Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
Jim
It was the day before the event I had planned with the girls, and the only part of Avery’s party planning I had seen so far happened two days ago, when I had visited the hotel suites, which were fully decked out for the holidays and ready for the guests.
As lovely as it was, I still had no idea why we went the extra mile to decorate everyone’s hotel suites, but at this stage, it wasn’t worth questioning.
Regardless, I had to hand it to Cat. I was highly impressed by her skill and talent in pulling it off on top of planning Avery’s venue.
I swear, those suites had more Christmas spirit packed into them than our beach house and our main house combined.
Ultimately, I wasn’t complaining because Avery’s success solidified that I was well on my way to no longer being labeled Clark Griswold’s boss.
Suppose my employees started sharing their experiences on social media, everything from their travel on our private jets to the luxury party buses and those five-star suites? In that case, I might even end up being crowned Father Christmas for real.
I’d been buried in meetings with my executives, who had flown in from around the globe, resulting in back-to-back strategy sessions.
So, I used all of this to my advantage and folded all the fourth-quarter reports and project launches into this Christmas party trip.
Boring? Yes. Tax deductible? Hell yes. This is how smart CEOs keep profits where they belong—inside the company instead of Uncle Sam’s pocket.
Now that my last meeting was done, I was finally free to pick up the girls from their final tailoring appointments for the dresses they’d wear tomorrow at our event.
“Thanks, Alastair,” I said, handing a tip to my driver as I stepped out of the Rolls.
“Have a good evening, Mr. Mitchell.”
“You do the same.”
I walked into the boutique Avery always used when she needed gowns tailored for galas and company events.
“Mr. Mitchell,” the receptionist said with a polite smile, “your wife and daughters are just through those doors.”
“Appreciate it,” I said, heading down the corridor.
“Mrs. Mitchell,” a voice drifted through the air as I entered the dressing lounge. “The girls will be an absolute vision tomorrow—a stunning statement for both the company and their father,” announced Avery’s tailor, Jacques.
I stepped in and froze. Jesus.
Izzy stood in front of the mirror in an emerald green dress that shimmered like crushed velvet under the lights.
She looked utterly adorable in her white stockings and patent shoes.
Her curled hair was pulled back into a perfect ponytail with a matching velvet bow.
She looked like a perfect portrait of a porcelain doll come to life.
My heart stopped when Addy pulled back the curtain from her dressing room.
Even Jacques gasped before immediately flurrying around her, adjusting the hem of her floor-length burgundy gown. Her long, black hair was curled over one shoulder, and even her irritated eye roll, aimed at the tailor fussing over her, made me smirk.
She was all Avery. Beautiful and poised and just annoyed enough to remind me of the first time I dragged her mom to one of these things.
Avery stood nearby, laughing with Jacques and admiring the finished looks. And before I could stop it, something cracked open in my chest.
Our beautiful girls looked older.
Too old.
Addy didn’t look fifteen; instead, she looked ready to take on the world. God help me, and next year she’d be driving. And Izzy? She still had that tiny nose like Avery, and my green eyes, but even she was growing too fast.
God, where did our little girls go?
I had to inhale and reel it in. I had to refocus.
Honestly, this wasn’t the time for nostalgia, nor was it for me to be a dad unwilling to let my baby girls grow older.
It was a time for celebration. Tomorrow, the girls and I would throw a party no one would forget—something magical.
It would be a night that would rival anything Cat and Avery had put together.
And seeing them now, knowing how they’d shine tomorrow? I was more determined than ever to make sure the night we created together would outshine every last candy-cane-covered square inch of Paramount Studios.
Avery turned and saw me, and as always, she looked gorgeous when she was caught off guard.
Her eyes hit me like a direct current, sharp, alert, and a little surprised. But then that signature spark lit behind them. The look that said she already knew I had something up my sleeve.
I leaned against the archway, arms crossed, doing my best not to let the smirk hit full tilt across my mouth. But hell, watching her try to stay composed in that sleek little coat, cheeks still flushed from being held under my gaze? It was impossible not to enjoy the effect I still had on her.
“You’re early,” she said, walking toward me.
I took her in like a man starved. “I wanted to see my gorgeous wife before I stole the girls away for the evening.”
Truth, plain and simple. But I also wanted to take a look at the gowns and see the girls in all their holiday regalia before we headed out.
