An Unplanned Christmas

by Lizzie Shane

  “You’d do that?”

  “Can you think of a better way to use the money I got in the divorce? It feels weird having it when I already owe you so much.”

  “You don’t owe me—”

  “Cam. I do. You took care of me when you didn’t have to. You were my friend when a lot of people wouldn’t have been able to see past the way I hurt you. I think you might be the only person on the planet who would bend over backwards to help the woman who had just dumped you.”

  “Dumped is kind of a harsh way of putting it,” he said wryly and she laughed.

  “Consciously uncoupled?”

  He smiled, glad they could joke about it now, friends again. A couple years ago it hadn’t been quite so easy, back when it felt like the hits just kept coming. Cancer. Divorce. “It was the right thing, us splitting up. Even if I didn’t see it right away. We would have made each other miserable in the long run.”

  “And now we both have a chance at happiness.” She smiled. “So will you let me do this for you? Call it a belated thank you gift.”

  “Only if it doesn’t go ridiculously high. There are limits.”

  “Agreed.” She grinned as another woman clutching a handful of Express Passes homed in on them. “Of course our plan only works if you don’t get snapped up in the Express Pass round.”

  He groaned. “You’d think more people would want to fly a fighter plane.”

  “You want me to run interference?”

  “No. This is what we’re here for, right? And it’s all for a good cause.”

  Erika smiled. “The best.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It’s all for a good cause. That was the mantra Rachel kept repeating to herself as Cam smiled and charmed the swarm of women around him. It was harder to maintain the mantra when he was swaying with the blonde on the dance floor, laughing with her in entirely too familiar a way. But Rachel wasn’t jealous. Nope. It was all for a good cause.

  He was doing his part for charity. At least that’s what she told herself. Until she overheard one of the guests speaking urgently into his cell phone as he hid behind one of the Christmas trees along the side of the room.

  “Trust me, this is so much better than cancer schmaltz. Cameron Cole and his ex-wife are getting back together—”

  Rachel jerked at the sentence—and the realization of why the blonde looked familiar. She wasn’t in a Cameron Cole jersey this time, but she looked equally at home in the couture gown.

  “The baseball player,” continued the gossip columnist—since that was who the man had to be. She knew they’d invited a few society pages people to talk about the fundraiser, but she hadn’t expected to overhear one practically orgasming at the thought of Cam and his wife reuniting. “I have a killer shot of the two of them gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes on the dance floor. I’m surprised no one turned the fire hoses on them—”

  Okay, that was a bit of an exaggeration. Yes, Cam had danced with his ex and yes, it had looked rather intimate, but fire hoses? Come on.

  Rachel pushed away from the wall, walking away from the giddy reporter and his scoop. Nothing to see here, folks. She wasn’t jealous. She trusted Cam. He was not still in love with his wife. He’d told her he loved her that morning. Yes, she had trust issues where men were concerned, but this time she wasn’t going to freak out and screw everything up.

  She just needed to focus on her job. The guests were settling in for the dinner service as the emcee announced the first speaker—a woman with a testimonial about how Russell House had saved her life. This was the fatten-them-up-for-the-kill portion of the evening. Lots of good food, good wine, and stories about how amazing the cause they were all there to support was. Get everyone in a happy, giving mood before the bidding started.

  Rachel moved along the edge of the room, supervising the action, making sure no guests were looking irritable—and trying very hard not to notice that Cam’s ex was seated right beside him at his table. Because of course she was.

  Rachel had made the seating chart herself, but the former Mrs. Cole must go by her maiden name now because she hadn’t noticed anything unusual about the names at Cole’s table. And she wasn’t going to read anything into it now. She was working. Concentrating on the event. Not. Jealous.

  The auction began as the dessert course was served. The auctioneer was marvelous—witty and entertaining, keeping the tone light and fun and the pace fast. The announcement of the Express Pass was first. Rachel found herself holding her breath, nervous that the winner would pick Cam—though someone had to pick him—but when the winning number was read, a woman at the fighter pilot’s table leapt to her feet, squealing, and immediately claimed the pilot’s date.

  There were a few disappointed groans, but more applause as the pilot came to his feet and hugged the winner. Then the auctioneer called the first bachelor up on stage. As his date was described, the rock climber played along, leaping up to catch the edge of the balcony above him and dangling lazily from one arm as the bidding began.

  Rachel scanned the room. The spotters were doing well—not encouraging the bidding, but identifying the bidders and keeping their paddles raised next to the current high bidder to help the auctioneer keep track as the numbers flew higher. The guests did enough goading of one another, driving the bids up amid laughter and playful trash talking.

  The paragliding adventure was won by a man and the bachelor in question met the winner at the edge of the stage for a handshake and a backslapping hug.

  And the auction barreled on.

  Rachel didn’t want to jinx it, but the evening really was going well. A few of the patrons had opened their Mystery Bags—which they weren’t supposed to do until they left the ballroom due to the contract with the hotel that forbade them from bringing in their own alcohol—but there hadn’t been any major snafus.

