Page 6 of Santa Baby

None of us went around the table describing what we were most thankful for.

Finally, after nearly two hours, I had a chance to talk to Mason again instead of just taking up space at his table. After drinking another whiskey cocktail and watching Darcy take a single nibble from her slice of deliciously decadent chocolate cake with bourdon icing while I proceeded to scarf mine down, I floated over to where Mason was rocking on his heels near the bar, leaning his elbow on the surface of a glossy high-top table and looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

He was alone, too. Just my luck.

Blue eyes met mine as I raised my brows at him, tilting my head toward his lonesome table. “Marvelous dinner, darling,” I drawled, tipping my martini glass toward the ceiling in a toast.

“You’ve been enjoying the whiskey, I see.”

I slid up to his side, feeling a little lighter than usual because of the buzz that was actively turning my cheeks a bright pink. “I hate it, actually,” I admitted, glancing around to make sure we weren’t overheard, a bit dramatically, I should add. “I’m shocked you’re a billionaire. This stuff is awful.”

He looked down at me with a thoughtful, slightly narrow-eyed look. Amusement played over his fine, chiseled features. He had a strong, square jaw, cleanly shaven. The kind of jawline that could, “cut glass,” as Liv, my best friend, would say. His jaw flexed for a moment, and I swore I could see the ghost of a smile on his lips before he banished it, shaking his head. “It’s an acquired taste.”

“What do you have to acquire to enjoy something that tastes like water that’s been sitting in the bottom of a burn barrel for decades? A severe accident that destroyed your taste buds?”

“Would you like something else to drink… darling?” He raised a brow, and there it was. A smile.

So, those muscles around his mouth do work.

“No.” I drained the rest of my cocktail, the last sip nothing more than a heavy dose of cherry syrup. I winced, and Mason actually chuckled, which startled me. “Wow, so you can smile and laugh. I was wondering about that.”

“Do you always say everything that comes to your mind?”

“Yes, why?”

He stared at me, the corner of his mouth lifting a touch in a wry grin. “You’re a strange woman.”

“What were you expecting? The female version of my brother?”

“I wasn’t expecting you.” He leaned on the table, turning to face me. Maybe it was the fact that I was a tiny bit buzzed, but I felt like he was really looking at me right then. Like really looking. Taking in tiny details most people didn’t see. I fought against a sudden rush of nerves that felt displaced as he asked, “Did you enjoy the dinner?”

“Do you want my honest opinion?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a breath. “Do I?”

“Probably not, but I’m going to tell you anyway.”

“Why am I not surprised⁠—”

“The table was all wrong, Mason.”

He furrowed his brow. “The decorations?”

“No, they were fine. Although that cornucopia was trash. What are we? Pilgrims?”

“Fia,” he said, cutting me off. My name leaving his tongue sounded like smooth whiskey being poured, and I quickly realized I was in trouble. “What didn’t you like about the table?”

“Look, I’m not trying to be bossy or overstep whatever boundaries come with this—whatever this is.” I motioned between us. “But I know a thing or two about event planning.”

“Colin told me.”

“I bet he did.” I met his eyes, noticing him leaning in, the distance between us closing just a smidge. “This was a very intimate, very personal dinner. Therefore, a circular table would have been best. That way everyone could have conversed as a group instead of talking to the three or four people nearby.” I broke from his gaze to scan the room. “You can’t throw a bunch of people at a long table and expect anything fun to happen, especially people like this.”

“What do you mean?” He sounded sincere, so I pressed forward.

I licked my lips, which were slightly numb from the drink. “Did you want this to feel like Thanksgiving or a dinner you’d throw for your investors?” I looked up at him again, holding his gaze. “Do you get what I mean? It wasn’t warm enough.”

“What are your suggestions, other than a round table next time?”