Page 16 of The Holidays with Mr. Mitchell
“Jim,” Spencer’s tone softened, though his grin never left, “you sound like a crazy man who’s just lost all sense of control.”
“I feel that way,” I answered. “Thank God I slept on the flight home to have the energy for whatever charade might be awaiting us tonight.”
“Holidays already stressing you out, big guy?”
“When everything always seems grand scale? Yes. This didn’t need to be an event. God bless my wife because I know she means well and loves surprises, but damn. These days, it’s like we’re trying to fit in with Titus’s way of life.”
“Mark my words, for you shall choke on yours soon enough,” he said as if he were quoting Shakespeare.
“Doyouknow something I don’t know?”
“Who the fuck am I married to, dude? My wife knows everything, which means I do as well.”
“Why wouldn’t you at least make me aware?”
“Again, you know who my wife is, right? If I betray her, I don’t just lose my balls. I lose my dick, too. The whole package…gone.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but Alastair smoothly cut in. “We’re nearly there, gentlemen.”
I frowned at the freeway signs. Downtown? My pulse kicked up a notch. “Alastair,” I said slowly, “where are we going?”
“I’m under strict orders not to divulge that information, Mr. Mitchell,” Alastair shrugged and gave me a look that said,‘I’d also prefer my balls not to be removed.’A look I was all too familiar with tonight, it seemed. “You’ll see, sir. That’s all I can say.”
Spencer laughed outright at that. “Christ, man. Even your own staff is on lockdown with the big bad CEO.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I hope my wife has compensated you well for this, Alastair,” I grumbled, knowing the man was finding amusement in my discomfort as he always did when Avery planned these things behind my back.
I wasn’t upset. I’d just been looking forward to a quiet dinner and a bourbon. I imagined having a cigar with my brother and friends while the kids watched movies in the theater room and the ladies went to play board games or entertain themselves with stories in the cozy living room. All that sounded so goddamn enticing, but instead, after a long ass flight, I was in Downtown Los Angeles.
When the car finally pulled off the freeway and curved toward a grand historic building lit up against the night sky, my heart nearly stopped. Valets rushed forward, uniforms crisp, as I read a glowing banner that stretched across the entrance.
Giving Thanks Gala: In Support of Homeless Children.
I blinked, stunned, as Alastair opened my door. I stepped out of the car, hearing music drifting out, all stringed instruments, warm and elegant. Inside, golden light spilled from chandeliers onto rows of white-linen tables neatly set with silver glinting off the lights shining above them. And everything was surroundedby fall florals bursting in rich warm colors. I noted where a silent auction lined one wall beyond the dining area and photos of shelters and smiling children displayed beside sleek bidding sheets.
And at the center of it all was my stunning wife. My selfish and spoiled rotten mood ignited by traffic doused the second my eyes took in the image of her beauty.
She looked like she’d stepped out of a dream, burgundy satin flowing as she leaned down to adjust Addy’s microphone.
“Dad’s here now,” I heard the mic pick up her excited voice. “It’s go time, baby.”
I watched with pride as my oldest daughter’s eyes sparkled as she lifted her chin and spoke into the mic, steady and sure.
“This year,” Addy said, her voice carrying to every corner of the room, “I asked if we could do more on Thanksgiving than just sitting in our big house. I wanted to share with kids who don’t have a house at all.” She smiled at me, then confidently nodded toward the guests.
Applause thundered, echoing through the grand ballroom, as she finished her little speech, and my chest tightened until it hurt.
Avery’s gaze found me across the room, her smile private and knowing, like she’d been waiting just for this moment.
Spencer nudged me, his voice low with amusement. “Worth the traffic, I’ll say, eh?”
I couldn’t even answer him. All I could do was stand there, floored, staring at the two people who’d just redefined what Thanksgiving truly meant—for me, for us, and for everyone here.
For once in my life, I didn’t give a damn about traffic, deals, or deadlines because everything that mattered was standing right there in front of me.
I slowly approached the stage, meeting my wife first. “My God,” was all I could say.
“She wanted to surprise you,” Avery smiled.
