Chapter 7 – Jenna
JENNA
Family Group Chat
Sorry you have to work again, Jenna!
Ugh! Your boss is so terrible for making you work on the holidays.
I’m hanging up a ‘Fuck Nicholas Saint’ ornament on the tree in your honor this year!
Thank y’all so much for understanding.
Truly.
I wish I could come home so bad…
As I was searching for the teary-eyed emoji, my office door swung open and Nicholas stormed inside.
Red-faced and jaw clenched, he glared at me like I’d personally ruined his day.
“Yes?” I asked calmly. “Is there something wrong, Mr. Saint?”
“Yes, there is something wrong, Miss Dawson.” He stepped closer. “I called you several times last night and you didn’t answer.”
“I went to bed early.”
“You’re incapable of going to sleep before ten o’clock,” he said flatly. “I called you at seven.”
“Well, maybe I’ve been super tired because I’m once again handling a huge project for a boss who won’t give me a bit of appreciation or thanks for it.”
“Your extra half a million dollars is the appreciation, and you weren’t sleeping,” he said. “You were ignoring me.”
“I’m still not finished decorating my place—which you know means the world to me and consumes all my free time. And you’re seriously questioning why I might be tired?”
“I’m telling you that you weren’t sleeping,” he said. “I know you weren’t.”
I swallowed, my mind scrambling for a rebuttal that didn’t exist.
“Your avoidance aside,” he continued, “are you trying to sabotage my inheritance?”
“What?”
“I really hate when you make me repeat myself,” he said. “Where the hell is my wife?”
“I’m sure she’s in the building somewhere…”
“I wouldn’t be asking about her if she was, Jenna.” His teeth ground together. “We need to take the damn photos and go over our scripts again.”
“Well, I told her what time to arrive, and she assured me she was on her way. I promise.”
“Well, either she’s lying or you’re lying, and given how you feel about me, I’m inclined to believe it’s you.”
“I don’t feel anything for you.”
“Thank you for making my point,” he said. “You’re deliberately being petty and trying to sabotage this entire thing.”
“No, I’m definitely not,” I hissed. “But you know what? Maybe Laura came to her senses about how awful of a husband you’d be—even in pretend mode—and decided not to show up.”
“If she’s not here within the next—”
The door opened before he could finish.
“Sorry, I’m late!” Laura rushed in, wearing a fluffy gray coat. She hurried straight to Nicholas and wrapped her arms around him. “I had a little trouble remembering what Miss Dawson said about the private parking.”
“No worries at all, Laura,” I said quickly, shooting Nicholas a told-you-so look.
He recovered instantly, placing a perfectly timed kiss against her cheek.
“Best of luck to you today,” I added. “Enjoy your final weekend of rehearsal before the holidays.”
“Thank you so much, Miss Dawson.”
“Yes,” Nicholas said. “Thank you very much, Miss Dawson.”
“Do you need anything else from me?” I asked, forcing my voice steady as Laura pressed her hand against his chest—exactly how I’d instructed her. “I have a busy morning ahead.”
“I thought you’d planned to watch us and take notes today,” Nicholas said. His tone softened. “That’s what I have on my calendar…”
“I must’ve forgotten to update it,” I said. “I’m sure you’ll be great together.”
“I would appreciate it if you stayed a bit longer with me,” he said. “I mean, us.”
“I…” I shook my head and moved past them. “I can’t. Good luck.”
I rushed down the hall and stepped into an open elevator, a heavy and unfamiliar pang settling in my chest.
For the first time in my years at Saint International, I went an entire afternoon without running into Nicholas—without talking to him on the phone, and without receiving or sending a single text message.
And strangely, it hurt.
I told myself it was nothing that a bottle of wine and a binge-watch couldn’t fix, so I didn’t bother trying to adjust anything before leaving the office.
After packing up my things, I took a town car to my condo and turned off my phone, craving a few quiet hours alone.
Still uneasy, I unlocked my door and flicked on the lights.
“Choooo! Choooo!” A tiny red train chugged around the base of my Christmas tree.
A tree that was glowing, trimmed, and unmistakably not my doing.
My bag slipped from my hand as I stepped inside.
Garland lined my mantel, threaded with warm white lights that reflected off fresh red chrysanthemums arranged in sparkling vases I didn’t own. Twinkling stars hung from the ceiling at varying heights, casting soft shadows across the room.
On my coffee table, familiar frames held my favorite holiday memories—photos I’d collected over the years—now dressed with sprigs of holly and tiny bells, as if someone had taken the time to remember not just the season…
…but me.
I blinked hard, the sting behind my eyes impossible to ignore.
A yellow Post-it note sat atop my letter to Santa.
Jenna,
I hope you won’t file a report on me for breaking and entering…
I just wanted to make sure this was all finished before Christmas Day, since you never miss a year.
—Nicholas
P.S. It’s slightly hypocritical for you to complain about my naughty/nice list when you write things like this about me to Santa…
P.P.S. You’re welcome.