Page 7 of Santa Baby

“Do you really want to know?”

He smiled softly at me, a twinkle in his eye. At least, I told myself that’s what it was. I knew guys like Mason because my brother was one—handsome, young, and rich. Mason could get any girl he wanted if he tried but I doubted he ever listened to their opinions in earnest.

But from what Colin told me, Mason didn’t try, and he’d rarely ever been seen with a girl. Mason liked to be alone, and judging by his strict “How to be my fake girlfriend, volume one” manual currently taking up half the available data in my inbox, Mason knew exactly how he liked things to go and probably had his reasons for that.

Curiosity was already getting the best of me. What were his motives for such a scheme? It had to be deeper than wanting a clean, wholesome image.

If I had any doubts in my mind about going through with this, they were gone now.

I was in. I was one-hundred percent committed to the bit.

I rested my elbows on the high-top, giving him my best and realest smile. “Tell me about our next event, Mr. Whiskey Billionaire. I’ll see if I can give you some pointers.”

The corners of his mouth twitched into a smile. “Mason’s fine.”

For the next half hour, he walked me through the schedule, through the events we would attend together and the scattered parties and dinners he’d be throwing for his company and his staff. During that time, we had to step back into character from time to time to say goodbye to guests on their way out. It wasn’t lost on me that Mason’s father left without saying goodbye.

4

MASON

Monday mornings were my favorite. Several dozen stories below my office, New York City was alive and noisy, everyone hustling to work after a long, holiday weekend. I couldn’t wait to be back here, in my modern, sleek office where everything was exactly how I liked it. Quiet. Organized. Easy on the eyes with no clutter, none at all.

My split-screen desktop computer was full of expense reports and a wash of numbers. Normally, I would be fully immersed in making sure these reports were totally correct before sending them off to my financial department, adding any notes my accountants might need. Normally, I’d be zoned out completely, my eyes barely leaving my screen until I heard the familiar shuffle of my executive assistant, Gabby, leaving for the day.

But today I was a little off. A little distracted. Okay, more than distracted. I kept glancing at the inbox I keep for personal use—doctors’ appointments, scheduling of private events, and even the rare correspondence with old friends. It was the email I’d used to send Fia the invitation and instructions for our first event together.

Why did I want to come to work this morning and find an email from her waiting for me? Possibly to tell me how nice of an evening she had, how she was looking forward to the next time we saw each other?

This was not how I was used to operating. Sure, I’d been with my fair share of women. I wasn’t a total monk, but I’d also never put myself out there like I was doing right then. There were several moments last night where I forgot that what I had with Fia was fake, that her smiles were practiced, and her cute moniker for me, darling, had been said in jest.

For reasons unknown to me, being around her felt easy, natural, and comfortable.

Safe to say, I wasn’t expecting it. I wasn’t expecting her.

The door to my office opened. I looked up, expecting to find Gabby darkening the doorway with another unexpected phone call or delivery of another gaudy Thanksgiving-themed flower arrangement from my clients and investors, but no. Colin kicked the door closed before sauntering over to my desk, setting a paper cup of coffee down in front of me, and sinking into one of the finely made black leather armchairs in front of my desk.

I glanced at my calendar, wondering if I’d missed a meeting with him and his department leads this morning.

“We didn’t have a meeting,” he said, reading my mind. “I was just stopping by. Thought I’d check in and say hi.”

Colin, my CFO, had offices two floors below me. Heritage Spirits took up twelve floors of the building, with our flagship restaurant starting at street level, a few private event spaces on floors two, and three, and then our offices. The distillery was near the port, of course. I needed the space and ease that came with owning a large commercial building with several warehouses attached. There was a small tasting room there, too.

But I had a feeling Colin wasn’t here to talk business.

“So, I didn’t get to talk to you much at the dinner.” He stretched out his legs and fixed me with a look, smiling around the lid of his coffee cup. “What’d you think? Did she pass whatever test you laid out for her?”

“Who?” I pressed a few buttons on my keyboard to make it look like I was too busy to talk, but Colin might have been the one person in the world who actually got me, who understood how my brain worked.

“Who?” He chuckled. “Fia, of course. Is she comfortable with it? Is it going to work? Or do I need to get my interns out on the streets looking for someone else?”

I cleared my throat. “She’s fine.”

I wasn’t entirely sure what to say to her brother. When he’d offered to ask his younger sister—a bright, bubbly, vivacious twenty-five-year-old photographer—to help with this scheme, I’d been reluctant. I’d known Colin for years. We were roommates at Columbia as freshmen. He was the only reason I’d actually gotten my nose out of my books and went to parties and bars, making the connections I would eventually need to start my first distillery. I trusted very few people, but Colin was on that list, and since he thought his sister could handle this, I’d been willing to at least give it a shot.

I’d met Fia once, at that Christmas party that haunted my nightmares, but I hadn’t given her a single second of my time. Seeing her glowing in the pink dress at dinner? Well, there was a shift in the air, and it didn’t have anything to do with the incoming cold front threatening snow in Manhattan.

“Fia can be a lot, I get it,” he said with a wince. “She knows the dinner was just a trial run. If this isn’t going to work, I’ll tell her. It’s not that big of a deal.”