Christmas Crisis (Coleman Creek Christmas #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter one

Miranda

NOW

Liar, Liar Pants on Fire

Slimy Little F*ckb*y

Stone is the Absolute Worst

Scrolling through my Instagram feed, dread clawed at my stomach.

The app’s incomprehensible algorithm knew my habits, that I always slowed down at mentions of Stone.

And now it had plenty of material to show me.

I lay in my bed and swiped through post after post of vitriol.

The online haters had found their latest outrage.

Be Honest, You Always Suspected Stone was a Creep

Top Three Reasons to Hate on Stone Caseman

Stone Caseman Bites the Hand that Feeds Him

This was not good. And the worst part was, it was all my fault.

I slammed my phone down on the bedside table and sat up against the headboard, running my fingers through my hair.

The knot in my chest tightened. I’d already texted Stone, but he hadn’t replied.

I decided to give him a few more minutes before calling.

Holding a pillow to my nose, I huffed my frustration into the cotton.

Should I delete the photo? Or would that look like an admission of guilt?

Picking my phone back up, I opened the app and forced myself to assess the potential damage.

The image itself was open to interpretation.

A selfie of me and Stone squeezed together on a couch.

His arm hung around my shoulders, fingers splayed over my bare biceps.

My head tilted toward his neck. I remembered the day.

We’d gone body surfing off the coast of Maui before retreating to our secluded rental.

We certainly looked cozy. Still, one picture could be explained away.

The problem was that internet sleuths had gone through every photo in my feed, looking for clues to prove their more salacious theories.

Look in the background, it’s obvious she’s at Stone’s house! That picture is from the coffee shop Stone goes to. I’m pretty certain there are pics of Stone with that jacket she’s got on. The woman she’s with is Stone Caseman’s personal assistant.

Just as I finished reading the last one, the woman herself messaged.

SHOSHANNA (STONE’S PA): Are you up? I’m calling in five minutes.

SHOSHANNA (STONE’S PA): I’m assuming you’ve seen? What were you thinking?

SHOSHANNA (STONE’S PA): Never mind. You can tell me when I have you on the line.

I groaned and fell back against the mattress. It wasn’t even seven o’clock. My plan had been to sleep in for the first time in months. Then my phone started pinging. And pinging.

And pinging.

Last night, I’d been feeling sorry for myself. Everything was jacked. Stone. Work. Leo. I’d spent the late evening hours with cheap vodka, Hulu, and french fries before falling into bed.

Part of my pity party was in response to the fact that today was the first Thanksgiving in years I wouldn’t spend with my sisters.

Maureen and Marley had left for an off-the-grid trip with their partners.

They were staying at a friend’s cabin and planned to do the big turkey dinner there and then hang out for ten days to relax and go snowshoeing.

Our entire lives, I’d been the outdoorsy one, so the irony wasn’t lost on me that the first time my sisters wanted to do something sideways of a city or beach retreat, I was stuck in the office and couldn’t get away.

Then again, as much as I hated being on my own for the holiday, I had no desire to be the fifth wheel on their romantic trip.

Because they hadn’t invited my boyfriend.

To be fair, they also didn’t know he existed.

Scratch that. They definitely knew he existed. They just didn’t know he was my boyfriend.

Also, Leo might be there.

But even without those deterrents, the possibility of my going was a non-starter.

I’d only been hired on at my new job in September.

It was too soon to ask for time off. Luckily, the office closed for the week between Christmas and New Year’s, so at least I’d be able to go home to Coleman Creek then.

That left me four weeks to feel sorry for myself.

I was stuck in Los Angeles. With no family. A still-unfamiliar job. In a standoff with my best friend.

And no boyfriend.

Stone was filming in Vancouver. We’d talked on FaceTime last night before I'd settled in with the vodka bottle and The Bear. I knew he felt bad that I was spending the holiday alone, but he also had an early shoot. Canadian film crews didn’t care about American Thanksgiving.

He was probably on set at this very moment.

Or maybe he wasn’t. Perhaps he was busy finding out that I’d accidentally ruined his life and made him a target of social media vultures. Maybe he was hiding in his dressing room doomscrolling and reading all the terrible things people were saying about him.

