The Christmas Contract

The Christmas Contract

The next five minutes were a blur of awkward silence, forced pleasantries, and Celeste’s icy glare. Evan recovered with practiced grace, but his eyes kept darting between me and Derek’s hand, which was resting firmly on my hip.

“I didn’t realize you two were…” Evan trailed off, his smile strained.

“Together?” Derek finished, his thumb making a small, distracting circle on my coat. “Yeah. It’s new. But you know how it is. When it’s right, it’s right.”

I forced a smile, my lips still tingling from the kiss. “Very right.”

We extricated ourselves with a promise to “catch up later,” a promise I had zero intention of keeping. Derek steered me toward a secluded corner of the rooftop, away from the curious stares and the heaters, where the chill of the December night bit through my coat.

As soon as we were alone, the spell broke. I jerked away from him.

“What was that?” I hissed, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, a childish gesture I immediately regretted.

“That,” he said, leaning back against the cold brick parapet, “was you using me as human shield. I just played along. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I didn’t ask you to… to devour me!”

A slow, infuriating grin spread across his face. “Devour is a strong word, Chen. I’d call it… committed improv.”

“Ugh!” I turned away, wrapping my arms around myself, staring out at the glittering skyline. The Empire State Building was lit red and green. It felt like a mockery. “This is a disaster. He’s back. He’s going to be everywhere. My parents loved him. The industry still talks about the wedding-that-wasn’t. I’ll never live this down.”

“So live it up instead.”

I turned to glare at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He pushed off the wall, serious now. The playful glint was gone, replaced by a shrewd, calculating look I’d seen him use on business deals. “Evan thinks he can waltz back in because you’re alone and vulnerable. He’s making a power play. The only way to beat a power play is with a better one.”

“And your brilliant strategy is us… fake dating?” The words sounded absurd out loud.

“Think about it,” he said, stepping closer. “You need to save face in front of your ex and your entire social circle. You need to look completely, blissfully over him.” He ticked the points off on his fingers. “I, on the other hand, have a group of my late father’s old-fashioned business partners who think I’m too much of a playboy to trust with expansion capital for the bar. They want to see me ‘settled down.’ Responsible.”

A cold realization dawned. “You want to use me to look legitimate.”

“I want us,” he said, his gaze steady, “to help each other. A mutually beneficial arrangement. We have,” he glanced at an imaginary watch, “roughly twelve major holiday events between now and New Year’s. Parties, galas, family dinners. We’ve been each other’s plus-ones. We sell the hell out of being the perfect, happy couple. By the time the ball drops, Evan will be a distant memory, my partners will be writing checks, and we go our separate ways. No fuss, no muss.”

It was insane. It was conniving. It was… potentially brilliant.

“Why would you help me?” I asked, suspicion narrowing my eyes. “You barely tolerate me.”

Something flickered in his expression—too fast to decipher. “Let’s just say I owe Marcus. And I’m not a fan of guys who ditch their fiancées right before Christmas. Even if said fiancée is occasionally insufferable.”

The old insult should have stung. Instead, I was too busy calculating. I saw the next month unfolding: Evan’ wounded pride, the envious glances, the whispered “she upgraded.” I saw myself walking into rooms on Derek Marshall’s arm, confident, untouchable.

“What are the terms?” My voice was all business, the event planner in me taking over.

“Full commitment in public. Hand-holding, pet names, the whole sickening display. We back each other up. We have each other’s stories straight. We sell it.”

“And in private?”

“In private, Chen, we’re whatever we’ve always been.” His lips quirked. “You can go back to thinking I’m an arrogant asshole, and I’ll go back to thinking you’re a perfectionist control freak. Simple.”

Simple. Nothing about Derek Marshall was simple. Not the way he’d just kissed me, and certainly not this deal.

“Twelve events,” I said slowly.

“Twelve events,” he confirmed. “Starting with your Sterling Events gala next week.”

I looked out at the city again, at the million lights pretending to be stars. It was a terrible idea. A dangerous, potentially heartbreaking idea.

But the alternative was facing Evan—and the ghost of my own failure—alone.

I turned and held out my hand. “Deal.”

He looked at my hand, then back up at me. Instead of shaking it, he took it, lacing his fingers through mine. His grip was warm and unsettlingly solid. “Deal. But we have to make it believable. That means hand-holding, pet names… everything.”

A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold raced down my spine. “Everything?”

His green eyes held mine, and for a second, I saw past the smirk to something intense and unreadable. “Everything, Chen. Starting now.”