Page 47 of Her Holiday Arrangement
Elizabeth scanned the room instinctively, tracking donors, nodding at familiar faces, calculating political value like a chessboard. But her focus kept slipping.
To Riley.
She was standing just off-center, a glass of champagne in hand, cheeks pink from the heat of the room. Someone was talking to her, a family friend, possibly an investor, and Riley was laughing at something he’d said, tipping her head back just enough that the column of her throat caught the light.
Elizabeth’s chest twisted. She hated that feeling. The helplessness of it. The knowing.
She was falling for her.
And it was completely unacceptable.
She turned her back to the crowd and focused on refilling her drink, reminding herself who she was. CEO of Hale Global, daughter of legacy, poster child of the American aristocracy. Shedidn’t do messy. She didn’t do impulsive. She certainly didn’t fall for employees she barely knew two weeks ago.
A waiter passed. She took a bourbon neat and downed half of it in one slow sip, ignoring the sting in her throat.
Behind her, the string quartet shifted into a jazzy version of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” Riley’s laugh rang again, God, it was like a tether, and Elizabeth closed her eyes, just for a second.
“You look like you’re plotting to devour someone whole,” came a low voice at her side.
Elizabeth opened her eyes. It was her cousin Madeleine, wearing a smirk and an emerald dress with feathers at the hem.
“Maybe I am,” Elizabeth said coolly.
Madeleine followed her gaze. “Ah,” she said, a little too knowingly. “The assistant.”
Elizabeth’s lips curved into a polite, controlled smile. “Not an assistant,” she said evenly. “My guest for the holidays.”
Madeleine tilted her head, studying Riley. “Interesting choice,” she said, faintly amused. “So different from what you usually bring home.”
Elizabeth’s smile didn’t waver. “I like variety,” she replied smoothly, letting just enough edge slip into her tone to hint that she was unbothered.
Madeleine clinked her champagne glass lightly against the rim of Elizabeth’s bourbon.
“Careful,” Madeleine said. “You’re staring at this one like it means something.”
Elizabeth turned away.
Across the room, Riley caught her eye.
Just for a second.
But something in Elizabeth’s chest cracked.
She didn’t know when Riley had becomethe centerof everything, the axis on which the room turned. But she couldn’t seem to look away.
The event wore on, donors to greet, small talk to fake, photos to smile for. At one point, they had to pose together beneath the massive garland-draped arch for the society photographer. Riley’s hand slipped into the small of Elizabeth’s back, and Elizabeth nearly forgot what she was supposed to be pretending.
Elizabeth’s heels clicked quietly against the marble floor as she followed Riley through the glittering throng of guests, careful to stay a half-step behind as they moved to the grand dining room. She felt every glance in the room, every whisper of silk and taffeta, and knew the family’s eyes were measuring them, measuring Riley.
Riley’s posture was too relaxed, her hands twisting the hem of her cocktail dress, and Elizabeth’s patience thinned. She leaned close, voice just above a murmur, careful that no one else could hear. “Your hand,” she said, sharp. “Stop twisting your fingers. It looks… nervous. Uncertain. Not tonight.”
Riley froze mid-step, then forced a nod. “Oh. Okay.” Her cheeks colored under the crystal chandeliers.
Elizabeth’s gaze swept over the crowd, noting who was watching, who was whispering. She leaned slightly closer, teeth barely clenched. “And your smile, don’t overdo it. It’s a glance, not a performance. They’ll notice if you try too hard.”
Riley blinked, eyes wide. “I-I thought?—”
Elizabeth cut her off, crisp and cold. “No thought. Keep it simple. Polite. Controlled. Understood?”
