Kitty Valentine Dates Santa

by Jillian Dodd

  “Aren’t we a little old for word games?”

  “If it means that you’re getting used to the idea of being head over heels in love. So, come on. Spill. Tell me what happened last night.”

  “We danced.”

  “I mean, after the reception. Want to know what Nicholas and I did?”

  “You went home and had sex?”

  “For a romance writer, that was a pretty boring way to put it. For your information, we did go home and have sex. But sex with him is more than just a good time in bed. He’s amazing. We’re incredible together. Every. Single. Time.”

  “Fine. I’m in love with Matt. There. I said it.”

  “Sorry, sorry, but what? Did you just say that? You’re admitting you have feelings for him?”

  “Yes, okay? I’m in love with Matt. With my annoyingly hot neighbor who makes fun of me all the time.”

  She props up her chin on her palm, batting her eyelashes. “Also the Matt who takes care of you when you’re sick.”

  “And who has an adorable dog. He’s the full package. I just don’t know,” I admit.

  And I know what’s going on. Even though last night was amazing, I’m freaking out a bit. I love him. And now, I’m about to spin the wheel. And he’s okay with it.

  “Don’t know what?”

  “If I’m enough for him,” I practically whisper. “You should have seen the girls he brought home. They were all beautiful. And a lot of them were really nice. I’m … just a mess. Always.”

  She sighs. “I knew we’d get to the heart of it eventually. It’s scary. I know that. I mean, here I am, wondering if Nicholas and I have what it takes to justify a move across the country. I’d be leaving behind everything I’ve ever known.”

  Is it a coincidence that she drains what’s left of her drink moments after she finishes speaking? I’m guessing not. And I’m instantly worried about her. Now that I take a good look at her, I notice she doesn’t look as pulled together as usual. And it’s not her typical work stress. She’s happy but stressed about her life.

  “What are you going to do?” I ask her.

  “I haven’t made up my mind yet,” she says. “And it’s so stressful. But I think I need to move with him regardless of if they give me my transfer. Because it’s what my heart wants. Even if my head has a million reasons why it’s a stupid idea. And my parents will freak, knowing that I’m giving up my job at a highly regarded firm for the unknown. They will say I’m ruining my life for a man. They will ask me, What happens if it doesn’t work out?”

  “And what if it doesn’t?” I ask and then realize that was the wrong thing to say. “I don’t mean that I think it won’t. I think you and Nicholas are meant to be together. I just meant, like, what’s the worse-case scenario? It doesn’t work, and you come back home. You could live with me or your sister if you needed to. I’ll always help you. You know that, right? And even though the thought of not having the option of brunch with you every weekend makes me really sad, I understand.”

  “Oh, don’t say that. You’re going to make me cry,” she says, sounding choked up. But then she shakes her head at me and says, “Before I go though, we have to figure out your life.”

  “One interesting thing did happen last night. Matt told me that he read Candy-Coated Love.”

  “Ohhh, that’s the one that’s basically about him and Phoebe, right?” she says as our food arrives and we start eating.

  “Yeah, but it got me thinking.”

  “Uh-oh,” she says with a laugh.

  “I miss it. I miss writing those kinds of stories. The meet-cutes. The first time they hold hands. Kiss. All those sweet little moments that show their love outside of the bedroom. Or wherever.”

  “Then, do it. Maggie has to know that you can’t keep dating guys for research for the rest of your life. Especially if you and Matt are together.”

  “Whatever happened to letting nothing stand in the way of my career?”

  “I don’t know. I guess my opinion has changed.”

  “Because you have Nicholas now.”

  She arches an eyebrow. “That could be. You’re probably right about that. Oh my God. I’m doing that, aren’t I? All the things I said you should never do. I’m giving up my career for a man. What is wrong with me?”

  “You’re maybe, possibly giving up your job, not your career,” I say, but I can tell she’s freaking out. “You’ll still be an attorney either way.”

  “I need to be bold. And so do you. Talk to Maggie about what you want to write. Because why can’t you just write from your imagination?”

  “I don’t know. But I get the idea she’s stressed about her job, and she’s afraid to change things up. Maybe she’s superstitious.” I pick at the rest of my hash browns, which are delicious.

  “Well … you still need to spin to decide the next book, but you need to be a big girl and tell her that this is the last one. That you will either continue to do tropes but not spin or date or you will go back to writing what you want.”

  “That’s easier said than done, you realize,” I counter. “I’ve saved some money from my advances, and I’ll have royalties coming in for most of my life, but without new releases, those will wither down to nothing.”

  Out comes the spinner regardless.

  “We both need to figure out how to balance our careers with what we want out of life.”

  “Do you have any answers?” I say, taking a big gulp of my drink.

  “I wish I did. But I’m leaning toward love.”

  “Okay, let’s get it over with. Do you think we can manage one more?” Hayley asks

  “We?” I wonder.

  “Okay, me. But I need the moral support,” I say.

  “Kitty, you don’t have to keep doing this if you don’t want to. It’s up to you.”

