Page 12 of Her Holiday Arrangement
Riley blinked, startled, then laughed. “Okay. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Elizabeth didn’t answer. She was busy cataloging. Noticing the lack of gloves. The way Riley’s hands had vanished into her pockets. The slight tremble in her posture, despite the warmth of the coat. She was clearly uncomfortable, performing a part she hadn’t rehearsed. The usual sparkle of Riley’s office bravado was muted here, replaced by something rawer. Tentative.
She approached the car, dragging a small suitcase behind her.
One of the staff moved to take it, but Riley waved him off. “Oh, I’ve got it, thanks.”
Elizabeth stepped forward sharply. “Riley.”
She stopped mid-pull, blinking.
Elizabeth’s voice was cool. Steady. The same one she used in boardrooms. “You’re not the assistant this weekend. You’re my girlfriend. Let the staff handle it.”
A pause. Riley’s lips parted, just slightly. Her ears went pink. Then her hands dropped from the suitcase handle, and she stepped back.
“Right,” she said softly. “Got it.”
Elizabeth didn’t let herself react, but she felt it anyway. The faintest pull in her stomach. A flutter she dismissed instantly.
They climbed into the backseat of the SUV, the leather seats soft and warm from the preheat. Elizabeth smoothed her skirt, legs crossed precisely. Riley sat gingerly, then immediately fiddled with the seatbelt. Her fingers fumbled. The buckle clicked too loudly.
“So,” Riley said, clearly trying for casual. “Private jet, Vermont, fake relationship. Just your average Wednesday.”
Elizabeth turned her head, expression unreadable. “It’s Thursday.”
“Even better.”
Silence stretched. The city slipped by outside, buildings glittering with early morning frost, holiday lights still blinking in apartment windows. A banner readingHoliday Market Now Openfluttered over a side street.
Riley let out a soft sigh and stared out the window. Then, after a beat: “Your family… they know me? Or do I need to make up a fake backstory like we met at a salsa class or something?”
Elizabeth’s lips twitched, almost imperceptibly. “You’ve been my assistant for more than a year. They’ve heard your name. You’re a promotion. No salsa required.”
Riley groaned softly. “God, I was hoping I’d at least get a meet-cute.”
Elizabeth turned her gaze forward again. But she could feel it, the invisible shift already beginning. The boundaries that usually defined them, boss and assistant, authority and chaos, were blurring.
In this car, in this world, Riley wasn’t just another employee.
She washers.
At least for the next two weeks.
The thought settled uncomfortably in her chest.
Outside, the airport signs appeared,PRIVATE TERMINAL, followed by the sleek silhouette of her jet, gleaming like a promise against the winter sky.
Elizabeth folded her hands in her lap, back straight, face calm.
This would work.
It had to.
Even if Riley’s soft laugh was still echoing in her ears. Even if Elizabeth found herself watching her, not for efficiency or performance, but for the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled.
Even if this entire thing was already far more dangerous than she wanted to admit.
The soft hum of the engines was the only sound for a while. Up here, above the clouds, everything felt too quiet, like the world had paused just to let Elizabeth sit with the weight of her decisions. The jet’s interior was sleek and sterile: cream leather, brushed steel, a long table between facing seats. Luxury, yes. But also isolation dressed in polish.
