Page 58 of The Holidays with Mr. Mitchell
Her pretending only fueled me.
But tonight wasn’t for digging in—it was for the setup. Let the story simmer, let her twist, let her realize she’d started something she couldn’t control.
And that would be enough to keep me smiling.
The next night,I met the men for dinner while the wives enjoyed each other’s company. Avery was likely receiving support from the ladies, and I was about to catch more hell from the men.
Walking intoHorizon, Titus’s Michelin-starred restaurant that dominated the Pacific at the Marina, felt like stepping into a snow globe owned by a man allergic to subtlety. Gold garlands shimmered from the twenty-foot ceilings, every table sparkled under crystal chandeliers, and the forty-foot fir at the center of the dining room glittered with thousands of lights and enough imported ornaments to decorate a whole county. A string quartet playedCarol of the Bellsin soft, sultry jazz, and waiters floated around in black vests, pouring $800 bottles of wine like it was water.
It was obscene. And, infuriatingly, perfect. Everything Titus demanded. God help me, I couldn’t wait to hear that bastard’s comments about all this tonight.
This place was a sharp contrast to my skyscraper, where a single, browning pine tree now sat in the lobby, its brittleneedles flaking across marble like evidence of defeat. As she admitted last night, that was Avery’s doing.
Every time I walked through the lobby, the smell of dying pine greeted me like a personal reminder that my wife would no longer win this war on Christmas.
“Mitchell,” Titus called, standing as I approached. His grin was already what I knew it would be. “You made it. California’s most misunderstood philanthropist.”
Jake, Spencer, Collin, Cameron, and Alex were already seated, drinks in hand and grins locked in.
“Oh, look,” Jake said. “The man who traded meat for mulch.”
Spencer smirked. “You’re trending again, by the way. I think my favorite is that hashtag calling you Saint Pine Needle.”
Collin eyed me and raised his glass toward where I sat. “We aresoproud.”
I loosened my tie and took my seat, nodding to the waiter for a scotch. “Gentlemen. Good to know my downfall brings you this much joy.”
Titus slid into his chair at the head of the table, swirling his wine. “Your wife replaced your corporate Christmas tree with a rescue tree that looks like a cross between a tumbleweed and a 16th-century broomstick, Jim. You must admit—that’s some form of art in party planning war.”
The table erupted in laughter.
“Every time I walk into that lobby,” I said dryly, “it looks like we’re hosting a memorial service for pine trees.”
Jake grinned. “You’ve got to hand it to her?—”
“No,” I smoothly cut my brother off, “I need to hand it to you.”
“How so? Because I got your ass trending on your daughter’s favorite social media site?”
“If trending as the asshole boss who cares more about brown trees than his company this year is what you were after, then yes.However, it’s because of all this bullshit,” I eyed the men at the table, “that you’re all going to play along with the fake fight I’m about to have with my wife for it.”
“Oh, shit,” Cam said. “This shit can backfire, dude. Fake fight?”
“I’ve barely got my balls at this point,” I said. “The defamation of my character as the billionaire who had a nervous breakdown after ordering charcuterie boards for Christmas—and is now making up for it by rescuing brown Christmas trees—is a little too complete for my taste.”
“So, what’s our role supposed to be?” Collin said.
“That’s for all of you smart asses to come up with,” I said, “but I’ll give you direction…”
“Hold the hell up,” Jake said while Spence remained on his phone, ignoring this part. “Why would we do anything to help your sorry ass? That was our prank against you.”
“Fair point,” I smiled. “But you dumbasses jump at every opportunity to prank anyone, and now I’m giving you the option to go all in to keep this escalating with Avery.”
“We could do the whole couples therapy thing from last year,” Collin laughed into his scotch.
“Neither one of us will be shitting our brains out on an island in a forest,” I returned, “but perhaps we could play along with that direction.”
“You’re playing dirty, Avery was playing cute,” Cameron added.
