Page 67 of Santa Baby

I closed my eyes and sat on the floor in front of her. “I’m going to talk to him. You don’t have to do anything.”

“I feel like I should be the one. I’m his sister.”

“I’m his best friend.”

It was a stalemate. We stared at each other, serious, internally contemplating our next move. But then the corner of her mouth ticked up in a smile, and her eyes creased with silent laughter.

I cracked, smiling down at my hands. “What is wrong with you?”

“With me?” she choked, bursting out with a chest rattling laugh.

“You’re the clumsiest person I’ve ever met!”

“You have the tiniest, slipperiest coffee mugs I’ve ever seen!”

“You were crawling on the floor, Fia. While I was on the phone with your brother, no less.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy the show.” Her tone dropped into a heated, teasing purr that had me running my tongue against the back of my teeth.

“You’re a menace.”

“Get me some coffee while I ice my head,” she grumbled but smiled at me as she rested her head on her hand, exhaling sharply.

She looked really cute right then. Ruffled and undone, her legs bare and her hair knotted in a bun on the side of her head. I leaned in and kissed her, feeling her lips warm and soft against mine.

“You promised me breakfast,” she whined when I tried to deepen the kiss.

I had, in fact, promised.

I made her a latte with a copious amount of sugar since I didn’t have anything resembling flavored syrup. I flipped pancakes while she chatted to me from a barstool, asking about my usual routine on the weekends.

“I don’t really do weekends.”

“Of course you don’t.” She laughed, cupping her coffee mug. “But if we start dating, you’ll have to carve out some time off, won’t you?”

“Start dating? I thought we’ve been together for, what was it? Two years?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“You’d be my reason for taking weekends off instead of spending them in the office like normal,” I told her as I slid a plate of pancakes in her direction. She caught the plate, looking smug. “I’d be home from the office by six on the weekdays.”

“You’d be home by five,” she amended, arching a brow.

“Half past five.” I leaned on the counter, holding the syrup hostage.

She eyed the syrup, pursed her lips, and made a show of considering my terms. “Fine.”

I passed her the syrup and went back to the pancakes still on the stovetop.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” she asked.

“Well, we have Abigail’s big Christmas tree event tomorrow night now.”

“Oh, yeah.” She grinned as I flipped a few pancakes. “What exactly is that?”

“She fills her mansion with trees and we each bring an ornament to decorate the trees with. The trees are auctioned off a few days later at some charity auction her foundation puts on every year.”

“Are we going to the auction?”