Page 48 of The Holidays with Mr. Mitchell
“And we can’t abandon it,” Izzy added, as if her Uncle Jake and Collin proclaimed these myths from ancient texts.
“They won’t be abandoned. And they’ll see their last Christmas with all the beach houses lit up from our porch,” I smiled.
“No,” Izzy insisted. “Uncle Collin said if we rescue one, it has to feel like a part of our Christmas family.”
“Oh, it’ll feel something,” I muttered.
I looked at Jim. He smiled, smug as sin.
“I understand the reasoning,” he said smoothly.
“Oh, do you now?” I asked, voice sharp enough to slice wrapping paper. “Please. Enlighten us, Father Christmas.”
“Because,” he said, leaning back with that CEO swagger that made half of Los Angeles weak, “parking that tree on our deck without decorating the house would be cruel. Like leaving it to rot in the chipper line. Unacceptable.”
I exhaled a dry laugh. “You’re out of your mind.”
“And that would be so sad for our special rescue, Mom,” Izzy backed her dad’s bullshit, full drama.
“So, with all of our hearts warmed for dead, brown Christmas trees this year, when are we making time for our shelters and centers to pick out their live evergreen trees?” I cut in, done being the butt of Jake and Collin’s rescue-tree mythology.
“Next weekend,” Jim said, glancing at me. “Splendid idea. My planners don’t need me or the girls for walkthroughs. Do yours need you?”
“They might,” I said. “Seems Cat will need your signature for our permits tomorrow, so our walkthrough may be pushed to next weekend.”
Jim eyed me. I stared back, unfazed.
“Damn,” he said. “I told Spencer to let her know I’d sign today. I got distracted with the?—”
“Rescuing dead trees for the holidays?” I cut in, ready to be done pretending.
“In truth, I didn’t realize I’d be so caught up in my brother and Collin’s heartfelt tradition,” he said.
“Ah. But if it conveniently kept us at the lot—with my phone in the car—so Cat couldn’t meet you for signatures…then sure. Makes sense why you suddenly care about a dead tree.” I arched a brow.
Jim finally chuckled. “Listen, my love,” he said as we took the off-ramp winding up to the Hills. “I wouldn’t have used my signature power to slow you down…that is, if I hadn’t learned my scheming little cheat of a wife used Madrid and tried to slow me down first.”
“Who leaked it? Spence?”
“Spence likes his balls where they are,” Jim laughed. “He wouldn’t crack—Nat would end him.”
“Jake?”
“I’m not selling anyone out,” he said. “Just know this: scores are even. And going forward, don’t use my dedication to the company to knock me off my plan.”
“You’re truly serious about seeing this through?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t have entered this little contest, with our girls on the side of thehonestparent, if I weren’t,” he said.
“God.” I rolled my eyes. “Fine. No more games. You’ll sign the permits tomorrow. Actually, tonight. I’ll have Cat come by, and we’ll get it done.”
“Fine by me. I’ve had a marvelous, cheerful homecoming. If you want to bring business into our tree-decorating evening, that’s on you.”
“Mom, just wait till Monday,” Addy said. “We haven’t seen him all week.”
“How long would it take to sign?” I asked Jim.
“Depends,” he said. “If I trust the planner, which I don’t, I wouldn’t need to read the fine print.” His smile turned dangerous. “But permits for a Paramount set with you and your planner? If I’m reading to ensure there are no further tricks up anyone’s sleeves? Could be an hour or two.” He sighed. “Give or take.”
