Page 10 of Sincerely Not Yours

Tossing the sweater at him, she said, “Before Merry-oke. We’re up next.”

He caught the shirt, mostly to keep it from falling to the sticky bar floor. “Merry-oke?” he slowly repeated. “Is that what it sounds like?”

“Exactlywhat it sounds like. Christmas karaoke, with the pianos.”

He shook his head, taking a step back. “No, no, no, no, no. I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Actually, you did when you agreed to take Kim’s place.” Her smile was sweet, but Harris was getting this strange vibe that she was enjoying his discomfort. “Each of the sponsors for tonight’s event is competing in Merry-oke and the crowd picks the winner. The winning team gets to donate a thousand dollars to the charity of their choice. SheTime’s charity is Toys for Tots, so we need to sing our little hearts out for the kids. Right? You wouldn’t want to let down the kids. Would you, Harris?”

“I-I—” he stuttered, gripping the thick sweater in his hand.I can’t do this.“I don’t have a singing voice.”

She shook her head, like this was a silly comment. “Everyone has a singing voice. You don’t have to be perfect.”

“No, really. I don’t sing in the shower, in the car, nothing. And I definitely don’t sing in public.”

“Really? You don’t even sing in the shower?”

“Really.”

“Well—” She tapped her chin. “That’s weird.”

Harris scrunched his forehead. “It’s not that weird. Not everyone sings.” Or likes Christmas. He wasn’t a big fan of either.

She shrugged, seeming to accept this. “Well, it’s a good thing I love to sing, then. I’m no Mariah Carey, but I can hold a tune. I was in high school choir, and—” Gigi spouted off somethingabout being a soprano and a solo she once got, but the only two words that had jumped out at Harris were . . .Mariah Carey.

“What song are we singing?” he asked pointedly, praying to the heavens he was not right about the answer.

Gigi’s eyes lit up, matching the blinking lights on her sweater. “The crème de la crème of Christmas songs. The epitome of festive festiveness. The best-selling Christmas song of all time by a female artist. The song that is the official start of every Christmas season.”

Harris’s pulse quickened with every over-the-top descriptor. “Are we seriously going to sing ‘All I Want for Christmas’—”

“Is You!” Gigi clapped her hands in front of her chest, finishing the title of the song with enough vigor to rock Harris back on his heels.

“I don’t think so.” Harris turned and took a step toward the door. He would not throw on a garishly obnoxious sweater and join Gigi for a Mariah Carey duet. A vision flashed through his head, and he was certain he’d make a complete fool of himself and the company. But before he escaped, Gigi snagged hold of his arm. He was just about to lecture her about the ridiculous road SheTime was on, but she cut him off.

“I already told the coordinator you’d be joining me.” There was the slightest bit of panic in her brown eyes, which was the most appropriate response he’d seen yet tonight. Who surprises their new boss with public humiliation?

“You’re going to have to retract that statement. You’ll be singing a solo tonight.” He couldn’t get out of the bar fast enough.

“But I—” Gigi’s response fell short when the overhead lights dimmed, and a spotlight circled the two of them like a lasso. Harris blinked against the brightness.

“Next to the stage,” the announcer began, “will be Gigi Ricci and Harris Ryan, representing the delightful line of premiumbeauty products from SheTime, which are redefining the notion of self-care. Make sure to check out their holiday gift sets in the sponsored area near the Christmas tree. Pamper someone special in your life with the limited edition sets of body soap and lotions in the fun, festive scents of Christmas Sleigh Ride, Sugar Cookie Dough, and Cozy Cashmere Dreams.”

Harris froze, noticing the onslaught of eyes that were now turned on him, wanting him to sing and dance like a circus monkey. He should’ve run for the door at the first mention of Merry-oke, but now he was linked to SheTime. It wouldn’t be a good look if he shook off Gigi’s grip, cursed Christmas, and left.

Harris forced a stiff smile for the crowd.

“It won’t be that bad,” Gigi whispered. “I’ll do the singing. Just put on the sweater and you can handle the sleigh bells. You can chime in and sing if you feel comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” he repeated the word like he was being thrown to the wolves.

“Come on. You got this.” Gigi slid her hand down his arm and laced her fingers in his. Her touch sent a jolt of electricity straight through him, pushing him into a new realm of panic, but she didn’t let him focus on whatever he was feeling for long. In the next instant, Gigi tightened her grip and turned toward the pianos, taking him with her.

Harris stumbled forward, not believing his current predicament. The only thing that kept him moving—outside of Gigi’s steel grip—was what Dean had said about Gigi. His brother thought highly of her. And in this moment, all Harris could do was trust his brother’s opinion of the woman dragging him to his worst nightmare.

Hoots, hollers, and clapping filled the bar as Gigi and Harris made their way on stage. Harris wanted to disappear, but Gigi waved at the crowd like this was a normal Saturday night. She only let go of Harris’s hand when they stood in front of the twopianos. Before them were two mic stands and a computer screen with lyrics. Harris scanned the crowd. They were analyzing him as though they might’ve found a hair in their dinner.

“You all are in for a treat with this one,” the announcer said from the DJ booth in the corner. “Are you all ready for a little Mariah Carey?” A ripple of excitement rolled through the bar. Gigi waved again at the crowd, this time with both hands. Harris wondered if she’d pull out pom-poms and a cheerleader routine before the music even started.

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