Page 32 of The Night Before Grumpmas
I rub my temples. Great. Now I’m over here hoping for a fashion-retro miracle. Good job, man.
What’s the alternative, though? I’ve never been good at buying things for anyone, let alone a woman. And a dress for a gala? That’s way beyond my skill set. Audrey always takes care of Mom’s birthday gifts. Max and I just send cash and call it teamwork. Mom thinks it’s the cutest thing—swears we’re the epitome of perfect siblings.
As if, Max and I couldn’t do much if it wasn’t for our little sister. If only she knew how much of a disaster I am when it comes to this stuff. Maybe I should just let Noelle pick out her own dress? But where’s the fun in that? I told her I’d handle it, and I will.
Yeah right. It’s more like Audrey knows her brothers are useless when it comes to knowing what to gift and she just does it for us. That’s why I love my little sister.
Maybe that’s the solution—Audrey. My fingers hover over my phone. She’d have a dress picked out, links sent, and the order placed in under five minutes. Problem solved. But that would mean explaining why I’m buying a dress and knowing Noelle’s size, which . . . I don’t even have knowledge on sizes. Matching shoes? Forget it. And this outfit wouldn’t be just any outfit—a fancy one for a gala. And . . . yeah, no. Not opening that can of worms.
Audrey’s been trying to shove me into the “find love” express lane ever since she got married. And after Max knocked up Zoe and our niece Emma was born, Aud has only ramped up her efforts. The last thing I need is her grilling me about Noelle, followed by subtle hints about feelings and relationships.
Nope. Not happening. I can already hear her, “Wait—what do you mean, a dress? You’re going out with Noelle Holiday? I knew there was just one step from loathing her cheerful personality to falling madly in love with her.” Or if I don’t tell her for whom she’ll just ask, “Jacob, are you dating someone?” Cue the smirk, the raised eyebrow, and a full interrogation. Hard pass.
With a sigh, I flop back onto the couch, running a hand through my hair. Okay, think. Who else can I call that won’t turn this into a big deal?
. . . Exactly. No one. “Ugh, I’m doomed.”
Just then, my phone rings, and I groan as I glance at the screen—Caleb Cunningham. One of my brother’s best friend and a constant pain in my ass ever since he moved to New York with his wife, Emmersyn. For reasons I’ll never understand, Caleb seems to think I’m his personal lawyer, even though I’ve told him a million times that I don’t practice law, I’m a sports agent. Yet, every time, I end up sorting out his legal mess, hiring an actual lawyer, and playing middleman.
What the fuck does he need now? I should just text him back and remind him I’m not his lawyer, or his personal assistant for that matter. But, of course, I pick up, sighing into the phone with a reluctant, “What’s up, Cal?”
“Hey, Jacobo,” Caleb’s voice is way too happy for my liking. “Quick question. Can you get Em and me tickets to that gala? You know, the one for—what’s it called again? Oh, right, the Starlight Foundation Charity Gala. The one that funds little league uniforms for inner-city kids or pays for their fees . . . Sorry, Em told me about it last month and I totally forgot to call you.”
A month, he was supposed to call me a month ago. Priceless. I pinch the bridge of my nose. Of course, he wants in on the gala. “You want me to get you guys into the Starlight Foundation Gala? Isn’t your wife basically the Queen of the city? She can get anything and everything.”
“Usually, but she doesn’t rub elbows with athletes, and they didn’t invite her to this one,” he says, like that explains everything. “Also, she doesn’t want anyone to know she’ll be there, so make up some names for us, maybe?
He’s such a pain in the ass.
“Why do you even want to go?” I ask, already knowing the answer won’t make me feel any better.
“Connections,” he replies. “There are a few people Em’s looking to hire as COO and VP of something—I didn’t catch the exact title—but she wants to meet them in person before making any official calls.”
I sigh. “Of course it’s for business.”
“I promise to make a hefty donation,” he offers. “We won’t only make it about her business.”
I believe they will because they’re pretty kind. And just as I’m about to agree without any strings attached, a lightbulb goes off in my head. Emmersyn could actually help me with my current dilemma.
“So, if I get you in, can you two do me a favor?”
“Favor, huh?” He’s intrigued. “Talk to me. What do you need?”
“First of all, this can’t get to my sister or brother,” I warn him.
“Intrigued even more. Continue,” he says, probably smirking on the other end.
“My date for the gala . . . I kind of coerced my neighbor into coming with me. She mentioned she didn’t have a dress—probably as an excuse to back out—but I convinced her. Now, I have no idea where to get her a dress,” I admit.
He laughs. He fucking laughs. Once he calms down, he says, “Why in the world would you do that? Did you really need a date that bad?”
“It’s complicated,” I mutter.
“Wait, is this the holiday-crazed neighbor you’ve been complaining about?” he asks, barely hiding his amusement.
“How do you know about her?”
“Audrey told us all about her. She’s really enjoying how Ms. Holiday is torturing you one holiday and decoration at a time,” he chuckles.
