Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“She’ll survive.” Sloane takes a sip of wine. “I told her I’m not spending Christmas watching her drink too much wine and make passive-aggressive comments about my life choices.”
“And what are those life choices?” I set down the menu. “Getting your CEO to buy a crooked Christmas tree? Letting a puppy chew up my Italian leather shoes? Or is it the part where you’re building an empire while your mother thinks you should be in Montauk drinking white wine and discussing tennis lessons?”
“The shoes were Havoc’s choice, not mine,” she says primly, but I can see her fighting a smile.
“All of the above.” She grins, but then it falters slightly. “We are spending tomorrow together, right? I mean, I just assumed, with the tree and everything . . .”
I reach across the table and take her hand. “I should warn you—I haven’t done a real Christmas since I was a kid. I might be terrible at it.”
“Good thing you have me then.” Her fingers lace through mine. “One month to master a jewelry collection, remember? I’m excellent at impossible tasks.”
Looking at her across the table in the warm light of Gloria’s, I see the woman who changed every plan I thought I had. Who made me want something more than just success.
First Christmas Eve. Then her empire. But tonight, we’re having dessert. And for the first time in my life, I’m not thinking about what comes next. I’m exactly where I want to be.
Chapter Thirty-Five Sloane
I wake to the sound of Cole having what appears to be a very serious conversation with our puppy.
“The tree is not a bathroom,” he’s saying in the same tone he probably uses for hostile takeovers. “We discussed this.”
Havoc’s response is the scraping sound of another ornament being batted across the floor.
I slip out of bed and peek around my bedroom door. Cole’s in his usual impeccable suit—he has a morning meeting he couldn’t reschedule—but he’s on his knees trying to extract a silver ball from under the couch while Havoc helpfully pounces on his tie.
“That’s Hermès silk you’re treating like a chew toy.” But he’s scratching behind Havoc’s ears even as he says it.
“Your tie collection was doomed the day we got him,” I say, and Cole looks up, caught in the act of baby-talking to a puppy. “I have photographic evidence of the mighty CEO on his hands and knees at seven in the morning.”
“Delete it.”
“Not a chance.” I snap another picture as Havoc successfully steals the tie. “This is definitely becoming my Christmas card next year.”
Cole stands, abandoning the tie to its fate. His eyes do that slow sweep that makes my skin heat. I’m wearing one of his dress shirts that I stole weeks ago, and his gaze lingers on my bare legs.
“I’m only going to be gone two hours,” he says, stepping closer. “Three at most.”
“We have all day.” I straighten his collar, deliberately brushing my fingers against his neck. “Go be a CEO. Havoc and I need to wrap your presents anyway.”
“About that.” He glances at the pile of wrapped gifts under the tree. “You do realize there are significantly more packages there than last night.”
“Knox helped me hide them in the garage. And before you say anything about excessive gift-giving, I saw your security team trying to be stealthy all week. They’re terrible at it, by the way. Even Havoc noticed them sneaking around with those giant boxes.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But the slight quirk of his mouth tells me otherwise. “Three hours,” he says again, and kisses me in a way that makes me seriously consider making him late for his meeting.
The moment he’s gone, I race to the kitchen. I have precisely two hours and fifty-eight minutes to attempt something I’ve never done before—make Christmas Eve dinner. Well, attempt to make Christmas Eve dinner. I’ve got backup reservations at three different restaurants, but I’m determined to at least try the whole domestic goddess thing.
How hard can it be?
Two hours later, I’ve learned several important life lessons:
Cooking videos make everything look deceptively easy.
Setting off the smoke alarm once means Knox will appear in full tactical gear.
Setting it off twice means the entire security team will be hovering nervously in the hallway.
Setting it off three times means Knox will gently suggest ordering takeout while confiscating your oven privileges.
Knox clears his throat from the doorway.
“The cleaning service is here,” he says with admirable professionalism. “And may I suggest a cooking class for the new year?”
“That obvious?”
“Let’s just say I’ve seen less destruction in active war zones.”
The cleaning crew works miracles. By four, there’s no evidence of my culinary disaster, and Gloria’s team has transformed the dining room into something straight out of a magazine. The whole penthouse smells like roasting turkey instead of burning . . . everything.