“Whatever you want, lady. At this rate, you have my body and soul.”
She laughed uneasily because he was joking and because she might not refuse if he wasn’t. Wouldn’t refuse his body, anyway. She was sure she had no use for a second soul, though, even after just the short time he’d been there, she did find she enjoyed his companionship.
They fell into an easy rhythm, anticipating each other’s movements, as they unloaded boxes down the stairs. Jane tried not to stare at the way the muscles in his arms flexed when he reached for one at the top of a stack.
It didn’t work.
The point was, she tried. And although she was fairly certain she’d been caught doing it, he didn’t say anything about it. Perhaps the gentlemanly behavior wouldn’t be too hard to encourage, after all.
Once everything was safely on the living room floor, they started unloading. For the umpteenth time, she congratulated herself on coming up with this plan. Her house would be perfect in no time flat—it was like an early present, not having to do all the work alone.
It was comfortable, too, doing this with Ian, talking minimally and only about the work at hand. When they’d made work of nearly half the boxes, Ian sat back on his feet and stretched his arms over his head so that his T-shirt rose, exposing chiseled abs above the line of his jeans.
She tried not to stare, and when that proved impossible, she tried to at least not drool.
“So, this date…?” he asked.
She closed her mouth—yes, she’d been gaping—and forced her attention on the list she’d prepared mentally. “Right. Let me start by saying that in order to show up Blake, well, how can I say this? There are some things that will need some work.”
They’d also need to come up with a fake career and a story about how they met. But before all that, she needed to address his speech. Delicately.
“Let me guess,” Ian said as she worried her lip, trying to find a good way to broach the subject of his unpleasant dialect. “You’d prefer if I spoke like this.”
Again, Jane gaped. His last sentence had been uttered with a perfectly neutral American accent, no trace of Southie in his words at all.
“I think I mentioned I studied acting,” he explained. “I was always good at dialects.”
“I’ll say. I guess I can mark that one off the to-do list.”
“What else you got on that list of yours?” The accent was back, but far less concerning this time. In fact, now that she knew he could turn it off, it was even sort of charming.
“I…I don’t want to offend you.” At least she didn’t have to instruct him on hygiene. His freshly showered scent had wrapped around her as he’d passed her walking into the house. His nails, she’d remarked soon after, were cut short and clean, and the scruff on his face appeared well groomed.
“Listen, there’s nothing offensive about that paycheck you handed me. I’m yours to mold.”
She pretended she didn’t like the way that made her heart quicken.
“Okay then. I’ll want to take you to get a new suit. I know you said you had one, but this will be my treat. To coordinate it with my outfit.” That sounded good. “We should do that in the next week or so to get it back in time. Also, you need a backstory.”
“I can say I work in business. No one ever really knows what that means, I don’t think,” Ian offered.
“Blake does,” Jane said grimly. “How about something even less specific, something more boring? Most importantly, something no one will ever care to look into.”
They looked at each other. His eyes were two brown pools she could easily drown in if she wasn’t on her guard. He was not here to crush on. He was here to do her a favor.
“Import/export?” he offered.
“Perfect,” she said, not totally convinced she was talking about his job. He bent from on top of the ladder as she reached up to hand him a section of the string lights they were hanging around the window. “All that’s left for today is working out our story.”
He quirked a single brow. “Our story?”
“Of how we met.”
He fastened the string to the last of the hooks he’d placed along the top of the glass frame, and then peered down at her. “Why don’t we just use the real one?”
She was flabbergasted. “Oh, we’re not telling anyone we met online. That would defeat—”
With a wave of his hand, he cut her off. “Not that. The first time.” He descended the ladder, then, once on the ground, leaned his elbow on one of the rungs. “I’d gone to see a free exhibit at the Art Institute with the twins as part of a school assignment. They took off with friends, of course, and so I wandered over to the docks. I was so lost in thought, I hadn’t realized that something had fallen out of my pocket—”
“A contract,” she chimed in. “It looked very important.”
He nodded. “—and you ran after me to return it. Good thing you caught me before I had to run for my train.”
“It wasn’t a train,” she corrected, wanting the story to sound less plebian. “You were meeting your driver.”
“Yes,” he winked. “That’s what I meant.”
She picked up on the next part of the story. “Anyway, it was an important contract.”
“Very important. I was beyond glad to have it back.”
“You were so grateful you asked for my number.” She smiled, proud of the direction she’d taken this fable.
Ian shook his head. “That wasn’t the reason I asked for your number.”
Jane wrinkled her nose. “It wasn’t?” It had been a believable transition, as far as she was concerned.
“Nope. It was the dot of buttercream on your upper lip.”
“That’s a silly reason.” It was creative, she’d give him that. But she wanted a story that made her sound romantic and heroic, not like a hot mess.
“So it’s silly. But it was the only thing I could think about the whole time we were talking.” Something about the way his eyes twinkled said that this little detail just might not be made up.
She brought her hand to her mouth and gasped. “I had buttercream on my lip? No!”
