Page 16 of The Christmas Mistake

“Yep. Holy shitballs.”

“And what did you do next?” I ask her, enraptured.

“What else could I do? When I wiped the cat-vomit away from around my mouth I simply turned to Tom and ordered him to turn around right there on the highway and take me back to mine.”

“And that was it?”

“That was it. Date over. Finished.”

“And this happened yesterday?” I ask her. “What about the teeny tiny fact that you work with Tom.”

“I don’t even want to think about how I’m going to interact with the man come Monday,” Evie replies with a long sigh. “What do I say to him when I do see him, Chastity? What do I do?”

I laugh. “I’m glad this isn’t my problem, Evie. I honestly don’t know what you can do with him. It’s the trouble with dating someone from work, isn’t it? That whole don’t shit where you eat thing. You cross that line and you face the consequences.”

“I really fucked it, haven’t I?”

I just give her a sympathetic nod.

Evie finishes the rest of her latest Cosmopolitan and lets out a very unladylike belch.

“Have you ever dated someone from work, Chastity?” she asks me. “Or even slept with one?”

And my first thought flies back nearly exactly a year ago. Christmas party. The snow. Nicholas freaking Carter.

The night I want to forget but lives rent-free in my head.

“I don’t think so,” I lie. “Even if I have they mustn’t be that good. I don’t even remember.”

Evie squints at me for a moment.

“What about last Christmas’ work party?”

I gulp, and then try hard to act normal and not let Evie notice my turbulent emotions.

She surely doesn’t know…

“What about it?” I ask.

“You left earlier than you usually do,” Evie says, suspicious. “I’ve been wondering about that night all year. Where did you go so damn early? You love a good party. The only explanation I can think of is that you left with someone.”

“I was pretty drunk, Evie. I don’t really remember that night.”

Oh, I most certainly do, though.

She ignores me and clicks her fingers, thinking.

“The last time I saw you was when you were saying you were going to talk to that finance guy. Who is he? Nicholas… Something? The weird dork who works out, that guy. The one who looks like Clark Kent. Did you go home with him?”

All hands to action stations.

“Definitely not, Evie. No way I can even entertain the thought of his dick anywhere near me. We hate each other if that isn’t clear enough. Imagine the social repercussions in the office if I’ve ever got with him. This amazing reputation I’ve carefully curated over the past few years would be blown to smithereens.”

She frowns at me and doesn’t reply. I know she’s skeptical. I can’t have her figuring things out.

That night is the most regretful night of my life. I still can’t believe it or how far I went. Nicholas was actually in my house. In my fucking bed.

It makes me want to puke as badly as Tom’s cats.