Page 88 of Making It Burn

“I know.But...”I trailed off as more people arrived.“I’ll talk to him.After the holidays.When things calm down.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

The compass was wrapped and hidden in my apartment, waiting for Christmas Day.I’d planned this whole romantic moment—I’d tell Mason I loved him, give him the gift, and we’d figure out together what came next.

But what if Mason didn’t want to figure it out?What if whatever had been bothering him this week was him realizing this thing between us was too complicated, too risky, too much?

“Stop spiraling,” Lisa said firmly.“I can literally see the chaos circling inside your head.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.You’ve got that look on your face like someone kicked your puppy.”She squeezed my arm.“Just enjoy the party.Have a few drinks.Flirt with your secret boyfriend from across the room.It’ll be fine.”

Before I could respond, Paul Cramer’s voice boomed across the room.“Everyone!Gather round!Let’s get this party started!”

The ballroom filled with associates and partners, with everyone dressed in their holiday best, champagne glasses in hand.Someone had hired a pianist, and soft jazz versions of Christmas songs filled the air.It was elegant and festive and exactly the type of event where I’d normally have a good time.

If I weren’t secretly in love with my coworker, who’d been acting weird all week.

“There he is,” Lisa murmured.

I turned and saw Mason walking through the entrance, and my breath caught.

He wore a charcoal suit that fit him like a dream, his blonde hair perfectly styled.He looked gorgeous and untouchable and so far out of my reach it made my chest ache.

Our eyes met across the room, and for just a second, his expression softened.Something passed between us—recognition, longing, something I couldn’t quite name.Then someone called his name, and the moment was gone.

Mason made his way through the crowd, shaking hands and making small talk, and I watched him play the part of the successful associate—confident, charming, completely in control.He was good at this.Good at pretending nothing was wrong.

“I need another drink,” I muttered.

“Pace yourself,” Lisa warned.“It’s going to be a long night.”

She didn’t know how right she was.

* * *

An hour into the party, I’d made the rounds—chatted with colleagues, laughed at bad jokes, accepted congratulations on the Henderson Technologies case.Mason and I had exchanged pleasantries when our paths crossed, but nothing more.We were playing it safe, keeping our distance, maintaining the fiction that we were just friendly coworkers.

It was exhausting.

I was standing near the Christmas tree, half-listening to one of the junior associates tell a story about a disastrous deposition, when Paul Cramer clinked his glass to get everyone’s attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen!”He stood near the center of the room, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.“I hope you’re all having a wonderful time.Before we continue, I want to thank everyone for an incredible year.The hard work, the dedication, the late nights—it hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

Polite applause rippled through the room.

“And now,” Paul continued, his grin widening, “it’s time for a little holiday tradition.As some of you may have noticed, we have mistletoe strategically placed throughout the club.”He gestured upward, and I looked up to see sprigs of mistletoe hanging from the chandeliers, the doorways, even above the bar.

Oh no.

“The rules are simple,” Paul said.“If you find yourself under the mistletoe with someone, you have to kiss them.It’s tradition!And who are we to fight tradition?”

Nervous laughter filled the room, and I saw several people immediately step away from the doorways.

“Now, to kick things off,” Paul said, his eyes scanning the crowd with theatrical deliberation, “I need two volunteers.”