Page 108 of The Holidays with Mr. Mitchell
I even had to bite my lip hard enough to prevent myself from bursting into laughter. The shrill sputter of the engine echoed off the soundstage walls like a dying chainsaw, and the sight of it? The dented panels, a duct-taped wreath, andMerry Christmas…Shitter’s Fullwritten across the back, it was perfection.
Collin was behind the wheel, obviously, grinning like a maniac and dressed head-to-toe in Cousin Eddie’s outfit—hat with ear flaps, robe, the whole commitment—and Jake sat shotgun, waving a beer can out the window like a parade marshal from hell.
Snow from the machines drifted through the air, catching the glow of the studio lights as the Victorian London set froze in place. Carolers halted mid-note, and extras in horse-drawn carriages turned to stare. Even the kids gasped when the RVfishtailed over fake cobblestone, peeled in, and screeched to a stop.
“Oh. My. God,” Nat breathed beside me, clutching her mulled wine. “Theyactuallypulled this off.”
Ash snorted behind a gloved hand. “Are you seriously surprised, Nat?”
Darcy tilted her head, lips curving. “I’m more surprised we didn’t get a call that they broke down on the 101,” she laughed.
“Can you imagine?” Nat snickered. “I wouldn’t even expect the cops to help them call a tow.”
“I’m shocked the muffler didn’t just combust and take the whole thing with it,” I said. I should’ve stayed composed, but my stomach hurt from trying not to lose it this entire time.
Our girls were pressed to the velvet ropes, eyes wide and sparkling. Addy absolutely lost her shit, along with her sister, when Jake leaped out first and nearly ate it on the fake snow. Then Jim appeared, with Collin behind him, pretending to kick him in the butt.
Pure chaos. Ridiculous, glorious, over-the-top…the kind of spectacle only those two could pull off.
I covered my mouth at the perfection. Jim was the perfect Frank Shirley with an oversized red bow across his chest, those ridiculous pajamas, staring like a man abducted by certified lunatics, which, technically, he had been.
Jake and Collin each took an arm and marched him down the RV steps, phones lifted everywhere to catch every second.
“You thought your husband was breaking the internet before,” Nat said, wheezing a laugh. “This? This is forever.”
“And that’s exactly the point,” Cat’s voice cut in smoothly. “Okay. Jim’s off to wardrobe. Avery, you’ll greet him before he takes the stage.” She flicked that calm, controlled gaze at me, a general with a run-of-show. “Does he have a prepared speech?”
“I hope so,” I winced. “I was busy faking that the party was canceled…”
“If he needs it, I have one,” she said, smirking. “But your husband has salvaged more than one event by giving a speech when another CEO was too drunk. Timing is tight, so I need you in place for his stage entrance.”
When Jim came out of wardrobe dressed as Scrooge, my heart tripped. Devastatingly handsome didn’t cover it. The overcoat and top hat did nasty, wonderful things to my self-control. If I didn’t haul him back into the wardrobe room to prove it, it would be a Christmas miracle.
Before stepping on stage, he declined the paper Cat offered, leaving him without notes or a safety net. Only my husband could get dragged to his own company party as Frank Shirley, be transformed into Scrooge, and still command the room as if none of it fazed him.
He wasn’t Ebenezer up there. He was James Mitchell, shoulders easy, presence effortless, and ready to open our night.
“First of all,” Jim began, motioning toward me, “please give a round of applause to my wife, Avery, who worked tirelessly to make tonight everything you hoped for on Christmas Eve.”
The applause swelled. I waved, enjoying the sight of his employees, business associates, and their families, who were spending this night with us instead of at home in their slippers, and loving that they were happy to be here.
“She’s also responsible for the jets that flew you here, the suites that are decorated even more than our house, and, most importantly, for reminding me that I was at first, in fact…” He paused, brow up. “What was that hashtag again?”
“Billionaire bastard!” Jake hollered, hands cupped like a human megaphone.
“Right.” Jim pointed at him. “Leave it to my brother to memorize every hashtag.”
Laughter filled the area. I couldn’t help joining, reliving the madness of this season that’d finally resolved into something adorable.
“And while the whole brown tree rescue nonsense was just a prank I played on my adorable wife and completely untrue, everything suggesting I was a careless billionaire CEO was entirely fair.” He glanced at me wryly. “I didn't mean to offend anyone by trying something different this year, like giving fancy charcuterie boards and champagne. But what I’ve realized, especially this past week, is that the holidays should be joyful and uplifting. If you work for a billion-dollar empire, you deserve to be rewarded in a way that feels heartfelt.” His eyes found mine. “Down to the janitor, right, my love?”
“Yes,” I said, warmth climbing my throat. Our first battle line, the one that started this whole Christmas war, still sat with him.
Jim went on to say how I’d planned the party, how he’d refused to be the Scrooge I accused him of being, and how he worked with our daughters to build the event they all attended last night to prove it.
“If you had a few things to say behind my back before the invites went out, trust me, my wife beat you to it the second she found out that this year I only signed off on cheese boards and champagne,” he deadpanned, setting off another wave of laughter. “Hence my arrival as Clark Griswold’s boss tonight.”
He swept a hand toward the cobbled streets and glowing windows. “But I won’t stand here and let tonight be remembered as the night I was Ebenezer Scrooge. We’re filling the streets of London out of a Charles Dickens’ dream, and before I turn you loose on everything my wife has planned, I’d like to say one thing…” He paused, smile slow and lethal. “Whatever bonuses you received last year, expect triple.”
