “Fable, don’t you think it’d be a great idea if my Wilder went on a date with CJ O’Leary? The new executive director of the San Francisco Art Museum is, wait for it…single. And it’s the holidays.”

Yep. Called it. I knew she’d be upping the ante, enlisting Fable as a wingwoman to sell the idea of her next match for me. I have to hand it to my aunt. She’s tenacious. Bibi has worked her way up in business and life, and she’s fearless.

But is Fable…irked? Her festive smile has burned off.

Bibi holds up a hand like she’s picturing a marquee. “I can see it now. The single dad and the art connoisseur,” Bibi waxes on.

As if that’s how anyone would bill such a romance—the single dad is not how I’m known in social circles. Or in any circle, even though it’s true.

“Maybe we should take an early lunch and discuss this elsewhere,” I say to Bibi, hoping my tone brooks no argument. Then I try deflecting. “Also, why do you have a different Santa hat on?”

She flicks the pom-pom again. “This is my office hat. Or perhaps it’s better to call it my thinking cap. Because this idea came to me mere moments ago, fully formed. Your sister and her wife love the match too,” she continues, and of course, Bibi’s already lined up Caroline and Hannah in her matchmaking camp. Bibi tilts her head Fable’s way once again. “Wouldn’t it be great to see my wild child replace love?”

Fable snickers, likely at the nickname, but Bibi doesn’t wait for her to answer.

“I even spoke with CJ’s aunt, and she says she thinks CJ would be open to it as well.”

I maintain a straight face. I know things my aunt doesn’t, like CJ’s true feelings on this matter. We’re friendly enough. We run in the same social circles. And when she called me recently to ask about a fundraising contribution, she also gave me a heads-up that her aunt had been stirring the matchmaking pot. We had a good laugh over our meddling relatives and their quest to set us up. Something that won’t happen since we’re better off as friends.

“I’m not sure CJ and I⁠—”

But I cut myself off before I finish the sentence. If I tell Bibi that CJ and I aren’t compatible, she’ll simply continue the hunt. She’ll suggest someone else tomorrow, then the next day, then the next, like when she arranged a lunch with an investment banker who was thirty minutes late, never apologized, and asked if I had gold toilets. Or the ad agency owner who spent the whole dinner texting and scrolling.

Dating is exhausting, and what’s even the point? Romance doesn’t work out, and that’s fine.

“She could come to the wedding as your plus one and compete in the Evergreen Falls games with you. Can’t you picture them, Fable?” Bibi coos, not even trying to hide that she’s using my designer to sway me.

My gutsy designer who’s got the chutzpah of a Broadway star. Who else could wield a glitter Christmas dick shirt with that much panache?

My bold designer who found a way out of the snafu like a queen. The way Fable flew out of here to grab a lint roller was one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen.

My gorgeous designer, with waves of shiny auburn hair, a constellation of freckles across her nose, and honey-hazel eyes that radiate warmth and humor. Fable, who opened her heart to me and whose outrage couldn’t disguise the hurt I spotted underneath.

But it doesn’t look like my designer wants to be a conspirator in Bibi’s matchmaking game. Maybe she wants to be…another player? I try to read Fable as closely as I can. To understand what’s happening in her clever mind when her gaze shifts subtly to me. It’s like her eyes say do it, then her mouth says, “I can’t really picture Wilder with her.”

Is she testing the waters? Letting me know it’s nice in here and to feel free to jump in?

If I had been attracted to Fable before, that attraction has ballooned now with her savvy.

But this is my building. My stadium. My playground. I need to bring this deal home. You don’t get to the top in business without taking a few calculated risks. Fable wants a date for her sister’s Christmas Eve wedding. I want to get Bibi off my back during the holiday season. And I’d like to show that Brady guy how a woman should be treated. More so, I’d like to show Fable.

I turn to my aunt. “I can’t picture going to the wedding with CJ, either, but I need a moment with Fable…” A smile tugs my lips as I roll the dice big time.

Like I did years ago in Vegas when I found a way to pay for school after my father gambled away the money I’d saved for college. I was the first in my family to go—that had been my mother’s dream for me and, later, for herself. I taught myself the markets. I took what little funds I had left and invested it. Learned the value of compound interest. Made it grow fast and furiously. Paid my way, built my own business, and created the life I wanted for my mother, her family, and me.

I’ll ask Bibi to leave, then ask Fable if she’d want to be my fake date for the holidays.

But before I can make another move, the bold, brave woman in my office says, “He can’t take her since I’m his date for the wedding.”