Page 84 of The Holidays with Mr. Mitchell
I stepped off the cart and nearly gasped as I entered.
The entire space shimmered like a scene from Bridgerton, set within a snow globe.
Hundreds of flickering candlelight bulbs floated in glass orbs from the ceiling, suspended like enchanted snowflakes. The walls were draped in midnight-blue velvet, with twinkling string lights that resembled a starry sky. Gold crown molding was added to the beams, while fresh white roses and magnolia garlands spilled from every mantle and chandelier.
But the floor? The floor was everything.
It was a custom ice-inspired epoxy overlay, designed to resemble frozen water with veins of silver and sapphire cracked through it. It reflected overhead light like crystal. And in heels, it probably felt like gliding as guests danced on a frozen lake.
The far wall held a stage, already set with a live string quartet warming up near a gleaming white grand piano.
“They’ve been here practicing since last week,” Cat confirmed as we walked past them.
At the center of the room was a thirty-foot tree, frosted and glowing with soft golden lights, surrounded by stacks of antique gift boxes and ribbon-draped chairs.
“Holy shit,” I whispered, blinking fast.
“You haven’t even seen the place settings,” Cat said smugly, guiding me toward one of the long banquet tables. “Gold-rimmed crystal, hand-calligraphed place cards, and those are real snowflake charger plates that were imported from Austria.”
I looked and saw that there were custom menus at each setting, printed on linen scrolls and sealed with wax stamps bearing the Mitchell and Associates logo.
Cat pointed up, “Overhead are hidden snow vents that are angled to drop micro-flurries in time with the music cue andonlyduring toasts and your personal welcome speech.”
“Shit, I forgot about my speech,” I chuckled.
“Not to worry. I’ll have one prepared as a backup, just in case,” she answered.
“No, I’ll write one. I’m more excited to do it now than before,” I said with cheerfulness.
Cat tapped her clipboard. “Okay, so we have three temperature zones, a shoe valet for anyone who doesn’t want to wear stilettos on cobblestone, and yes, the Mitchell family table is centered under the main chandelier, with full media lighting for those perfect candid shots.”
“This is a masterpiece of perfection,” I whispered, shockingly choked up.
Cat smiled. “I’m delighted you are pleased with it,” she answered. “Now that we’re on wrap-up here, I want to bring you to the hotels to view the suites where guests will be staying after they arrive tomorrow.”
“I forgot about that, too,” I covered my heart. “Oh hell, I’m more excited for this event than I am Christmas.”
“That’s the exact reaction we want, and we most certainly want our guests to have,” she chuckled. “Let’s head over to the first hotel. It’s where we can do the food sampling of everything that will be served here.”
I was so goddamn excited I didn’t even know how to react anymore. I wished all the ladies were here to join in, but I wanted this to be the perfect Christmas surprise for them, too. So, for now, I would indulge in the experience, and my stomach, which hadn’t stopped growling since I first smelled the custom-crafted scents filling the air, made me even more eager to sample what I knew would be amazing, delicious food for all our party guests.
THIRTY-TWO
Jim
It wasthe day before the event I had planned with the girls, and the only part of Avery’s party planning I had seen so far happened two days ago, when I had visited the hotel suites, which were fully decked out for the holidays and ready for the guests.
As lovely as it was, I still had no idea why we went the extra mile to decorate everyone’s hotel suites, but at this stage, it wasn’t worth questioning. Regardless, I had to hand it to Cat. I was highly impressed by her skill and talent in pulling it off on top of planning Avery’s venue. I swear, those suites had more Christmas spirit packed into them than our beach house and our main house combined.
Ultimately, I wasn’t complaining because Avery’s success solidified that I was well on my way to no longer being labeled Clark Griswold’s boss.
Suppose my employees started sharing their experiences on social media, everything from their travel on our private jets tothe luxury party buses and those five-star suites? In that case, I might even end up being crowned Father Christmas for real.
I’d been buried in meetings with my executives, who had flown in from around the globe, resulting in back-to-back strategy sessions. So, I used all of this to my advantage and folded all the fourth-quarter reports and project launches into thisChristmas partytrip. Boring? Yes. Tax deductible? Hell yes. This is how smart CEOs keep profits where they belong—inside the company instead of Uncle Sam’s pocket.
Now that my last meeting was done, I was finally free to pick up the girls from their final tailoring appointments for the dresses they’d wear tomorrow at our event.
“Thanks, Alastair,” I said, handing a tip to my driver as I stepped out of the Rolls.
