Page 63 of The Holidays with Mr. Mitchell

“Would you do that with Ash?”

“No,” he said easily, “because I’d never blame my wife for jack shit, even if she had a hand in roasting me.”

I pointed toward the candy canes outside his door. “Obviously. Since you apparently enjoy shoving those up your ass to mask the smell of your shit, I’m sure you’d love getting roasted.”

“Now you’re just being a dick,” he shot back. “Hey, maybe that’ll end the fight. Have Avery shove a candy cane up your ass, and?—”

“Fucking hell, man,” came Collin’s voice as he walked into the office. “Jesus, what did I just walk into? Jake’s therapy session about candy canes and ass play?”

“Isn’t that why you put them outside my door, dipshit?” Jake asked.

“God, no, you disgusting bastard,” Collin said, grinning. “Peppermint cheeks represent rosy, red cheeks on Ash’s face. I just addedcreaksbecause it rhymed. I’m off my game this year, but it seems we all know whereyourmind’s been, Mitchell.”

I couldn’t stop the smirk when Jake frowned.

“You didn’t actually shove a candy cane up your ass, did you?” Collin asked, laughing.

Jake ignored him. “Can we get back to Jim’s crisis? The man’s unraveling.”

“Right, right,” Collin said, turning to me. “Laney says Avery’s pretty fucking done with you. What the hell did you do to make it escalate this bad?”

“I stuck to my damn guns,” I admitted. “Thought if I held firm, she’d stop pranking me, and we’d get through our parties. Now I can’t seem to unfuck any of it.”

“You still letting the media run with the story?” Jake asked.

“My PR team killed it yesterday morning,” I said. “But if Avery doesn’t start talking to me soon?—”

“Oh, quit acting like a little bitch,” Collin interrupted.

“So, you’d be fine if Laney iced you out for a week?” I shot back.

“God, no,” he said, laughing. “But I’m not stupid enough to start a fake fight with her and then double down.”

I exhaled hard. “Yeah. Jake said the same thing.”

Collin leaned on Jake’s desk. “So, what’s the plan, genius? Grovel? Flowers? Candy canes?”

Jake cut in. “I already suggested that maybe Avery should shove one up his ass. Might realign his priorities.”

“Can wepleasestop talking about shoving things up asses?” I snapped.

Jake laughed. “Fair enough. But you’re headed for the nuthouse if we don’t fix this.”

He grabbed his keys. “Here’s the plan: instead of meeting for drinks like normal people, we crash wherever the women are hiding out tonight.”

“They’re at the Malibu house,” I said reluctantly. “Avery insisted. She took the girls and said they were staying there.”

Collin tried to hold back a laugh and failed. “Already sleeping in separate houses? Shit went sideways fast, huh?”

Jake clapped me on the shoulder. “The song‘I’ll Be Home for Christmas’is about to hit a little too close to home for you, big guy.”

I groaned, rubbing my forehead. “And what if she doesn’t talk to me when we show up?”

Jake gave me a look. “What are you, in fifth grade? Grab what’s left of your balls. We’re bringing food and booze, and we’re crashing the girls’ beach-house night.”

“I don’t know,” I muttered.

“Or,” Collin said with a sly grin, “we have a bachelor night at your place. Poker, cigars… maybe invite a few people who still like you.”