  Money was rolling in. The guests were having fun. Even the A/V equipment—which almost always went sideways at these events—all seemed to be working. People would be talking about this event, which would be good for Russell House and even better for TD Events and Rachel’s career. She didn’t want to get ahead of herself, but as the bachelors were auctioned off one-by-one, things were looking really good.

  Cam was scheduled to go last. As the designated headliner of the event, they expected him to bring in the biggest price—though some of the other dates had already claimed eye-popping amounts. Rachel stood at the back of the ballroom, clasping her hands together and trying to pretend she was totally calm as Cam’s date was announced and he rose to make his way toward the stage.

  He looked uncomfortable—not that most people would notice. His smile was in place, his body was relaxed—and the man looked freaking amazing in a suit. But there was something off. He was hating this—and somehow that made Rachel feel better. That knowledge that they were both miserable he was about to go to the highest bidder. Even if she hadn’t been barred from bidding as an employee of TD Events, she wouldn’t have been able to afford him anyway, not as the bidding quickly jumped from the hundreds to the thousands. And kept climbing.

  It’s for a good cause. Rachel repeated her mantra—reasonably certain Cam was repeating the same thing to himself as the bidding continued fast and furious.

  Then a new paddle rose—and a ripple went around the room.

  His ex had joined the bidding.

  Rachel tried to keep her cool. She tried to remember that breathing was a necessary pastime. But the numbers were getting ridiculous—ten thousand dollars for batting practice?—and whispers were traveling around the room. Erika’s identity was being passed from lip to lip.

  “That’s one way to win him back!” one heckler shouted, and everyone laughed.

  These people knew them. This was their world. They ran in these circles—and Rachel wasn’t even in the same tax bracket. She’d told herself she wasn’t jealous when she’d seen them talking and dancing and laughing. She’d told herself he re
ally wanted to be dancing with her. That he would be dancing with her at the end of the night. But that didn’t make it any easier to watch the bidding as Erika and another woman really got into it.

  Rachel forced her expression to remain neutral, a professional smile frozen in place. Her mother was one of the bid spotters and she could feel her looking over at Rachel every time the bidding took another leap. It wasn’t like she could do anything—even if she’d wanted to jump dramatically into the bidding, they’d long since passed out of her tax bracket.

  Twelve thousand.

  Thirteen.

  He’d told her he didn’t still have feelings for his ex, but the second Erika had entered the bidding he’d looked straight at his ex-wife and smiled. A real smile. A private smile.

  The idiot woman bidding against her didn’t know she’d already lost. Cam kept smiling every time Erika trumped the other woman’s paddle, his eyes glinting. Because of course now he was having fun. People were rooting for her now. Cheering. And Rachel was starting to feel sick.

  When the final gavel fell, the ballroom erupted into applause. A freaking standing ovation. It was a lot of money. A freaking ton of money. More money than anyone would ever spend if they were over their ex-spouse.

  It was a statement. A message. Hands off, ladies. He’s still mine.

  Erika glided to the edge of the stage to claim her prize.

  It’s just an auction, Rachel reminded herself. It’s just for show.

  If she were paranoid, she might be obsessing over the fact that Cam hadn’t said he wanted a future with her. He’d just said he loved her. He’d never actually said he didn’t want to get back together with his ex—but she wasn’t going to be paranoid.

  Until Erika stepped up on stage and some idiot in the crowd shouted, “Kiss her!”

  Erika and Cam laughed, holding hands at the edge of the stage, but the crowd was relentless. It started as a chant—but then quickly became another bidding war.

  “I’ve got a hundred for Russell House if you kiss her!”

  “Two hundred!”

  “I’ll match that!”

  The auctioneer, never one to miss an opportunity to garner more money for the charity, repeated the bids into the microphone. Cheers echoed in the room, along with more bidders chipping in, adding to the tally if Cam would kiss his ex.

  Rachel silently begged Cam to defuse the situation—give her a peck on the cheek, something to silence the noisy crowd—but he laughed and swept his ex into a dramatic dip, like something out of a silent film. And the crowd went wild.

  She couldn’t watch this.

  Not after all those secret smiles. Not after the way they’d danced. Not after she’d dropped twenty-two-freaking-thousand dollars on batting practice.

  The event would survive. Her assistants had things well in hand and now that the auction was over all that was left was dancing and cashing out. She’d done her job. And she couldn’t be here for this.

  Rachel rushed toward a service door.

  The crowd hooted and cheered en masse. That sound could only mean one thing. He’d kissed her.

  He’d been boxed into a corner. She knew that. It was for a good cause. But she couldn’t stop the doubts chasing one another around in her brain.

  Had she been wrong to trust him? Had he lied to her again? He’d said Erika wasn’t in his life anymore, hadn’t he? God, why couldn’t she remember his actual words? Men like that, men like her father, they lived in the technicalities. They weren’t really lying, you just didn’t understand what they meant. They misled. They manipulated. But that wasn’t Cam, was it?

  Suddenly she was questioning every word he’d ever said to her. Every look.

  Rachel ducked her head as she darted out of the ballroom. She had never teared up in the middle of a job. She was a professional, damn it. She was not going to fall apart now.