“Yes. You did.” His amused tone wasn’t helping the situation.
“Well, that’s embarrassing.” Horrific was more like it. She lowered her head, her cheeks warming.
Ian took a step forward and bent to meet her gaze. “It was adorable.”
She was no longer sure how much of their story was fact and how much was fiction, but her blush deepened as if the compliment he’d given were true. “You should have told me.”
He shrugged. “I knew it would make you uncomfortable. So I asked for your number instead.”
She lifted her chin in challenge. “Were you planning to call me to tell me about the buttercream?”
He laughed. “I was planning to call you, period.”
“And then you did.”
He was standing so close—when had that happened? She liked it. Liked the way she could see the tiny creases around his eyes and the length of his lashes.
“The rest is history.” His eyes zoomed in on her mouth as though it were still capped in frosting.
She had to resist the desire to lick the imaginary sweetness from her lip.
The air between them was thick and hot and charged, and she knew if she stepped back, she could stretch it out. Could ease the tension that hung like the lights he’d just strung tautly along her windows.
But she stayed perfectly still.
With his gaze still pinned to her mouth, Ian said, softly, “I wanted so much to kiss it off of you.”
Her breath hitched. Had he really wanted to kiss her? “We’d only just met.”
She wondered if he might lean in and try to kiss her now. She wondered more how she’d respond if he did.
But then he was brushing past her to finish adhering the lights at the bottom of the frame. “Makes a great story, though, doesn’t it?”
“Right. It makes a great story.” Because t
hat’s what it had been—a story, and nothing more.
Ian bent to plug the cord into the socket. Then he stood back to admire the work.
“What do you think?” he asked.
She crossed to stand next to him. “It’s perfect.”
Then, because she liked him enough to want to be honest and because she knew that he’d be leaving soon, but mostly because she wasn’t ready for this dizzy, buzzy sensation inside of her to end, she said, “I have a confession.” She turned toward him, bold and trembling all at once. “I looked your picture up online before you got here.”
His eyes gleamed with the reflection of the white twinkling lights in front of them. “I have a confession, too—so did I.”
She let out a relieved laugh. “I guess that’s the era we live in.” It probably should have concerned her if he hadn’t looked her up.
“Did you remember we’d met before?” He cocked his head, studying her.
The way he looked at her should have made her uncomfortable, but, instead it made her feel good. Good enough that she felt she could be honest with him. “I did, actually.”
“So did I.”
Her chest tightened with his admission. “And you still took the job.”
“You still offered.”
“I guess I did.”
The sun had set outside, and the room had darkened so the white lights were the only thing lit in the room. It made the atmosphere feel warm and intimate. This was Christmas. This was the feeling she identified most with this holiday, the feeling she seemed to spend the rest of the year chasing.
Funny how strong and easily achievable that feeling was this year. Usually it didn’t come until the big day itself, when the tree was perfectly trimmed and the candles were lit and Bing Crosby crooned over the speakers.
She wondered if Ian felt it too.
“You said that was all for today?” he asked then, breaking her trance.
Well, that answered that question. He definitely didn’t feel it too.
“Yes. I suppose it is.” She shook the melancholy off and smiled. “Thank you so much. You can’t know how helpful you’ve been. I’m never this far ahead of schedule.” At this rate, she’d be able to bake double the goodies for guests to take home after her annual Christmas dinner party.
“No problem,” he said, shrugging off the compliment.
What had she expected? He was hired help, and his shift was over. Of course he’d be eager to get home.
She followed him as he headed to the coat closet. He retrieved his jacket from inside. Then, putting one arm into a sleeve, he chuckled. “And you didn’t believe in the magic of Christmas wishes.”
Jane raised an intrigued eyebrow. “Whatever are you talking about?” She remembered that conversation from their first encounter, but couldn’t for the life of her figure out why he was bringing it up now.
Also, she was a bit flattered that he remembered it. And for that brief few seconds while she waited for him to answer, she held her breath, as though maybe there had been something magic, something she’d missed. Something that Ian hadn’t.
Answering as if it were as clear as day, he said, “Seeing each other again. What were the odds of that?”
She let her breath out slowly, hoping her disappointment didn’t show. “Pshaw. That wasn’t magic. It was coincidence.”
Ian opened the front door and paused before stepping outside. “Was it? I don’t know. It seems like a wish come true to me.”
Suddenly she remembered that vague wish she’d made in the back of the cab. “But that wasn’t…” She cleared her throat, not wanting to reveal the silly thing she’d done. “I mean, I didn’t make a wish to see you again.”
“I did.” Then, with a wink, Ian crossed the threshold, shutting the door behind him.
Goosebumps sprouted on her arms, and she stood rooted, rubbing her arms for several long seconds after he’d left. Had he really wished to see her again?
No, he couldn’t have. She’d probably misunderstood him. That’s all.
She wandered around then, admiring the decorations for a few moments. They really did look better than she’d ever remembered and they weren’t even halfway done.
