Page 12 of All's Fair in Love and Christmas
“Alexa, play Shania Twain.” Nothing says woman empowerment like ’90s Shania.
The female digital voice responds, and then strands of “Any Man of Mine” play through the speakers. I grab a pair of leopard-print flats from my closet in the country star’s honor. I’ll never have her confidence to walk into a room and own it, but maybe in these I can walk without stumbling and making a fool of myself.
People say to make goals realistic. That’s about as good as I can do.
Besides, the shoes pair nicely with the black pencil skirt and hunter-green twist-front pullover I’m wearing. I may not feel confident, but I can at least try and project that image. Sofiya believes in me, at least.
And Mom is counting on me.
I check my appearance one final time in the mirror, then step out of my bedroom at the same time Keri exits hers. The folds of her billowy skirt brush against my leg, drawing my attention.
The material is green but not solid. More like ... pine branches? Which makes sense, considering the yellow pom-poms swaggingin three layers of flounces and the striped candy canes and ornamental globes hanging in each pleat. Keri is wearing a crazy Christmas tree skirt. And pulling it off better than most people do their overpriced designer jeans and Ugg boots. She looks like a mash-up of June Cleaver and a young Mrs. Claus.
She catches me staring and does a little pirouette in the middle of the hall, causing her skirt to bell out. “Like it? I’m wearing it for you.”
That makes me pause. “For me?”
“Yeah. I figured you spent all weekend working on the designs for your meeting today, so you didn’t have any time to figure out how to bring the holiday spirit to work and get a head start on beating Jeremy.”
“I wish this wasn’t a competition with a winner and a loser.”
“Yet that’s exactly what Sofiya made it. Like it or not, Jeremy is now your rival.” She shimmies her shoulders playfully. “Doesn’t mean you can’t play a little dirty.”
“I’m going to ignore everything you just said.” I walk away from her and collect my laptop and charging cord, sliding both into their traveling case. I look back at Keri. “What do you mean you’re wearing the skirt for me, though?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” She slings her purse strap onto her shoulder. “I’m going to tell everyone you picked out my outfit for a bit of holiday cheer.”
I barely stop myself from groaning. “Please don’t.”
Her lips pout. “You don’t like my skirt?”
I open the front door and usher Keri out. “I love your skirt, but you take the credit for it.”
“Kenz, I just think—”
“Please.” There it is. That note of desperation. That chord in my voice that says I can barely handle what’s on my plate right now, so please don’t dish me up any more.
She smiles softly. “Okay.”
“Thank you.”
We drive across town butchering Shania Twain’s music with our off-key singing. Somehow, I don’t think the country legend would care. I like to think she’d smile and wink, then offer us a tube of her famous matte red lipstick.
Every mile closer to work, my voice gets wobblier. When Keri pulls into a parking space, I’m ready to march into Sofiya’s office and beg her not to make me do the presentation. I’ll give her all the designs, and she can go over them with Mr. Mitchell.
Keri shuts off the car, then turns to me. She grabs one of my hands and squeezes. The pressure is oddly comforting.
“Listen to me.” Her voice is low and calm. “You’re going to go in there and let your amazing work speak for itself.”
“Well, I do have to saysomething.” I force my lips to turn up into a false smirk.
She smiles at my attempt at humor. “Don’t overthink every word.”
Too late.
“Don’t let your head fill with worry about what everyone else in the room is thinking about you. Their opinions don’t matter.”
I wish that were true, but I’ve always been a people-pleaser, and I want everyone to like me. Not in a popular way, just in a nice way.
