Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
Avery
My hand was still clamped over my mouth as I watched the live stream of Jim’s newest “charity,” the one he’d somehow been roped into. I was laughing so hard I couldn’t even breathe. There had never been a moment in my life when something this ridiculous had actually worked.
In my defense, the live-streaming part hadn’t been my idea. That stroke of chaos came straight from Jake. Oh my God, I still couldn’t believe my husband was trending all over the internet. Now, I was terrified to turn on the evening news, worried the local stations had picked it up.
Ring!
“Hey, Ash,” I answered, still laughing into the phone. “I have a feeling I’m officially dead when, or if, Jim comes home tonight.”
“I can’t believe the media actually showed up,” she said, cracking up.
“Well, come on,” I said, grinning. “You know the press will jump at any excuse to get inside the offices of James Howard Mitchell these days. Especially now that he and Titus are working together to boom up half of California with hotels.”
“Do you think this’ll backfire on him in any way?” she asked with a semi-nervous laugh.
“How could it? A billionaire CEO saving Christmas trees that turned brown too early?” I said. “I mean, you can’t villainize someone for caring about dying trees, especially at Christmas. It’s very waste not, want not of him.”
Ash snorted. “I still can’t believe we let Jake and Collin in on this. We practically invited next-level chaos.”
“I know,” I groaned. “But that media stunt isn’t on us.
Those boys and Spencer were the ones who decided to take it to extremes.
We just wanted to swap his perfect fifty-foot Christmas tree with a brown one until he finally broke and admitted he didn’t give two shits about the ones that dry out too soon. ”
Ash laughed. “Do the girls still want to go rescue more?”
“Yes, and that’s the problem,” I said, half exasperated. “It’s Izzy. That child’s heart is bigger than her dad’s. All she keeps saying is that every family should do this.”
Ash sighed, still laughing. “And at the rate your daughters are diving into charity this year with Addy’s homeless shelter fundraiser and now Izzy’s brown-tree crusade, your husband’s empire might turn into a nonprofit.”
“Exactly,” I said, smiling helplessly. “Izzy’s already planning to raise funds so that the brown trees can be delivered to every home for their ‘last Christmas.’ She’s convinced they’re dying souls who need adoption before Christmas Eve.”
Ash’s laughter filled my ear. “Think we can redirect her energy and maybe have her push for animal adoptions instead?”
“After Jim’s constantly believable lines of bullshit, and Collin and Jake’s sermons about brown trees all day on Sunday?” I asked. “Not a chance in hell. Not until after Christmas.”
“Well, it’s not that bad,” Ash said. “Honestly, it’s kind of sweet that she has such a big heart for those trees.”
“It is sweet,” I agreed. “But this whole thing has taken on a life of its own. My funny little revenge plot was supposed to stay harmless. Then Collin and Jake jumped on my back, and suddenly we had live media coverage and reporters quoting Jim as if he were Saint Nick. Now, I have no idea what kind of husband I’m going to be facing tonight. ”
“Maybe he’ll think it was just Jake and Spence. They were the only ones there, right?”
I smiled, shaking my head. “Trust me, I plan to act innocent either way.”
“Are you watching the news tonight?”
“Of course,” I said. “Jake and Collin told me and Laney to record it for them, but please, we both know they’re watching the livestream between surgeries.”
Ash snorted. “God, you’re probably right.”
“Oh my God,” I said, laughing again. “The entire hospital must think their CEO has lost his mind. If anyone saw that footage, they probably think he’s one breakdown away from joining a Christmas cult.”
We both dissolved into laughter.
By the time I hung up, I had no idea where this thing was headed anymore.
All I knew was that in five minutes, the news would be on, and I needed to get into character as the proud, supportive wife of a billionaire CEO being celebrated for the most absurdly heartwarming charity no one on earth had ever considered before.
Then, a text from Jim came in, pulling me out of my thoughts.
Jim: Picking up the girls tonight and going to McD’s for dinner.
Want to meet there or bring you something home?
Avery: I’d love a hot apple pie!!
Jim: Ok
Fuck. The Ok or a thumbs-up emoji. Those were the husband equivalent of a death sentence. I was officially screwed, and I knew it. Jim’s revenge wasn’t a matter of if; it was when.
Could he at least pretend he didn’t already know I was behind it? A little plausible deniability never hurt a marriage.
Still, I wasn’t going to stew over it. Jim and I always had our little wars—sweet, stupid, ridiculous competitions that somehow made us better. The difference this time was that I’d accidentally weaponized his brothers and VP, and now the media was in on it.
I didn’t think anything bad could come of it, but in this day and age, you could rescue a dying kitten and still get crucified online by someone saying you were interfering with nature or something.
I needed a glass of wine to survive the evening broadcast. Hell, I was probably more worried about this than Jim could ever be.
I took a deep breath, grabbed my wine, and turned on the news just in time to catch the tail end of the weather. My heart was racing like I was about to watch my own execution…
“…and finally tonight,” the anchor said with that too-bright smile, “a story that proves even brown can be beautiful.”
“Oh, God. Here we go,” I said to myself, taking a sip.