  The service hallway was quiet—and cold as a frozen-over hell. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself and leaned against the basic beige wall, inhaling long and slow. The servers had finished clearing already, only the bartenders remaining active as the party began to wind down, so at least she was alone with her stupidity.

  She didn’t know how long she stood there. She knew she should go back to the ballroom. She needed to be monitoring the situation, watching for micro-expressions of discontent so she could defuse situations before they had a chance to become problems. But she couldn’t breathe.

  “Rachel?”

  Her mother. Of course.

  She straightened away from the wall, head high and arms loose at her sides as she moved back toward the ballroom. “Thank you for your help tonight. I think you sold as many Express Passes as all the other volunteers combined.”

  “Rachel…” Her mother’s concerned face floated in front of her, but she kept walking.

  They were not going to talk about this.

  “I’ll be here for a while longer finishing up, but you shouldn’t wait for me.”

  “Sweetie, I don’t think he—”

  She cut her mother off before she could finish that sentence. “Mom, no offense, but you don’t exactly have good instincts when it comes to men.”

  Her mother flinched. Guilt flashed up, but Rachel was already moving past her into the ballroom—

  And nearly slamming into Cam, his large frame seeming to block out the entire room.

  “Hey. You ready for that dance?” He extended his hand, palm up.

  As if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just kissed his ex in front of a room full of cheering fans.

  She stared at his hand, focusing on the lines and callouses. They were rough. Worn-in.

  “Rachel?”

  “Do you still love her?” The words were rough. Ripped from her throat. She hadn’t meant to ask.

  “What?” Cam laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Rachel’s heart dropped.

  He hadn’t said no.

  All he had to do was just say no. But men like that, they lived in the technicalities.

  I love you, Andie. You know that. I’ve never been able to stop loving you.

  But do you still love her? Do you still love your wife?

  Baby, come on. Don’t be ridiculous. This is you and me.

  Never a denial. Never a real promise to leave her. Always evading, always lying.

  Ice whispered through her veins, frost rippling over her skin, colder than the hallway behind her. She’d fallen in love with her father. All those broken promises. All those missed Christmases. And here she was, repeating history.

  “I can’t do this.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The words echoed through him, incomprehensible at first, and then seeming to grow louder in his mind, the noise from the ballroom behind him retreating as he realized what she was saying. “Rachel…”

  “I can’t be the other woman—”

  “You aren’t! That was just a stupid bachelor auction. I wanted it to be successful for you.”

  She was shaking her head, not meeting his eyes. “That’s not why you kissed her. I knew I shouldn’t trust you. I knew better.”

  And there it was. The truth. She wasn’t running because of anything that had happened tonight. She’d never trusted him. Not two years ago and not now. He’d thought they were past this. He’d thought they had a chance. “I can’t believe you’re doing this again. Slamming the door in my face the second I tell you I love you—”

  “I love you isn’t a get out of jail free card,” she snapped. “Do you know how often my father said that to my mother?”

  “I’m not your father! I never have been!”

  Rachel glanced around nervously and he became aware of the volume of his voice. They were tucked in a corner of the ballroom, far from the activity on the dance floor. Thankfully Erika’s dramatic gesture had scared off all the women who’d been chasing him all night, but he hadn’t expected it to scare off Rache
l as well. He thought he’d earned a little more faith than that.

  “I trusted you before—”

  “No, you didn’t,” he cut her off. “If you had, you wouldn’t have ghosted on me. And you wouldn’t be running now. You never really let yourself believe me, and maybe you never will.” She averted her eyes, not denying it, and something helpless and angry unfurled in his chest. “Were you going to leave without talking to me? What was the plan? Break up with me by text again?”

  She wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  “I can’t believe this shit. It’s all in your head—”

  It was the wrong thing to say. He saw that the instant the words were out of his mouth. “I have work to do,” she said icily. “Goodbye, Cam.”

  She was leaving. She was cutting him out. Ruthlessly excising his heart from his chest. But it was different this time.

  This time he had to watch her walk away.

  * * * * *

  The guests were leaving. Checking out. Heading to the valet to collect their cars or catch their Ubers, if they’d had a little too much.

  This was usually when she began to feel that thrill of exhilaration. The feeling that she’d done it. They’d pulled it off. All the hard work had been worth it. She should be happy.

  But Rachel didn’t feel any of that. She couldn’t triumph in her success—and it had been a success. The numbers didn’t lie. This year’s fundraiser had blown previous years out of the water. Thanks in part to Cam’s ex.

  The orchestra was packing up, the bartenders had long since announced last call, and all but a few die-hards had left the ballroom. Cam was gone. She hadn’t seen him leave, but as soon as she noticed his absence, regret had begun to whisper in her ear. Her anger had worn off and she felt heavy.

  Rachel knew she should move out to the coat check to oversee the last departures, but instead she sank down at one of the empty tables, staring at the perfect white and gold line of perfect Christmas trees.

  The expression on Cam’s face—like she was the one betraying him—haunted her as logic started to seep through the emotion that had blinded her.