He’d walked away from her.
Xander shook his head at his own inconceivable actions as he recalled the feel of her mouth under his.
Now, instead of being inside her apartment, warm with a hot woman in his hands, he sat in the back of a taxi that sped him away from the Dakota and Merry and toward his empty house. And empty bed.
He'd said goodnight, kissed the hell out of her, then left even though he wanted nothing more than to stay.
He could tell by the look on her face he'd left her confused. Hell, he was confused too.
But things were far from simple.
He was a partner where she worked and though he wasn’t her manager directly, she was still a lower-level employee.
He’d never fished in the office waters before. It was too risky. Too awkward after it ended—which it always inevitably did. His last relationship with Hilary was proof of that.
Dating at work was hard enough nowadays. And dating with that kind of power imbalance? He had to think it wasn’t a good idea. They were probably pushing the limits even by fake dating.
He sniffed at the thought. At that word. There was nothing fake about that kiss. Or about his body’s reaction to it. Or about how often his mind—or his gaze—turned to Miss Mariah Clark throughout the day.
Fuck it. He wanted to be with her and human resources would just have to deal with it.
But there was the other thing that kept him from backing her inside that gorgeous apartment and tumbling into what he’d bet was a huge bed in an amazing bedroom— He liked her. A lot.
He didn’t want just a casual hookup with her.
His cell vibrated. He glanced down to see Merry had posted on Instagram and tagged him. He tapped the alert and smiled when he saw the picture of them at dinner. They’d taken a selfie with the skating rink behind them.
She’d joked it would help keep up the ruse for her family, snapped the picture and then devoured her second piece of focaccia. And because the bread was warm and freaking amazing, he’d grabbed another piece for himself.
They’d discussed their different preferences for bread products as they’d chewed. He’d never been on a date quite like it.
He saved the picture to his phone’s photos and stowed the cell in his coat pocket once again, leaving his hand inside for warmth since the cab’s back heating vents were less than stellar. He tried not to return to lamenting about how warm Merry’s apartment would have been if he’d chosen to go inside.
As he shoved his other hand in his pocket it encountered the folded piece of paper he’d forgotten about.
Pulling it out, he squinted in the dim light of the cab at the bold title she’d printed at the top. Merry’s Things to do at Christmas in the City list was on one side and Xander’s Gifts to Buy list on the other.
Her list was exponentially longer than his. Perhaps he should have added buy gloves on his side of the paper since he obviously could use a pair.
As far as her side of the page, they’d barely scratched the surface of what she’d typed and printed out, with graphics.
He skimmed the items again, his brows lifting at a couple of the suggestions—visit Santa at Macy’s stuck out—but he didn’t hate any of them. In fact, a couple sounded not so bad.
Before he knew it, his cell phone was out and he was texting Merry.
It seems I’m woefully ill equipped as far as winter gear. Would you be my personal shopper tomorrow after work? Maybe we could hit up the holiday markets?
He smiled when her response came back in seconds and once again contained the word yay. Plus, an excessive number of exclamation points.
Typing a quick, “It’s a date,” he hit send and shoved his hands back in his pockets.
So began a whirlwind of daily after work Christmas activities.
They shopped the markets the following day, but only after—as ridiculous as it had seemed at the time—they got a photo of the two of them with the Macy’s Santa.
Xander now owned more gloves than any man should, although that wasn’t a bad thing. His excessive inventory did guarantee there was a pair in the pocket of every coat he owned, plus a spare in his desk. He’d never be gloveless again.
And, for the first time ever, a miniature potted live evergreen tree adorned with a bow and tiny balls now sat on one of the tables in his living room.
He’d been given strict watering protocols by Merry who’d insisted he set a reminder on his phone in front of her to insure he wouldn’t forget.
On the weekend, Sunday was devoted to skating at Wollman Rink so he could prove to her he might have ended up on his back on the ice in her driveway, but on skates, he was actually quite adept. Suitably impressed, she bought them both hot cocoa in Central Park.
He soon suspected the cocoa was only to soften him up for their next event. FAO Schwarz. On the weekend before Christmas. When Dante’s tenth circle of shopping hell was in full force at the toy store.
Why were they there? To reenact the Tom Hank’s piano scene from the movie Big, of course.
That day was followed by another fun-packed week which culminated Thursday when he and Merry snuck out of work early to have afternoon tea at The Plaza. There Merry bought him the Eloise at the Plaza book in the gift shop and read it aloud to him immediately upon their sitting down.
And he didn’t hate it.
In fact, as proof he must have hit his head harder than he’d thought when he’d fallen at her house, he loved every damn minute of it.
The steady schedule of fun and frolic led them right up to the final days before the rehearsal dinner and wedding—the finale of their boyfriend-girlfriend playacting.
He didn’t want it to end. That raised the dilemma, what to do about it?
The obvious answer was he needed to seal the deal. Lock her down. Turn this fake relationship with Merry into a real one before the wedding.
Once that final event, that she was if not legally than at least honor bound to attend, was over that constituted the completion of their agreement.
The termination of their obligations to each other. The end of their fake relationship.
But what about the real relationship they’d built? Why would that have to end? If she felt the same about him…
Did she?
In spite of that one heated kiss, he feared he’d entered the friend zone. His own fault for walking away from her that night. And then turning them into gal pals. Shopping buddies.
Friends—even though he couldn’t see her rush toward something that excited her without his damn chest feeling all warm and squishy inside.
And he couldn’t count how many times he’d glanced across the office to her workstation, brightly lit with Christmas lights, to see her hard at work and smile.
How when she lifted her head and caught his gaze on her and smiled, his entire body reacted, right down to his ill-behaved dick that still hadn’t forgiven him for leaving her by the door that night.
There’d been no kiss since that memorable fuck-up.
It was time to remedy that mistake…