And, if I were being honest, I wanted to get the edge.
Avery’s party was going to be some type of London winter masterpiece.
But mine? Mine needed to feel like Christmas morning. And it would.
“Also,” I added, leaning down just enough that my breath brushed her ear, “I wanted to get a preview of what I’m up against tomorrow.”
Her soft laugh was everything.
Her blue eyes glistened while we talked quietly, “That’s not happening here. This is just dress fittings.”
I let my lips graze her temple. “I’ve been raised to understand how outfits serve the purpose of their destination. So, whatever our girls are wearing just allows me another peek into your London party.”
She smiled, “Good, then I hope you approve because these are their dresses for your party.”
I eyed my wife, searching her devious expression for truth. “Is that so?” I questioned.
“It’s so,” her eyes widened, teasing me in ways I didn’t need to be distracted at the moment.
“Very well, then,” I arched a challenging eyebrow at her. “I’ll deal with your sexy ass later,” I kissed her nose.
“Girls,” I called. “Time to go see what I’ve been working on.”
It was time to keep moving things forward, or I was going to screw up the surprise that awaited our girls.
This night was all about the reveal of their little imaginations that I’d fed to my planner, and she put into perfect play.
I couldn’t wait to see their reactions to the fun visions we all created, which had now come to life.
After I’d called the girls, Izzy had whipped around first, her curls bouncing, already halfway to my side. Addy followed a second later, still trying to act like she wasn’t that excited. She failed. Miserably.
“Do we get to ride in one of the party buses?” Izzy asked, clutching her glittering mini-purse as if it were a sacred treasure.
“Yep, the same luxury coach fleet everyone else will be arriving in tomorrow. But tonight, it’s just ours.”
Addy gave me a suspicious look. “Is there Wi-Fi?”
I narrowed my eyes. “There’s holiday magic. Better than the internet, which you know your old dad is completely over at the moment.”
Just as Izzy reached for the coat rack, Avery intercepted like a linebacker with impeccable fashion sense.
“Hold up, young lady,” she said, holding out a hand. “Neither one of you is going anywhere in those gowns.”
Izzy froze.
“Seriously, Mom?” Addy groaned. “We want to have the full effect.”
“You will,” Avery folded her arms and smiled at our girls, “tomorrow night, when I and all the other guests get our full effect.”
“But, Mom,” Izzy pleaded with those puppy dog eyes.
“No, but Mom, kiddo. Those are for tomorrow night only. You two will not be wrinkling silk and velvet in the back of your father’s party bus the night before the event.”
I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, silently enjoying the show.
There she was—my wife, the self-proclaimed CEO of Christmas, a title she’d adopted weeks ago for Mitchell and Associates.
In truth, the woman could organize a charity ball, outmaneuver a PR crisis (if she wanted to), and still stay three steps ahead of two teenage girls determined to look like Vogue models on a school night.
Addy tried again. “Can’t we just keep them on and sit really still?”
“Nope.” Avery turned on her heel and pointed toward the fitting rooms. “Go change. I want the dresses hung neatly on their hangers, in the garment bags, and zipped.”
Izzy sighed, as if this were a death sentence. “But I was going to take a picture in mine.”
“You can take ten thousand tomorrow. And you’ll look even better when you’re not wrinkled like a tissue someone sat on.”
Addy muttered something under her breath and disappeared with her sister. I stepped in closer to Avery, brushing my hand against her waist. “You’re sexy when you’re acting like you run the company.”
She didn’t even blink. “And you’re reckless when you let them think they’re going to parade around in five-hundred-dollar gowns like it’s a casual Tuesday. The dresses will be delivered to the venue, just like everyone’s outfits will be delivered for mine.”
I grinned. “Av,” I started, “how many times have we gotten a little wild while you were dressed for a gala in the back of the—”
“Jim,” she sternly cut me off. “All of the outfits will be delivered to their respective parties.”
I studied her. Avery never gave half a damn about wrinkles, and she knew damn well the girls would be careful.
There was something behind her sudden concern I couldn’t quite place—especially considering she and I had done a whole lot more in her tailored event dresses in the back of a limousine than the girls could ever manage on a party bus.
And not once had there been a wrinkle worth worrying about.
“I promise I won’t let them—”