But something felt off. Something was missing. Something that she hadn’t found in any of the boxes that they’d been through that day.
Which was silly, because she’d found absolutely everything. Her eyes searched the ornaments, trying to determine what was off.
Or was she the one missing something?
It was Ian.
The house felt oddly emptier without him in it. Cold. Too large. Had it always been this quiet? How long had Jane been rattling around inside, not knowing?
Five
Snowflakes danced and swirled outside her windows as Jane considered whether or not to call. She could have a fire and some cocoa, read a book while the flames crackled.
She could. But she wouldn’t. Her little project was consuming her. She’d met with Ian several times over the last week, and he was shaping up nicely. So nicely, that she’d had a thought—her annual dinner party was a perfect time to test Ian, to see how he held up for the Ladies. The whole point of the event was to reveal her décor. And it was fair, after all—Ian had helped with every bit of the decoration this year.
Looking around, Jane had to admit it turned out better than usual, too. It wasn’t even any of her newer pieces, it was just that Ian had an eye. He’d been right when he’d encouraged her to move her collection of wreaths from the staircase to the hallway where they could be better seen. It had made all the difference.
In fact, the more she looked, the more she liked. If only Christmas could stay all year, she thought for the thousandth time. Not just Christmas, but this Christmas. This Christmas of Ian.
O Tannenbaum came on the radio, and she hummed along. Should she call, or not call? She sang the question along to the tune.
It was just that they needed to spend even more time together if they were going to fake a relationship. And, more importantly, if she were to ensure that the lessons in better living she’d been giving him were going to stick.
Not because she missed his company. She didn’t need company, never had.
The walls, bare of photographs, stared accusingly back at her. But photos of her exes, Fluffers, her lunch crowd, and her deceased family would only serve to make her look sad. And think of how much longer it would take to pull them down before putting up her Christmas flare? The wreaths were definitely a far more festive option.
“O, Holy night…should I call Iiiiiiiaaaan,” Jane sang along to the next song. She flipped open her iPad and began to look through dress ideas to find one specifically to show up the bride on Christmas Eve.
Was that bright red silk with the white fur wrap too tacky? It was so Christmas, though, and both pieces were completely reusable. In fact, the red dress would be just the thing for her décor party.
She considered that the all-white satin that would make her look positively like a Christmas angel. All white might be too obvious that she was showing up Andy, though, so perhaps not. It stayed on her Pinterest board, though, because it, too, would work for the dinner party.
She let her mind wander to the delicious thought of what Ian might look like in a suit. A proper suit, Italian-made and tailored, with a wool-cashmere blend. Not the all-purpose suit he already owned that was likely purchased from JC Penney.
His suit!
She’d completely forgotten that she intended to buy him a new one. She’d have to work on that even sooner now that he’d need it for her dinner as well as for the wedding. Not that he knew about the dinner yet.
There was only one thing to do, and it was a brilliant slaying of all the birds with a single stone, or phone call, as the case may be.
“Yes, hello, Ian?” she said when his familiar rumble answered the phone. She tamped down the thrill in her tummy at the sound, knowing it was only about her plans coming together. “Are you free to meet me in a
n hour at Astor & Black on Summer? Wonderful, I’ll see you shortly.”
Now, forget her dress for the wedding—what was Jane going to wear to meet with him now?
The answer presented itself immediately when she opened her closet. The Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dress in gold and green hugged her curves perfectly while also maintaining the sort of professionalism that befit a paid relationship like the one she had with Ian. (Was there such a thing that befit a relationship like theirs?) Plus, the colors were perfectly seasonal while not being overtly Christmas-y. No one ever appreciated the amount of thought she put into these things, but it was gratifying just to feel good.
Forty-five minutes later, she was gently stroking just the type of fabric she’d been daydreaming about putting Ian in as she waited for him.
Five minutes after that, her breath was leaving her as he strode into the store and struck her all over again with just how handsome he was. Yes, she mused, she had really lucked out when she’d found him. He was twice as good-looking as the men who typically graced the social pages, if half as cultured.
He saw her and grinned, and her stomach dropped. Yes, she’d definitely lucked out.
A stray snowflake melted on his eyelash, and she shook herself. They had work to do, and it didn’t involve her getting googly-eyed over the fact that her fake date was very good-looking.
“You’re early,” she stated, but it was a compliment. The fashionably late entrance was only for women. More specifically, only for women who didn’t understand how much work goes into pulling off an event where people should really be respectful enough to show up when the invitation tells them to.
She still begrudged Parker Winthrop the entire bottle of Dom that was wasted when she chose to show up after cocktails and distract the other guests from theirs at the Christmas dinner she’d hosted four years ago.
Naturally, she continued to invite Parker, it would be unseemly not to. However, her drinks were a bit short each time, and in another four years, Jane calculated they would again be even.
“I was excited,” Ian was saying as she refocused on him. “I never thought I’d be in a store like this. It’s gonna be some wedding, huh, Jane?”
Holiday for Hire Page 4
