Page 10 of The Christmas Arrangement

“I don’t know exactly how quaint you think this town is, but we do have the internet.”

“Then you know how important it is for me to change the narrative. A sweet holiday romance with someone like you will push that mess of the front page and, more importantly, off the For You Page.”

I stare at him as realization dawns. I wonder if a cartoon lightbulb is blinking on above my head.

“Ahhh, I get it. Not a romance with me. A romance with someone like me. Someone fresh-faced and scandal-free. Someone who could stand in for the star of Sugar and Spice because she probably finds you too toxic to even fake date.”

His jaw flexes but he dips his head in acknowledgment. “You’ve nailed it. Lia’s team agreed to a public relationship with me for business reasons. But after yesterday, they think it would be a bad idea.”

“So, it would be bad PR for Lia, but I should do it anyway. Why?”

“You’re not promoting a Christmas rom-com movie.”

I counter, “But I am running a business. And this is the busiest season for, well, everyone in town. I can’t step away for a week to rehab some actor’s image even if I wanted to—which, to be clear, I don’t.”

“You really don’t want to spend a week with someone who’s been voted one of the sexiest men alive four running?” His tone oozes disbelief. “Is this because I mooned the photographers? I don’t usually do that, I promise.”

His reaction should come across as arrogance, but it doesn’t. He simply knows who he is.

And I know who I am, which is why I do not want to be his pretend girlfriend.

“Look. I’m really shy. I don’t love the spotlight. My family calls me the only quiet Jolly. And let’s not forget, I’m a florist, not an actor. I wouldn’t be convincing.”

I flicks my extremely valid objections away with the back of his hand. “I’ll be convincing enough for both of us.”

“I’m flattered. Really. But I have a business to run.”

“No problem. I’ll pay to bring in a team to take care of your shop.”

He says this like it’s a done deal, but my back goes up and I bristle. If I were a porcupine, he’d look like a pin cushion right now.

“Absolutely not,” I huff.

“Why not?”

“My clients expect—and are entitled to—my personal involvement. I really care about my work.” I pause to think of a good metaphor to explain this. “Would you have agreed to a stand-in for the nude scenes in An Inheritance of Irony?”

“Would’ve solved a lot of problems,” he grumbles.

I jut out a hip and pin him with a long look until he caves.

“Of course not. It would have been inauthentic.”

“Right. And bringing in a team of people who don’t know me, my business, or my customers would be equally inauthentic. Besides, there must be a dozen women in town who would jump at the chance to be your girlfriend for the week.”

“I don’t want them. I want you.” He says it bluntly and without hesitation.

“Why?”

“You actually watched the movie. Not for the memes, not to leer at me. You cared about the story.”

I feel myself softening, and I almost give in. But the reality is I genuinely can’t afford to. I use a gentle tone when I say, “I wish I could help you, Dash. But I really don’t have time. I’m buried under an avalanche of flower orders.

“I’ll help you,” I says, breathless.

“You’ll help me? You mean, with the orders?”

“Yes. It’s a great idea. That’s what a real boyfriend would do, right?”