Page 2 of The Christmas Arrangement

While this is also technically true, I steel myself for someone to ask exactly how long we’ve been a couple. Three hours doesn’t seem like a good answer.

Turns out, I’m worried for nothing. There’s another barrage of flashes as he places his mouth on my ear.

“Thank you.” His whisper is a rumble in my chest bone.

I let out a long, shaky breath of relief. How did I get myself into this?

Chapter 2

Dash Shows His Ass. Again.

Dash

Three Hours Earlier

* * *

The makeup artist takes in the evidence of last night’s debauchery as she turns my face from side to side, inspecting the bags under my eyes and my dehydrated skin.

While Luna mutters in disgust, I listen through the speakerphone to my manager Brody snort like the bull he is. “What is wrong with you?”

Even through the tinny speaker I can tell he’s biting the words out from between clenched teeth. Luna’s pierced right eyebrow jumps up at his tone.

“What’s wrong with me? I’m here in the frozen hinterlands. Where’s she?”

She’s the one he should be pissed at. Lia Campbell, America’s sweetheart, and the star of the upcoming Christmas rom-com Sugar Cookies and Spice was supposed to be here over an hour ago.

“She’s not coming.”

Disbelief lands like a punch to my sternum. “Not coming? Why not?”

“You can’t be surprised. Not after the stunt you pulled last night.” His anger gives way to a flatter emotion—resignation, maybe.

I scroll through my fuzzy, fragmented memories. Did I get into another bar fight? Swear at the paparazzi crowded around the club’s velvet rope? After a moment, I give up. It’s all a blur. A blinding, boozy blur.

Whatever the problem is, it’s his problem to manage. It’s right there in the name. He’s my manager.

I raise my chin, indignant. “Enlighten me anyway.”

“Don’t move,” Luna instructs, waving the concealer wand in warning.

I hold still so she can work her magic and watch the image of Brody on the video call drag one hand through his hair, leaving dozens of spikes in its wake.

”Lia’s out. Her agent took me out to breakfast to tell me in person.”

“She can’t be out, The whole point of me coming to Poinsettia Peak?—”

“Mistletoe Mountain,” Luna and Brody correct me in unison.

“Wherever. You said I had to do this to redeem myself. You said a feel-good holiday photo spread, a whirlwind romance with America’s sweetheart?—”

He cuts me off, pointing a finger at me through the screen. “I know what I said. And I’ll remind you that the entire team—your agent, the publicist, the studio, everybody—agreed that this is the right move, possibly the only move that might salvage your career.”

My indignation leaks out, my anger deflating like a balloon. “So what happened? I thought she was on board.”

“She was on board. Her holiday rom-com opened in previews yesterday. A whirlwind romance with a reformed rogue would polish your image and give her a little image a bit of spice while she promotes Sugar Cookies and Spice.”

“Then what’s the problem?”