  “Just spin it. For me.”

  “I have a good feeling about this one.” She taps her fingers on the table and hops up and down a little.

  “What did you do to it this time?” And I can’t help but wonder if she rigged it like she had for the best man.

  “Nothing.” She presses her lips together in a thin line and looks down at the table.

  “Lies.” Is it my imagination, or is she softly humming “Jingle Bells”? My eyes narrow. “Wait. You didn’t.”

  She sets the spinner moving with an ear-to-ear smile. I can only close my eyes and pray for strength at this point.

  “Oh my goodness, Kitty! You got Hot Santa!”

  “No.”

  “Yes!”

  “Hayley, I can’t date Santa.”

  “And why not?” she asks.

  “Because he was an addition—by you! And the real Santa isn’t even located in New York. He’s at the North Pole. Everyone knows that.”

  “It will be fun,” Hayley pleads.

  “I hate you so much,” I say with a grin.

  “You have to date Santa. You have to date Santa,” she says in a singsong voice. “Finally! I get my wish!”

  “What does any of this have to do with you?”

  “I just want to say my best friend dated Santa. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Uh, for starters, most men who play Santa aren’t exactly young. Or attractive.”

  “How would you know? Do you troll Santa actor websites in your spare time?”

  I roll my eyes. “Oh, yes. It’s how I like to unwind.”

  “We’ll figure something out. Leave it to me.”

  I love her. I trust her.

  But I doubt even my amazing bestie can figure this one out.

  Especially since I haven’t told her about what really happened with Matt last night.

  And again this morning.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Monday morning came a lot faster than I’d expected.

  Probably because that’s basically all I did yesterday. Get it? In bed. With Matt.

  Whatever.

  Right now, I have some things I need to discuss with Maggie.

/>   I wrote them down on paper and have them in front of me so that I don’t get distracted.

  TELL MAGGIE THIS. BE FIRM. BUT POLITE.

  I will not date for research anymore.

  I want to go back to writing the stories in my heart, whether they sell or not.

  And I’m a little nervous because Maggie is so … Maggie.

  “Maggie! How are you?” I ask when she answers, sounding more chipper than I feel.

  “What do you want, Kitty?”

  “Um, we had a call scheduled for today.”

  “Yes, I know that. But I can tell from the tone of your voice that you have something to discuss besides your next book.”

  “Well, now that you mention it—”

  I can picture her in her office, leaning back in her chair with all of Manhattan spread out behind her. I always wonder why she doesn’t turn her desk, so she can take in that view every day. Who knows? Maybe when she’s on calls like this, she swivels around in her chair. She’s definitely impeccably clothed and groomed. She’s sort of like my grandmother in a way. Polished and elegant.

  I clear my throat and get started. “So, there’s a problem with this whole trope thing.”

  “The last time I checked, that trope thing is the reason your books are selling.”

  Nothing like a thinly veiled threat to start a conversation.

  “You’re right, and it was a genius idea. Like I said, I know how much I owe you. But …”

  “I knew this was coming,” she says, but I keep going.

  “It might be nice if I didn’t have to keep dating around.” I look down at my list, knowing I’m already failing to make my first point clear. But I’m trying to ease her into this. That’s right. Take it slow. Make her think it’s her idea.

  She lets out a frustrated sigh. “We’ve been over this before, Kitty.”

  “I know we have, Maggie. I was there.”

  If she thought my response was a little snarky, she chooses to ignore it, saying simply, “Then, you know how I feel. This has been a good thing for your career, in case you’ve already forgotten. And maybe you did forget. All you have to do is sit in your apartment in your pajamas and make up stories all day while I have to do everything else.”

  Wow. I never expected her to say something like that. Especially in that tone. I get it from others. People who don’t understand how hard it is to write a book. The commitment it takes. The tenacity. But to hear it from her, someone in the industry who knows the work involved, really upsets me. I don’t even know how to reply.

  But I don’t have to because she’s apparently not done yet. “Some of us have to get up and go into the office every day and deal with the business side of things. The editing, the covers, the marketing, the printing, the distribution. We do all the things that get your books in the hands of readers. And all you have to do is go on a few dates and write about them. What a nightmare that must be.”

  “Okay, I get it.” I take a deep breath.

  Maggie has never treated me like this. I don’t understand. Where’s Lois when I need her? Or do I need her? This is bullshit. I should stand up for myself.

  “No, actually, Kitty, I don’t think you do. Do you know anything about the current state of publishing? How tough times are? Do I have to remind you, yet again, just how lucky you are to have a contract with a publisher who keeps throwing money at you?”

  “I’m assuming the only reason you are throwing money at me is because my books are selling. And you are making money off me, the person sitting in her apartment, making up stories all day. You might own the rights to sell my books, but you don’t own me.” There. Take that.

  Maggie sighs heavily again. “Book sales are down across the board. You’re lucky that you are doing well. Do you understand what I’m saying? Stick to what works.”

