Page 5 of Her Holiday Arrangement
Elizabeth ignored that. “You’d have to spend 10 days at my family’s estate. Pretend we’ve been together for months. Be…convincing.”
Riley blinked. “How convincing are we talking?”
“My mother will ask invasive questions. My aunt will try to catch us slipping. You’ll have to share a room. Possibly a bed.”
“Oh mygod,” Riley whispered.
“You’ll be compensated, of course,” Elizabeth added. “I’ll cover your wardrobe, travel, and your usual salary, doubled. With a holiday bonus. And hazard pay.”
“I mean, you make a compelling case,” Riley said faintly.
Elizabeth walked past her and sat down on the sofa, legs crossed, posture perfect even in supposed emotional ruin.
“I need someone who can handle pressure. You’re chaotic, but resilient. You adapt. You don’t crack under scrutiny.” She paused, then added dryly, “Mostly.”
Riley’s head spun. “I don’t usually. God, I don’t know. I’ve dated women before, sure, but my last relationship was with a guy, and I just… I don’t have this figured out.”
Elizabeth held up a hand. “I’m not interested in your dating history. Only in your performance.”
“Wow. Romantic.”
Elizabeth’s mouth twitched again. “That’s the point. It’s not romantic. It’s business.”
Riley crossed her arms. “Sure. Business. With shared beds and family bonding and fake affection.”
“Exactly.”
Riley looked down at the coffee-stained sleeve of her cardigan. “If I say no?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Then I go alone. Endure the scrutiny. The pity. The third-degree from aunts who still think I should’ve married a senator’s son in Connecticut.”
“One condition,” Riley said.
Elizabeth arched a brow.
“No falling in love with me. I ruin lives.”
Elizabeth let out a quiet, amused breath, almost a laugh.
“Duly noted.”
“Let me think about it.”
2
December 14th - Riley
Riley had barely slept the night before. After the chaos of Sophia’s dramatic exit and Elizabeth’s completely serious offer to fake-date her for Christmas, she’d spent hours pacing her tiny studio apartment, muttering to herself like a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
And now, here she was. Back in the penthouse. Same floor-to-ceiling windows. Same eerie quiet. Same terrifyingly composed woman seated on a velvet dining chair like she owned the world, and maybe she did.
Riley sat opposite her, clutching a mug of peppermint tea with both hands like it was a life preserver. Elizabeth, of course, had opted for black coffee in a porcelain cup that probably cost more than Riley’s car insurance.
“I thought about it,” Riley said at last.
Elizabeth lifted one elegant eyebrow. “And?”
“And I think I’ve lost my mind,” Riley muttered.
