Page 69 of Forty, Flirty & Fired

"I have jeans like that?"

"Your personal shopper bought them last spring. Tags still on."

Fuck. I forgot. Because apparently even my casual wear needs professional intervention.

Another text arrives – Connor this time:

CONNOR:Grayson's plotting something for bachelor weekend. Says if you're breaking the pact, we're doing it with style. Should I be worried?

My jaw ticks at the mention of that weekend. The weekend before Christmas is when we always get together, when we use the holiday to do nothing but be us.

Three single bastards with a love of scotch and, in Connor’s case, bringing snow bunnies back to the hot tub.

But now the entire annual trip just feels…silly. Especially with Mac’s Nonna’s invitation to Christmas burrowing deeper into my mind.

Before I can respond, Mac's message pops up:

MAC:Keith is trying to organize a "revolutionary ski retreat" at the same mountain as your cabin. Coincidence?

I glance at the framed photo on my dresser – me, Grayson, and Connor at Stanford, drunk on cheap beer and cheaper dreams, making promises about success and independence that seemed so important at twenty-two.

Twenty-three years later, those promises feel like anchors rather than armor.

"Sir?" Emma's voice breaks through my thoughts. "The shareholders' report needs your signature before you leave."

Shit. Even romantic getaways require proper documentation.

I head to the office early, hoping to clear my desk before our afternoon departure. The city is just waking up, holiday lights still twinkling against the winter dawn.

Mac's already there, because of course she is.

"Your revolutionary is plotting something," she announces without looking up from her tablet. "He keeps asking suspicious questions about mountain access roads and snow-worthy berets."

"Your grandmother called with very specific instructions about proper altitude adjustments for pasta sauce."

Now she does look up, fighting a smile. "You called my nonna about pasta?"

“What can I say? I’m good at homework."

"For a two-day trip?"

"I like to be thorough."

She stands, moving around her desk with that grace that still makes my breath catch. "Speaking of thorough... Amelia Zegen called again. About the blog's impact on corporate mental health policies."

Of course she did.

“You know, we don't have to?—"

"Go away together?" She stops in front of me. "Have a conversation about all of this? Figure out what happens when two colleagues can’t keep their hands off each other?”

"Is that what's happening?"

"You tell me." Her eyes meet mine, challenge and vulnerability mixed. "You're the one breaking a twenty-year bachelor pact to take me to your cabin."

"About that." I step closer, drawn like gravity. "There's something you should know?—"

A crash from the break room interrupts us. Keith's voice carries down the hall: "The revolution requires proper winter equipment! These berets are not snow-proof!"

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