  “I can make up what works! That’s what I’m trying to say. I know the formula now. Dating around for inspiration was necessary at first—I’ll give you that. But things have changed. I’ve written eight books based on my dating life, but a lot of it was flat-out made up. I never actually did it in an elevator or in an alley, but I wrote about it like I had. Do you not have faith in me as a writer anymore?”

  “I have nothing but faith in you. It’s everyone else I have a problem with,” she says with a snarl.

  Gee. Someone is having a bad day. Is that all this is? Is she just taking it out on me?

  “I’m sorry that things aren’t going well for you, Maggie,” I say, softening a little. “I really am. But I’m going to be clear about one thing: I am not going to date for the sake of my next book.”

  “Who is it?” she says in an accusatory tone, sounding more like the Maggie I know so well.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Is it that neighbor of yours? I knew it was only a matter of time.”

  “You did?”

  “So, it is him?”

  “It doesn’t matter who it is, Maggie. That’s the point. It’s personal. I’ll write about anything you want, but this is nonnegotiable,” I say firmly. Oh, I almost sounded like Hayley there. Go me.

  Maggie is quiet for a long time.

  Too long.

  “Anything else you want to discuss?” I ask.

  “Actually, there is. I was hoping to discuss this in a face-to-face meeting in my office.”

  Shit. This doesn’t sound good.

  “You know your books have a healthy marketing budget.”

  “Yes,” I say tentatively.

  “The traditional way of marketing a book has shifted. We used to do press releases and things like that. Now, it’s all about influencers. A few days ago, I suggested that we play up the real-life angle regarding you. That we allow your readers—and more importantly, those who haven’t yet read you—to hear how you have used writing these tropes as somewhat of a social experiment. The team loves the idea, and we feel it will boost your sales to new heights.”

  “You know I’m not a fan of interviews, Maggie.”

  “I know you want to keep your personal life private. I get that. But the thing is, if this plays out the way we think it will, you could literally become a real-life Carrie Bradshaw. A successful young woman in New York City navigates the dating scene kind of thing. I’ve never seen the marketing department so excited.”

  My heart practically stops. I could be a real-life Carrie Bradshaw?

  “Of course, confidentiality as to who you’ve dated would be a priority,” she adds. “And because I know you don’t like the idea of going on television, we thought we’d start with influencer interviews, phone calls with journalists, that sort of thing, who will write articles about you. What we should have done was have you blog about this from the beginning, but whatever. What you should care about is the publicity you will get. Your books will sell like hotcakes. You’ll reach a whole new market.”

  And I realize this is my chance to get what I want. I look down at number two on my list. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

  “Oh, Kitty. Thank you. I know you will not regret—”

  “On one condition,” I add.

  “What’s that?”

  “I write one more trope book. I do the publicity tour. And then I go back to writing whatever my heart desires.”

  “I’m not sure I can agree to that. It just wouldn’t make sense. To build you up and then have you stop writing the tropes.”

  “Sorry. But that’s my offer. Take it or leave it. And I want it in writing.”

  “Kitty, I’m afraid I can’t do that. But you have my word. Now, onto the fun stuff. Who will you be dating this time?”

  “I spun the wheel at brunch yesterday and got Santa. Hayley’s been wanting me to date Santa ever since we started doing this. And it’s the right time of year to write about something like that.”

  “Oh, a holiday novel. Hmm. I’m not sure that will work though. We usually release holiday novels in the early fall.”

  “Save it for next year then,” I say, really not ca
ring anymore.

  She agreed. I actually got her to agree.

  “I’ll tell you what. If you write fast and send me a few chapters at a time, maybe we could do a surprise digital release. That might be fun. We’ve never done that before.”

  “Sure. No problem,” I say, knowing I’m going to need to start binge-watching Santa movies.

  “Well then,” Maggie says, “it was lovely speaking with you today, Kitty. This is going to be bigger and better than anything you’ve ever imagined. I can just see the ads now. A very Kitty Christmas. All right, I’m off. Got to get marketing going on this, stat.”

  And then she hangs up.

  It sounds silly, but because I was so nervous about my call with Maggie, I did my makeup, fixed my hair, and put on a cute sweater dress. I consider going across the hall to see what Matt’s up to and to tell him the good news—and possibly attack that fine body of his—but I know he’s busy working, and I need to respect that.

  So, holiday movies, here I come.

  Six hours and a bowl full of popcorn and a bag of licorice later, I’ve got a notepad filled with plot ideas, and I’m feeling pretty pleased with myself. I’ll never forget when this all started and Hayley first showed me the spinning wheel.

  Another option caught my eye. “Hot Santa?”

  She waved a hand at me. “I added that. I thought it would make a fun holiday edition. Plus, you’ll get to sit on Santa’s lap and tell him what a naughty girl you’ve been.”

  “Do you have any idea what the chances are of actually finding a hot Santa?” I asked with a giggle. “Maybe a dancer in a Santa costume but the type you see at the mall? Normally not that hot.”

  “You’re the writer.” She shrugged as our burgers arrived. “You’ll figure it out.”