Page 8 of Her Holiday Arrangement
“Elizabeth,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “You just transferred me… This is, this isobscene.”
“It’s a bonus,” Elizabeth said, not looking up as she slid her tablet back into its leather case. “Holiday compensation. You’ll earn every cent.”
“I haven’t even faked a single kiss yet.”
“You agreed to play my devoted girlfriend in front of my family for ten days. The emotional labor alone is worth double.”
Riley slumped into the nearest stool. Her boots squeaked against the polished floor like they didn’t belong here, because they didn’t. She didn’t.
But her bank account now told a different story.
“I could pay off my credit card,” she said numbly. “I could get the heat fixed in my apartment. I could actually buy groceries that don’t come in cans.”
“Then I assume we’re in agreement,” Elizabeth said, as if she were confirming a business acquisition.
Riley blinked at her. “Is this how you propose fake relationships to all your employees?”
Elizabeth arched one perfectly sculpted brow. “Only the charming, chaotic ones with coffee stains and excellent improvisational instincts.”
That earned her a reluctant laugh.
“I don’t even know what to wear to a rich-person Christmas,” Riley said, tugging at the hem of her fraying sweater. “Does Vermont require wool gowns? Designer flannel? Are antlers optional?”
Elizabeth reached for her phone, already swiping through contacts. “I’ve arranged for my personal shopper to call you in the next half hour. She’ll collect your measurements, send a capsule wardrobe, and have it delivered by tonight.”
Riley’s eyes widened. “Like… clothes? For me?”
Elizabeth gave her a sidelong look. “Obviously. I told you that was part of the deal. I can’t have my fake girlfriend show up in…” she trailed off, glancing meaningfully at Riley’s ensemble, “that.”
Riley gasped, mock-offended. “Hey. This hoodie is vintage.”
“It’s unraveling.”
“That’s calledtexture.”
Elizabeth didn’t smile, exactly, but her mouth curved the tiniest bit. “Regardless, you’ll be properly outfitted. Cocktail attire, casual wear, sleepwear.”
Riley paled. “Sleepwear?”
Elizabeth set down her phone. “My mother believes in tradition. Matching pajamas. Stocking photos. There will be cameras.”
“Sweet Jesus.”
“I suggest you start practicing looking at me adoringly,” Elizabeth said dryly. “It needs to be convincing.”
Riley groaned and dropped her head onto the counter. “I’m going to die. This is going to kill me.”
“Unlikely. You’re far too stubborn to die of embarrassment.”
“Youhaveread romance novels,” Riley mumbled into the marble.
She heard Elizabeth’s chair slide back, then the soft click of her heels crossing the kitchen. A moment later, there was a warm mug pressed into her hand.
Peppermint tea. Again.
“You drink this when you’re overwhelmed,” Elizabeth said simply.
Riley lifted her head, genuinely startled. “You… noticed that?”