I barely had time to go to the bathroom before my phone rang. Shoshanna’s taskmaster voice came through immediately.

“Hey, Miranda, you know that photo was completely unacceptable. Totally in violation of your agreement.”

Alrighty, then. So not even a “hello.” Also, I was unclear which “agreement” she referred to, other than the imaginary one in her head.

She’d spent the past year pestering Stone to make me sign an NDA, but I’d never been comfortable with that, and he hadn’t pushed the issue—although he had brought it up again recently.

Fame had come so quickly and furiously for him that it always seemed like he was playing catch-up to learn the rules.

I imagined he would have insisted on the legal document eventually, but he’d accepted my word until now.

Which made me feel doubly bad. He’d put that faith in me, and I’d repaid him by being careless.

I sighed, flexing my jaw. “Hi, Shoshanna. Yeah, I know I messed up. I promise I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“What were you thinking? After all this time, to be so remiss?”

I’d been thinking it sucked balls to be home alone on the couch the day before Thanksgiving.

I’d been thinking I had important things to say to Stone, but as soon as his face popped up on my screen, I knew it was the right call to save them until we were in person.

I’d been thinking about how I’d finally started my new corporate job, but the rest of my life was stuck in limbo.

And I’d been thinking about Leo.

But sulking wasn’t in my DNA. I was a firm believer that a lot of true happiness began with playacted happiness.

Keeping my chin up was my comfort zone. So I’d been consoling myself by going through old photos on my phone, trying to capture better energy by posting some favorites under the caption “Good vibes dump.”

Ten photos. And I could have sworn the Maui pic I chose was of me solo in the surf. But clearly, the evil vodka and greasy fries had lulled me into inattention. Because the picture I’d actually included was the incriminating couch selfie.

My profile was public, my account less me and more nature-loving doppelg?nger, and I’d amassed a decent following after seven years of posting my travel and outdoor adventure photos.

Closing out of the app last night, I had no idea that I’d unleashed a storm. But someone had recognized Stone. And then the sharing began.

And now—here we were.

“Have you heard from Stone?” I asked Shoshanna, rather than answering her question. “I’m surprised he hasn’t called me. Or even texted.”

“I told him not to,” she answered matter-of-factly.

“I’m worried his texts are being stolen, frankly, which is a fucked-up thing to have to worry about.

He called me on my landline at home this morning.

I guess one of the guys on set woke him up.

I’m working on a plan with the publicist. Stone’s going to get a burner and said to tell you he’ll call you as soon as he can.

I’m assuming your phone is safe for now since people are just figuring out who you are.

As far as I can tell, no one has connected your Instagram account to Miranda Davis.

At least not yet. I suppose that’s lucky. ”

“I need to talk to him, Shoshanna.”

“And you will. But first, let’s get him the temporary line. It might be overkill, it probably is, but it’ll make us all feel better to be careful.”

“Seriously? Can you please expedite that process? He’s my boyfriend.

And this is on me. I need to explain.” I was a little annoyed that Stone had called Shoshanna but not me.

Except that was on-brand. I might be his girlfriend, but he relied on his PA to tell him what to do, where to go, and who to talk to.

“Like I said, you will,” Shoshanna repeated. “But let’s make a plan first.”

Her voice sounded frustrated, but I didn’t sense genuine anger behind it. She was a professional.

Like everyone given the label of “famous for being famous,” Stone had his detractors. No doubt Shoshanna had been preparing for something like this for a while.

“I’m really sorry,” I offered. “I had too much to drink last night and posted the wrong picture.” Thumbing through my albums, I saw the shot I’d intended to put up directly beneath the one I’d posted. Just a slip of the finger.

A slip of the finger that ended more than a year of successful subterfuge.

“I know you are,” Shoshanna said resignedly. “And this plan with Naomi was always risky. If I could go back in time, I don’t think I would have done it. I knew people would take an interest in them, but not to this degree.”

Yeah, hard same, girl.

When Stone and I began dating fourteen months ago, he’d been a somewhat well-known internet personality. His profile rose significantly after he was cast in an indie movie co-starring Naomi Butler, who’d been in the public eye since childhood with a role in a popular family drama.