Page 51 of Grumpy Glitter Christmas
He muttered a curse, pulling it from his pocket. “Sorry, I thought I’d silenced?—“
But Felicity had already seen it. Just a flash, but enough. The name on the screen, visible for a split second before he could tilt it away:Victoria.
And below it, visible in the preview:Have you given more thought to my offer? Boston would be?—
The rest cut off as he swiped the notification away, but Felicity didn’t need to see more. She felt the floor tilt beneath her feet, felt the careful walls she’d been building around her heart since she’d walked back through those doors suddenly reinforced with steel.
Boston. An offer. Victoria.
Of course.
“We should finish the prep,” she said, and her voice came out steady, professional, perfectly controlled. A miracle, considering her chest felt like it was caving in. “The gala’s in four hours.”
“Felicity.” He said her name differently now—urgent, almost desperate. “That was—I need to explain?—“
“The ballroom still needs the final lighting check.” She was already moving, putting necessary distance between them, her hands busying themselves with straightening a perfectly straight garland. “And I need to coordinate with the caterers. The volunteer schedule needs to be finalized.”
She was rattling off tasks like a shield, like armor, like anything to avoid hearing what he was about to say. Because she knew. She knew what was coming. Victoria’s sleek, perfect offer. Boston. A corner office and a life that made sense. Everything Felicity could never be, wrapped up in a neat, beige package.
He wanted to let her down easy. To tell her that fixing the tree together was nice, that the almost-kiss was a moment of weakness, but he’d made his choice. The sensible choice. The Victoria choice.
She couldn’t hear it. Not right now. Not when she had four hours to pull off the event that would make or break her entire career.
“After the gala,” she said, cutting him off before he could speak. Her voice was bright, brittle. “Whatever you need to say, it can wait until after the gala.”
“That’s not—“ He stopped, and she could feel him watching her, trying to read her. “Alright. After.”
The defeat in his voice almost broke her resolve. Almost made her turn around and demand to know what Victoria’s offer was, what he was thinking, whether she ever had a chance at all.
But she didn’t. She kept her back to him, kept her hands busy, kept her face carefully blank.
“We should divide and conquer,” she said, still not looking at him. “You handle the logistics with Meena. I’ll finalize the decorating details. We can reconvene in an hour to do a final walkthrough.”
“Felicity—“
“Professional and efficient,” she continued, her voice taking on a manic edge. “That’s how we get through this. We work together, we execute the plan, we deliver a successful event. Easy.”
“Nothing about this is easy,” he said quietly.
She finally turned to face him, and immediately regretted it. He looked wrecked. His hair was mussed from running his hands through it, his tie was crooked, and his eyes—those storm-cloud eyes—were full of something that looked like anguish.
But Victoria’s name was still burning in her mind. The word “offer” was still echoing in her ears.
She lifted her chin, pasted on her brightest, most professional smile. The one that cost her everything. “Of course it is. We’re colleagues working on a project. We’re co-chairs of a successful event. We’re two professionals who can absolutely work together for four more hours without any personal complications.”
She could see him flinch at the word “colleagues.” Good. Better he knew where they stood. Better they both had clear boundaries before her stupid, foolish heart got any more involved.
“Is that what we are?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Colleagues?”
The question hung between them, heavy with everything unsaid. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to demand to know what Victoria had offered him, whether he was going to take it, whether she’d ever been anything more to him than a temporary chaos he’d eventually need to clean up.
But she couldn’t. Not now. Not when she had a gala to execute. Not when her entire professional reputation was riding on the next four hours.
“For now,” she said, and the words felt like closing a door. “That’s all we can be. For now.”
Meena burst through the doors, shattering whatever fragile thing had been suspended between them. “Oh thank goodness, the tree is done! It’s gorgeous!” She was moving at her usual velocity, clipboard clutched like a weapon. “Felicity, the caterer needs you to sign off on the appetizer arrangement. Grant,the sound system guy is here and has questions about the microphone placement. Also, the First Methodist Choir just called and they’re arriving at the same time as the Community Carolers, and I’m pretty sure we’re about to have a West Side Story situation but with hymns.”
Felicity grabbed onto the distraction like a lifeline. “I’ll take the choirs.”