The footage opened on the stunning lobby of Mitchell and Associates, spilling with gold light and holiday grandeur. The twin staircases were wrapped in garland and champagne ribbons, the marble floors glowing under chandeliers, and every inch screamed elegance.
Until the camera panned to the middle. This part was my prank, the only thing I’d planned.
I didn’t find out anything else until after Ash had called and told me to start scrolling through social media.
That’s when I learned that Jake, Collin, and Spence had their own little prank hiding behind mine, which was to bring in the media.
I watched with humor when the camera panned right, where Mitchell and Associates’ usual fifty-foot masterpiece of a tree should’ve been.
In its place was a sad, brittle seven-foot Christmas tree, brown from tip to trunk, leaning slightly to the left like it had lost the will to live long before Halloween.
The reporter’s voice floated over the shot: “Mitchell and Associates’ annual tree lighting took a surprising turn this morning when CEO Mr. James Mitchell unveiled what many are calling the rescue tree.”
I covered my mouth to hide my laugh as the camera zoomed out.
Jim’s immaculate and picture-perfect replica of Santa’s Village sat behind the tree.
It was now complete with the jolliest Santa money could buy, a candy-striped sleigh, and rows of peppermint poles.
The poor tree looked like it had wandered in from a drought and collapsed next to the steps leading into Santa’s house, never making it inside before officially giving up on having its last Christmas.
My eyes were filled with tears from laughing so damn hard that I could hardly fucking breathe.
“Oh, Jim,” I whispered, still laughing so hard I had to set my glass down.
Then the feed cut to the top floor.
His office looked straight out of a luxury magazine with floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the L.A.
skyline at sunset. But the glittering view only made what sat in front of it worse.
A line of brown trees stood like mourners along the glass, their brittle branches drooping under strands of dusty tinsel.
And there he was. My husband. Every inch the billionaire CEO, standing behind his desk with that look of polite murder written all over his face.
“Sir,” said a reporter from Channel 6, “can you tell us what inspired you to take such a compassionate interest in trees that were cut too early and wouldn’t have been chosen for Christmas this year?”
Flashbulbs popped. Jim’s jaw flexed once. Twice. “Just a…fun charity thing,” he said, perfectly even.
Before the reporter could ask another question, a familiar voice rang out, “Oh, do go on!”
Of course, it was Jake.
He pushed through the crowd like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment.
“That’s right,” he said after someone recognized him and called his name.
“And I have to confess that my brother has shaken me to the very foundation of my holiday spirit, all thanks to his charitable work with these trees.”
I was already choking on laughter, tears streaming down my cheeks, and now Jake was on camera to turn this into something I don’t think could ever become undone.
Jake turned solemn, hand on Jim’s shoulder like he was giving a eulogy. “You see, my brother’s heart has always been bigger than his wallet. While the rest of us think about beautiful trees to garnish our homes, he thinks about the forgotten ones…”
“Where do you imagine this conviction came from?” the reporter asked Jim.
“It all began at a tree lot,” Jake smoothly spoke as if the reporter had asked him the question.
Jim’s lips moved, but no sound came out. He appeared to be praying for divine intervention.
Then, Jake went misty-eyed. “I watched as my brother stopped singing, mid-carol, as he was blessing his family’s stunning and lush green tree.
” Jake looked down at Jim, and Jim only stared blankly at the camera.
Jake took that as his invitation to go on.
“You know,” he said, looking at the camera as if selling this story could win him a medal, “it was as if the North Star itself shone down on a dying tree about to go into the chipper. I watched Jim become immediately uncomfortable, as if he couldn’t bear it.
That’s when he halted his singing of—what was it, Jim? ”
“I can’t remember,” Jim said flatly.
“Oh, that’s right. It was I’ll Be Home for Christmas,” Jake announced proudly. “And it was at that moment my brother realized that brown trees deserved a home, too.”
The camera caught Spencer in the background, trying and failing not to laugh.
Jake faced the reporters again, dead serious.
“It’s not just people who are less fortunate this year, it’s nature as well.
It’s the things we overlook. My brother’s vision reminds us that everything deserves a home for Christmas.
So, folks, go to his new website—The Rescue Tree—and save a brown tree this holiday season. ”
“I have a website?” Jim muttered with confusion, looking at Jake like he had just found out his car had been towed.
As they wrapped up the segment, I read the chyron at the bottom of the screen:
BILLIONAIRE CEO DUBBED ‘FATHER CHRISTMAS’ AFTER RESCUING REJECTED TREES
I lost it completely. “They even made a website?” I wheezed, clutching my stomach. This had clearly turned into something that I could not unfuck.
The anchor returned, all heart-eyes and sincerity.
“Truly an inspiring reminder that even the forgotten can shine again. For those wanting to join the cause, visit Mr. Mitchell’s website for his rescue tree foundation, where lots are showcasing their brown trees that will be chipped if not rescued. ”
I shut off the TV, still laughing.
“Father Christmas,” I snickered again at the title I’d been calling Jim all weekend since the—
Oh shit.
That’s how he’d know I was behind this. Oh, fuck me. Jacob Mitchell, why would you let them label him that?
Good God, when Jim walked through the door now, all I could do was hope that his only retaliation for this was letting my apple pie get cold.