Flown in for Christmas

Eight.

Joy

After stopping at another local store before heading to the house, we’re finally pulling into Nick’s parents’ long drive.

“This is beautiful,” I can’t help but comment. I lean forward to stare at the grand, log cabin home decorated in classic holiday lights and décor. It’s a winter wonderland covered in several feet of pristine, untouched snow.

“Mom goes all out,” Nick mutters.

He kills the engine but makes no show of moving even as I reach for the door.

“Last chance to bail out,” he offers, glancing at me. “Once we step through those doors, you’re mine for the week,” he says with a husky undertone that has my pulse fluttering .

I smile through the flutters. “Well, when you say it like that… How can I refuse?” Stop flirting , I mentally scold. You need to work with this man after all is said and done .

He grins, pushing open the door with his boot and jogging around the car to my side. He opens my door and takes my hand in his. He grabs my carry-on and keeps me close as we walk toward the front door.

We’re a breath away from entering when I give his hand a light squeeze.

He stops as I shift on my feet. “Nervous?”

I peer up at him. “A little,” I confess.

“Me, too.” He leans in, adding quietly, “We’re in this together, okay? I won’t leave you to the wolves.”

“I thought the expression was throw to the wolves,” I whisper in return, fighting a smile.

“That, too.” He smirks, turning the handle, and pushing us inside.

The house is a bustle of activity. The scent of freshly baked gingerbread floods my senses and I breathe in the strong, cinnamon-laced air as the boisterous sound of laughter greets my ears. Warmth spreads throughout my chest. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this much…holiday spirit.

I can feel it growing the more I process what this next week is going to entail.

And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t starting to get excited .

We remove our coats and hang them by the door, kicking off our damp boots as well. When I reach for my things, Nick stops me. “We’ll take it up later,” he says. “They’re probably waiting on us to eat.”

“Oh.” My hand falls to my side and I bite the inside of my cheek, glancing around the entryway. “Should we…”

“Nicky!”

His jaw tightens.

I peer past him as he greets, “Darcy.” His tone is cold as I take in the sight of the perky blonde he doesn’t seem too pleased to see. She prances over in a sparkly, beige knit sweater dress and tights, throwing herself at my fake fiancé as if he’s her real fiancé.

The sight causes a pang of jealousy to heat my blood, surprising me.

I’m not the jealous type…usually.

She clings to him even as he keeps his arms at his sides, confirming to me this isn’t a friendly encounter. He mentioned his long-lost cousin dating someone. Is this her?

Blonde hair whips me in the face once she finally releases Nick from his apparent torture. Her gaze lands on me and I decide to step closer to Nick, sliding my hand into his with a tangle of our fingers.

“I heard you were bringing someone,” she muses. “I just didn’t have the heart to believe it.” She extends her hand to me, eyeing me in a way that, from woman to woman, I can tell she isn’t happy I’m here—or with Nick. “I’m Darcy. ”

I shake her hand. “Joy. Nick’s fiancée.”

A blind man wouldn’t miss the twitch in Darcy’s eye as she stares down at Nick’s great grandmother’s ring sitting on my left hand. “It would appear so,” she says before her attention shifts to Nick, her voice bouncing with her words. “Congratulations on your…sudden engagement.”

My brow furrows. Why would she say it like that?

“Well, you know what they say,” Nick chimes, his arm circling my waist as he tugs me against him. “When you know, you know. Right, darling?”

He gazes down at me and reaches out to tilt my face upward. His lips gravitate toward mine. His breath ghosts over my lips as he slides his tongue over the seam of them, asking for permission. I grant it and place a hand between his collar and jaw to hold me steady. The moment is almost enough to drown out the retreat of Darcy’s sparkly heels against the hardwoods.

Nick, however, doesn’t notice. He pulls me in, deepening the kiss. And it takes everything in me to draw back. His gaze is heated as I do—until he looks over his shoulder and realizes we’re alone.

He takes a step back. “Sorry, I—”

“It’s fine,” I murmur, taking his hand in mine. His gaze darkens and he grips my hand firmly as I say, “Lead the way, fiancé.”

We enter the dining room hand in hand and the space lights up with a warm welcome even at our late arrival. The grand table is set for fifteen in a more classic Christmas feel than the exterior. My head is on a swivel admiring it all. Growing up, my mother would decorate, of course, but never like this. This is on a whole other level.

Nick subtly reintroduces me to everyone I met at the airport mere hours ago, including a few new faces. His grandparents on his mother’s side, Frank and Ethel, and his cousin—the snake in the grass, Nick mentioned—Eric.

