Page 57 of The Holidays with Mr. Mitchell
They didn’t need to worry. I could fix it in an hour if I wanted to. My PR team could turn this into a net gain before midnight. Bad press was still press—and in my world, it always paid off.
But the person Ididwant to worry was my charming little devil of a wife.
“Listen,” I said, leaning back, “this doesn’t hurt me at all, but we’re going to let Mom think it did. She wanted to be cute about my so-called tree obsession, so I’m going to keep her prank alive and add to it.”
Izzy gasped, laughing. “You’re going to be fake-mad at her?”
“Saves you both from having to watch all the gross kissing,” I said with a wink.
Addy smirked. “You won’t last, Dad. You always break first when you two argue.”
“True,” I said. “Because I miss the kisses.”
They both groaned as I stood. “I’ll be right back. Time to get Mom’s hot apple pie and make sure it comes straight from thefreezer.”
Addy laughed. “You’ll cave tonight. You’ll feel bad for giving her frozen dessert.”
“Is that a challenge?” I asked.
“Fifty bucks says you crack by tomorrow night,” she said. “You can’t stay mad for long, fake or not.”
“Why does everyone think I’m some softie suddenly who is going to lose?” I smirked. “I run a billion-dollar company. Ineverlose. My life’s mission is to win…everything.”
“That’s business,” Addy said, shrugging. “This is personal. You’rewaytoo soft when it’s personal.”
Thirty minutes later,we walked into the house.
Avery was curled on the couch, pretending to watch one of those Hallmark Christmas movies she swore she hated.
“I thought you hated these,” I said, handing her the takeout bag with the frozen pie.
“I think they’re cute,” she said, smiling as she sat up.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Addy and Izzy crouched behind the wall, trying not to laugh as they watched.
“Cute,” I said. “Kind of like having the media show up at my office today to tell the world I have a special heart for Christmas trees?”
Her smile faltered. “Jim, I had nothing to do with the media showing up. You have to believe that.”
“I honestly don’t know what to believe,” I said, keeping my tone even. “But when Jake called meFather Christmason camera…that name wasn’t his invention. That was your nickname.”
She reached into the bag, frowning. “Oh, comeon. It’s frozen.”
“Tragic,” I said.
“Jim,” she sighed. “Let’s not argue. Seriously. The tree thing was just supposed to tease you. Jake overheard, or Ash told him, and it spiraled. That part’s on them, not me.”
God, she looked beautiful when she lied.
And as much as I wanted to pull her into my arms, kiss her neck, and call it even, I held my ground. If I wanted these pranks to stop before Christmas, I had to keep my game face and prove to my daughter that she wasn’t absolutely right…I was a big, fat softie when it came to my girls.
“Have you seen social media?” I asked.
“I haven’t looked,” she lied—too fast, too bright.
“Ah,” I said. “So, you don’t know about the newest hashtag?BoardAndBranchGate, or all the memes of me holding a cigar next to a dead tree?”
She bit her lip, fighting a smile, eyes glimmering like she’d been scrolling all night.
