Page 18 of The Christmas Arrangement

Holly huffs, and I turn toward her again. “Quinn said you reviewed it.”

“I did.”

“Well, then you know.”

Merry puts on her best youngest child pout. “If everybody knows, then you have to tell me. It’s not fair. You can’t leave me out.”

I’m dying to tell her, to tell all of them. But there’s one teeny, tiny wrinkle—Merry’s big mouth.

I meet Holly’s gaze across the room, and she nods like I’ve got this.

“Merry, you can’t tell anybody,” she warns.

My younger sister has the nerve to look offended when everybody in Mistletoe Mountain knows that the fastest way to spread news is to tell Merry Jolly that it’s a secret.

Before she can protest, Holly goes on. “I’m serious. There’s an argument that the NDAs extend to whatever it is Ivy’s about to tell us. If you share it, Dad and Noelle could be in breach. Ivy, too.”

“Okay, okay. I get it.”

We all stare at her for a beat.

She raises her hand. “Baker’s honor.”

“I don’t think that’s a thing,” I tell her.

“It totally is,” she lies.

“Just tell us,” Holly says, exasperated. “If she blabs, I’ll slap a cease and desist on her.”

I’m pretty sure this is a bluff. But then, this is Holly we’re talking about.

“Okay, fine.”

In unison, they lean toward me, rapt.

“You know how Dash got a lot of press for his nude scenes in that movie?”

Merry snorts. “Um, yeah.”

“That’s an understatement,” Noelle observes dryly.

“I heard Calvin Klein wants him for a new campaign.”

I pause to consider this tidbit of information from Holly before continuing. “He didn’t handle it so well.”

“You think?” Merry says. “He got hammered on that morning show and went on a rant.”

“Not to mention, he mooned some reporters outside a club last night,” Noelle adds.

No one would ever accuse the Jolly women of being out of the pop culture loop.

“Right, and until last night, he had a plan to clean up his image by pretending to spend a romantic week in our very own winter wonderland with his longtime girlfriend, Lia Campbell.”

“Dash was dating Lia Campbell?” Merry asks, wide-eyed.

“Mmm, no. No, he was not.”

Her surprised expression contorts into a scrunched-up, disgusted look. “It was all a PR stunt?”