“Sorry we missed the action,” his cousin says, Darcy at his side as he shakes my hand a bit longer than I’m comfortable with. “It’s great to finally meet you.”

“You, too.” I smile.

Eric releases his hold only to continue staring at me. He’s maybe four or five inches taller than me—nothing compared to Nick’s towering stature—and yet, I get the impression he’s trying to make me feel small. As if I’m beneath him. Unwelcome, even.

I don’t like it.

By all accounts he looks harmless with his shaggy, light brown hair, wearing casual slacks and a button-down shirt. Lipstick on a polar bear , as my father would call it. Nick is wrung taut beside me, and I can see why. There’s something…off about him. I make a mental note to ask more questions later when we’re alone.

Eric takes his seat next to Darcy, who hasn’t spoken another word to us, and Nick leads me around the table to our seats.

“Sit, sit,” Mrs. Davis calls, carrying a large dish to the table. She places it down amongst a sea of others. Every signature dish you’d see during the holidays is spread out before us. “You’re just in time.”

With Nick’s father at the head of the table—and Eric at the other—we’re seated in the middle beside Rich and Leah. Nick’s sister, Natalie, and her little family across from us. I peer over at my fiancé only to find him glaring at the far end of the table. I touch his knee to get his attention and his head snaps to me.

“I don’t think your mom would be very happy if your cousin spontaneously combusted in the middle of dinner,” I whisper-tease.

The tightness in his shoulders visibly eases as a soft smile graces his lips. “She’d forgive me.”

I smile, passing the green beans to him when they come around. Conversations float around the table filled with smiles and laughter. The night seems to be going well, considering how tense Nick’s been this entire time. I decide to make it my mission that he has fun this week. Why waste energy on some jerk when you could be eating pumpkin pie with extra whipped cream or brownies cut in the shape of Christmas trees with green frosting and sprinkles?

“Oh, not those, dear,” Mrs. Davis says, plucking the red Santa container from my hands before I can take it out to the dining room for dessert. She returns them to their spot in the fridge. “Those are Bruce’s special brownies.” She winks.

My brow furrows as Aunt Sara shuffles in with a chuckle. “They’re drugged!” she hoots with laughter and Mrs. Davis rolls her eyes, smiling .

“They’re baked with marijuana,” Mrs. Davis tells me. “He’s never been a big fan of smoking, you know, and his doctor recommended it to help manage his stress and to help him relax more. They also help him sleep after those god-awful treatments.”

“Oh,” I breathe, a pang in my chest at the reminder of Nick’s father’s declining health. “I, um, I’m so sorry. When Nick told me—”

She pats my shoulder. “No need to be sorry, dear. It’s no one’s fault.” Her eyes shimmer in the warm lighting of the awe-inspiring kitchen any chef, baker, or mac & cheese maker would die to cook in. “We’re over the moon to see our son find love during such a hard time. I haven’t seen him this happy in years.”

Do not cry, Joy . “That’s…really sweet of you to say, Mrs. Davis,” I push out. “And thank you for inviting me into your home. It’s breathtaking. I can’t imagine how long it took you to decorate all of this.”

“You’re too kind, Joy,” she beams, pulling me in for a hug—the second one this evening and the fourth one today. “And please, call me Betty. Bruce, too. He’ll have a field day if he hears you using Mr. and Mrs. Davis.” She chuckles, handing me a green Christmas tree container filled with ‘family friendly’ brownies.

I walk the treats out to the dining room with a smile on my face—only to realize Nick is talking about…me.

“She’s in advertising,” he announces, leaving out the part where I work for DSG, or that I’m also his personal assistant .

“Whereabouts?” Bruce asks. “We’re always looking for better eyes at Davis.”

My smile becomes pained as I open the container and set it on the table. Tucker dives for one immediately, stuffing it into his face before Natalie can catch him.

“What’s the name of that place again, Joy?” Nick asks me, a nervous jump in his leg as I sit back down.

“A temp agency,” I lie cooly, surprising myself. “Nowhere anyone here has heard of, honey.”

Betty shuffles in with yet another pie. “Well, it sounds like you’ll be a perfect fit in the family business, Joy-dear,” she adds, glancing at the head of the table.

“I’m not sure if Nick mentioned,” his father says, “but it’s always been the goal for the whole family to grow together as a unit. It’s one of the reasons Steve and I started Davis Sporting Goods to begin with.” He starts to get a bit emotional at the very mention of his late brother. “We wanted something to live on for generations. Something to sustain our families and so on.”

