The Hot Mess Fake Christmas

Chapter 1

Graham felt his stomach churn the moment the waiter arrived with their drinks.

“That’s one Candy Cane Cosmo and one Mistletoe Mai Tai.”

He did his best not to recoil as the server set the abominations in front of them.

“Cheers!”

Managing a polite nod, he grimaced as his date practically pounced on his own monstrous cocktail.

“Isn’t this place a riot?” the certifiable ten-out-of-ten named Derek whom Graham had met the week before at a Barry’s fitness class said as he downed his first sip of Mai Tai.

Graham spun around to take stock of the holiday-palooza surrounding them. “It’s certainly…something.”

His tone seemed to go unnoticed by Derek. “Tinseltown Tinsel Time has got to be hands down my favorite holiday pop-up bar in LA.”

Graham winced at the spinning Christmas tree anchoring the makeshift lounge. At least, he was pretty sure there was a tree under there. It was hard to tell with the department store’s worth of ornaments packed onto its ill-fated branches.

“You don’t think it’s a bit over-the-top?”

A look of realization dawned on Derek’s face then. “You don’t like Christmas.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Clearly, though, his defense had not been convincing.

“What could you have against Christmas?” He said it as if Graham had just insulted his mother.

Graham let out a defeated sigh. “It’s just that it’s all so…much.” He gestured broadly at the kaleidoscope of red and green entrapping them. “And, frankly, if you ask me, that applies to this whole, entire season.”

Derek fixed him with a look like he couldn’t quite compute the words that had just met his ears. “Come on, you must have just a little holiday cheer.”

Graham shook his head, defiant. “Anyone who thinks this is the season of cheer ought to get their head checked. This whole Christmas charade is nothing but a front.”

Derek rolled his eyes, impish. “Says the man whose job is public relations.”

Finally, Graham reached for his drink. “Look, people are more than welcome to buy into this holiday nonsense, but I, for one, will pass.” He took a sip and grimaced.

Derek just shook his head in spite of himself. “Because you—oh, wise sage—you see through it all in your infinite, cynical wisdom.” He cracked a sporting grin as he swigged again at his Mai Tai.

Graham shrugged, nonchalant. “You know what they say. Don’t hate the player. Hate the game.” He made a second attempt at his monstrosity of a drink.

Apparently, though, his aloofness only heightened his date’s intrigue. “Maybe,” Derek said as he leaned in close, “you just need someone to help put you in the mood.”

Under the table, Graham felt a shoe rubbing up against his own. His heart began to beat double-time.

Only to come grinding to a halt at another surprise.

The ringing of his cellphone.

A disgruntled sigh escaped Derek as he watched Graham fish the device from his pocket.

“I’m really sorry, Derek,” Graham said as he read the caller ID. “It’s a work call.”

The comment drew a scoff of disbelief. “Again? Really?”

“I’m so sorry,” Graham repeated, already getting up from the table.

“That fancy PR firm must be treating you pretty good, the way you bend over backwards for them.”

Graham smiled through gritted teeth. “You’d really think so, wouldn’t you?” He centered himself with a breath, his phone still ringing in the background. “Look, I swear I’m not always this way. It’s just that with that new executive spot opening up, now’s the time to show a little initiative.”

A withering look came over Derek’s face. “I just hope it’s worth it.”

Graham responded with a confident nod. “This promotion would be everything I’ve spent my career working toward. It’s going to be more than worth it.”

Derek just nodded in silence.

“I promise this’ll just take a minute.” With that, he headed for the door. “Don’t go anywhere.”

* * *

Out on the sidewalk, Graham dodged a trio of holiday sweater-clad merrymakers stumbling their way down the block. Judging by the group’s rendition of Jingle Bells, their merriment appeared to be flowing in more ways than one.

He scoffed bitterly as he stabbed the answer button on his cellphone. “Hi, boss. What’s shaking?” He did his best to sound casual.

The voice across the line, though, was anything but.

“What’s shaking? What’s shaking? Clearly not you, if you have to ask a question like that.”

Graham swallowed the lump that had found its way into his throat. “What, uh, seems to be the trouble, sir?” The words came out like he was trying to stave off a bear attack.

“Oh, I wouldn’t call it trouble per se, Graham. Just your biggest client making Toys for Tykes of Southern California’s annual holiday toy drive the most talked about event of the season!”

Graham scratched his head, befuddled. “Yes, sir. That is the reason she’s there, is it not?”

“You’d certainly think, except that she’s making it trend for all the wrong reasons!”

Almost as if on cue, a news alert pinged on Graham’s phone. He pulled the device from his ear to read the screen.

And let out a gasp of horror.

It was a headline to make his heart stop: LIVE: Full of Holiday Spirit(s)—Tinseltown’s A-List Plastered Princess Makes Mockery of Charity Toy Drive.

Graham winced as the weight of a bowling ball landed in his stomach. “Come on, Coco. Again? I was just about to make third base.”

“What was that, Mr. Bartlett?”

Oh, shit. He was still on the phone. He cleared his throat, businesslike, as he returned the device to his ear. “I’m on my way over now for damage control.” With that, he ended the call.

Halfway to his car, though, he realized he’d forgotten something.

Derek.

He couldn’t just ghost him. Surely, he’d understand if Graham explained. It wouldn’t take more than a minute.

But when he returned inside, the scene he discovered dropped his heart into freefall. Derek was nowhere to be seen.

The next thing he knew, he was snapped from his daze by a voice. “That friend of yours—real nice guy.” It was their waiter.

Graham arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah, gave me his member card to Barry’s to use up through the end of the month.” He shrugged, dumbfounded. “Said he wouldn’t be needing it anymore. Something about switching gyms, I think?”

Not even stepping on a glass Christmas ornament would have hurt as bad as those words did then.

The waiter patted Graham cheerfully on the back. “Between you and me, that’s the best tip I’ve ever gotten.” A beat of silence followed. “Say, did you need something?”

Graham shook his head, sullen.

“Didn’t want directions to the bathroom?”

“No.”

“Didn’t come back for another round?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Didn’t forget something here?”

Graham heaved a heavy sigh. “Just my dignity.”

Returning the waiter’s back pat, he saw himself out.