Page 29 of Babies for the Christmas Grump

I can feel it, all of it: the searing frustration with Ryder, the suffocating disappointment in myself for letting him mess with my head and my bodyagain.

I don’t even know why I’m still surprised. I told myself, no more. Never again.But I went back, and he still talks to me like crap.

I’m mad at him. I’m angry at myself.

The worst part? He doesn’t even realize what he’s done. The way he shut me out of that meeting, the way he dismissed me as ifIwas some quirky hotel decorator with no real stake in this.

It’s one thing for him to treat me like a joke. But for me to let it affect me this much?

Ugh.

I grab a handful of cinnamon sticks from the bag I’ve had out for my DIY centerpieces—which, let’s be real, are rapidlyheading toward fire hazard territory—and start wrapping them in red ribbon.

It’s supposed to be a cute, festive touch—a small project to distract me from everything else.

But it’s not working. Not even close.

Tinsel hops onto my desk, tail swishing like a metronome of judgment. Before I can stop her, she knocks an entire bundle of cinnamon sticks onto the floor and immediately starts batting one across the office like it’s a hockey puck.

“Not helpful,” I mutter, scooping one up and glaring at her.

She blinks at me, smug as ever.

“Sunny, you okay?”

I spin to see Pearl smiling at me.

“You look stressed.”

I could tell her everything, but that doesn’t seem right. So, I roll my eyes instead. “Just this hotel. It’s crazy busy.”

Pearl winks. “But it has a good bar. I’m just headed for a drink.”

Before I can even be tempted to join her, my phone buzzes—a FaceTime call from Marjorie.

I swipe at the screen, my frustration seeping into my voice as I pick up. Her face fills the screen with that ever-so-welcome, chaotic energy of hers.

She’s sitting on her couch, a large glass of wine in one hand and a mug in the other. The mug reads: “Men Are the Worst.” I can’t help but grin despite myself.

“You okay?” she asks, taking a slow sip from the wine glass.

“Do I sound okay?” I’m practically spitting fire as I cut another piece of ribbon way too aggressively. “Ryder blindsided me today with an investor meeting. I overheard him talking to some guy about the future of the hotel, and it was like I didn’t even exist. Like all I do is throw glitter at problems and hope they go away.”

Marjorie arches an eyebrow.

“And you slept with him again, didn’t you?” she says, not missing a beat, dripping with judgment and amusement.

I cringe at her spot-on assessment. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

My hands are trembling as I wind the ribbon tighter, trying to focus on anything that isn’t the entire emotional disaster that is my life right now.

“I don’t know why I let it happen. I should have walked away. I should have said no. But no, I let him pull me in like an idiot. Now I’m pissed at him, and even more pissed at myself.”

Marjorie’s expression softens, just a little. “First of all, honey, you’re not an idiot. You’re just a woman who always wants to believe in the good parts of people. Even the ones who don’t deserve it.”

I throw my hands up, still seething. “But it’s not just him! It’s me, too. I let him mess with my head, and I care what he thinks, which is absurd. Why do I care?”

Marjorie lets out a long, dramatic sigh and takes another sip of wine. “Look, Sunny. I get it. Trust me, I do. But this isn’t just about a grumpy CFO with abs of doom,” she gestures with the wine glass, “and whatever that messed-up emotional pull is that keeps dragging you back into his orbit. This is aboutyou, and what you’re building here.”