“That’s beautiful,” I can’t help but say aloud, blushing as Darcy and Eric laugh (hopefully not at me) at the other end of the table. Because for Bruce and his brother to think of future generations as a growing unit, for him to put his family—his family’s families—first, is just… I’m speechless.

Uncle Allen raises his glass of amber liquid. “Hear, hear!”

Nick’s arm slides around my waist, his sure hand resting firmly over my hip and thigh— grazing my butt. I peer up at him and lose all train of thought as he grins from ear to ear. Why is he so smiley? Was it something I said?

“To family,” he says, his gaze on me as he raises his glass to clink his uncle’s.

Bruce begins to tell the long-winded origin story of his sporting goods empire. Dessert finishes and I help Betty and Aunt Sara clear the table. I’m in the kitchen loading the dishwasher when my jaw cracks with a massive yawn. Between all the craziness of getting ‘engaged’ upon arrival, I’ve forgotten that it’s been a long, long day.

“Ready to head up?” said fiancé asks behind me as I close the door to the dishwasher.

I turn, finding him on the other side of the central, six-seater island. “Ready if you are,” I say, then promptly cover my mouth with another yawn.

He grins. “Rich and Leah are staying in the guest house, so, uh, we’ll be in my room. If that’s all right with you.”

I nod, my cheeks heating at the very thought of sharing a space with him—let alone a bed . The feeling is short-lived, however, from the pure exhaustion that washes over me. Do I really care? I’m so tired I’ll be asleep the second my head hits the pillow, I’m sure of it.

We say our goodnights to the few still lingering around the dining room, noting the disappearance of his cousin and girlfriend. “Is everyone staying here at the house?” I ask as we gather my things from the foyer .

“Not everyone,” he says, hefting my carry-on while I grab my purse. “My grandparents live right up the road, but they’ll be here every day this week. Eric and Darcy got a hotel as far as I know. So, yeah, everyone else will be up first thing in the morning. Wouldn’t be surprised if we hear Izzy crying at some point tonight.”

I yawn, following him up the stairs to his bedroom. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

We make a left at the top of the staircase and walk to the end of the hall before he opens a door on the right. I take in the space, noting the dark wood finishes and the large king-size bed with a four-poster bedframe that takes up a majority of the room. There are two more doors on either side of the room, one is open revealing an ensuite bathroom and I can only assume the other is a closet.

“Did you want to use the bathroom first?” he asks, closing the door behind us. He rolls my bag toward the unopened door to a massive walk-in closet.

I would’ve killed for a closet like that growing up.

“This is your room,” I say, then realize how duh it sounds. Shaking my head with a laugh, I set my purse on the nightstand furthest from the door on instinct. “I mean, was this your childhood bedroom?”

“Mine? No.” He chuckles. “My sister and I shared a bedroom until I was eight. That’s about when DSG started taking off. We upgraded to a three-bedroom in town, that’s where my parents lived for about fifteen years before building this house. Their dream family gathering home as my mother loves to call it.”

I smile. “Your family is amazing.”

Nick leans a shoulder against the door frame to the closet. “You did pretty amazing yourself down there.”

“I’ve been known to tell a white lie or two.” I shrug. “And I do have an older brother.”

“Is that who you were visiting? In LA, I mean.”

How do I say this? “Emmett, um… canceled on me at the last second. And by the last second , I was at the airport looking for him when he said he was too busy for Christmas this year.” I sigh at the very thought. Such a dick move.

“I’d say I’m sorry to hear that, but it seems that worked out in my favor, huh?” he muses. “I did wonder how the hell you got to the airport so fast.”

I laugh. “I was already there.” I walk toward him, sliding past to get my toiletry bag and pajamas to change into after a long, hot shower.

I’m busy digging through my bag when Nick asks, “What about your parents? Are they still in California?”

“My mom lives in Napa with her new husband and twin daughters,” I say, glancing up to see the cringe on his face. “Dad moved to New York to lead some fancy law firm after the divorce.”

“I’m sorry.”

I shrug. “They tried. I had a good childhood. I suppose that’s all anyone can ask for these days.” He nods as I pass him again, my breasts brushing against his abdomen. My face heats at the contact—and size difference.

If I wasn’t so tired, I’d already have a forbidden boss-employee fantasy running through my head. “I’ll, um, try to be quick,” I say, blushing as I scurry to the bathroom.

About that fantasy…