Page 107 of The Holidays with Mr. Mitchell
“Where exactly are you taking me?” I asked.
“To wardrobe,” one of the assistants said sweetly. “You’re our Scrooge for tonight’s event.”
Of course. These were the two characters my wife had mocked me with since November. Well, fuck it. I wasn’t about to resist the Scrooge costume—it was far better than showing up to a company party in pajamas, at least.
Minutes later, I was surrounded by stylists in blazers, one yanking off my robe, another fitting a waistcoat over my shoulders, a third adjusting a cravat that felt like a noose.
“Easy,” I warned. “I’d like not to be completely choked out.”
They laughed, unbothered, while the head stylist smirked. “Ms. Veléz said you’d say that. Now hold still, Mr. Mitchell. This must be perfect.”
I stared at my reflection once they finished: black wool coat, silk waistcoat, silver pocket watch, and a top hat that looked older than my company.
I looked like the ghost of tax seasons past.
Jake stuck his head through the doorway, grin wide and already dressed in his Victorian era clothing. “You ready, Scrooge?”
“No,” I said flatly, grabbing the cane they handed me. “But I’m assuming that doesn’t matter.”
“Not even a little,” Collin said, tugging his waistcoat, and barely containing his laughter.
They led me toward the double doors opening onto the soundstage. The noise hit first—a swell of applause and laughter, the brass band playing a medley ofGod Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.
And then the lights hit me.
A thousand twinkling bulbs, fake snow drifting from the rafters, a sea of familiar faces. Employees, families, investors, friends. All gathered beneath a giant sign that read:
“The Spirit of Christmas Lives Here.”
Avery stood at the center of it all, glowing. When her eyes met mine, her smile deepened, pure mischief and pride wrapped into one look.
I walked toward her, cane tapping against the cobblestones, every step echoing through the hush that fell over the crowd.
“Welcome to your redemption, Mr. Scrooge,” she said softly when I reached her.
I leaned closer, just enough for her to hear. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”
“Immensely,” she whispered back, eyes gleaming. “Now, go show them that the Grinch in Gucci actually has a heart.”
“For the record, I’m craving the Chinese food that your cute little ass lied about,” I arched an eyebrow at her.
“Enjoy your evening, baby,” she smiled. “We’ll do Chinese tomorrow. It’ll be like in the movie,A Christmas Story,” she laughed.
“By tomorrow, I’ll be done with re-enacting Christmas movies,” I laughed and then straightened, exhaled, and tippedmy hat. “Where do they need me, Mrs. Scrooge?” I winked at her.
“Right over there. Cameras are rolling, and all the employees are waiting for their bonuses, and your formal Christmas wishes of gratitude for them this year.”
One thing was certain: I was going to have to wing this shit. Still, I figured there was no better time than now to be honest about how I almost screwed the entire company over this Christmas, the fun planning war my wife and I had gotten ourselves into, and then to announce their bonuses so everyone knew this was all for them.
I saw smiles radiating through the fog on the London streets, as a massive crowd of guests gathered to hear me virtually confess that I was this close to becoming both Clark’s boss and a Scrooge this season—until my gorgeous, thoughtful wife stopped me in my tracks and was now literally forcing me to live out those roles.
Fuck it. If the world wanted a show, I was going to give them the best damn redeemed Scrooge they’d ever seen.
THIRTY-NINE
Avery
The momentthat rusted heap of metal rumbled onto the studio lot, everyone around me lost it.
