Chapter 41
All at once, the world faded into a blur. A loud, high-pitched ring pierced Graham’s ears as his thoughts spiraled into a panic.
Hollywood Today, here in Mistletoe Grove? It could only mean one thing.
Watching the van peel out down the street, Graham felt his heart start to race. Code red, we have a code red, Bartlett. The paparazzi have officially arrived—and judging by the look of it, they’re chasing a red hot lead.
Head buzzing, he fought to remain calm. Of all times for catastrophe to strike. Good grief, he’d just gotten his promotion locked down.
Well, almost locked down.
His heart sank into his stomach. There went his shot at the good life. He cursed silently under his breath. Late-night emails, all-day press junkets, now down the toilet in the blink of an eye.
An eye that was currently coated in road slush. He wiped the splatter kicked up by the van from his mug. How long would it be, he wondered, until those lousy muckrakers discovered where he and Coco were hiding? It certainly wouldn’t take long. Not in a whistle stop like Mistletoe Grove.
The cold air hit him as he heaved a full-body sigh. This was just the reason why he didn’t put stock in holiday magic. Because instead of getting his own Christmas miracle, what he’d wound up with was his Christmas goose cooked to a crisp.
There was one thing he didn’t understand, though. How had they been found? He hadn’t breathed a word back in LA about where he was headed for the holidays. Mostly because he’d have sooner sworn off his daily iced soy latte than admit he hailed from this Podunk town.
Could it have been possible that word had gotten out while they’d been here?
Graham certainly didn’t see how that could have been possible.
Despite the innumerable other ways this trip had laughed at their plans, somehow, by some miracle, Coco had managed to keep her head down. It simply didn’t add up.
The sound of Brent’s voice then yanked Graham out of his thoughts. “Imagine that. Hollywood Today, here in Mistletoe Grove. Maybe I’ll get to see The Cozy Mug on TV!”
And just like that, everything made sense.
“You!” Wheeling around, Graham jammed his finger into Brent’s chest.
Brent’s firm, full, nuzzle-your-face-between-those-two-burly-pecs chest.
He suddenly felt himself go weak in the knees.
But not for long. Adamant, he pulled himself back to his senses. Don’t you dare go soft now, Bartlett. You’ve just sniffed out the enemy.
Although, if he was being honest, going soft was in fact the opposite of the problem he needed to worry about.
“You did this!”
Reeling, Brent fell back in shock. “What are you talking about?” A silent beat followed as the gears in his head turned. His face went slack-jawed as the realization clicked. “Wait, you think I—”
“I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming.”
“Graham, why would I—”
“You’d sure like to see The Cozy Mug on TV, wouldn’t you? Some free publicity—just in time for Christmas—that would be just the ticket, wouldn’t it? Maybe it could even keep you from going under.”
The accusation lit Brent’s eyes on fire. “That doesn’t mean I’d—”
“It all makes perfect sense. The moment you figured out Coco’s true identity, you realized you were sitting on a golden opportunity.”
“Graham, listen—”
“It wasn’t hard, was it? Just one quick phone call with a juicy story tip you knew the media would be dying to scoop.”
“Come on, Graham, I swear—”
“Hell, with enough buzz, you could save the whole town.”
Brent inhaled sharply as if working to control himself. “Graham, you don’t honestly think I’d—”
“You’d be Mistletoe Grove’s hero.” Pacing, Graham teetered on the verge of rage. “And once you had clout like that, you’d never have to worry about business again.”
Somehow, the night seemed to get even colder in the silence that followed.
“I just hope it was worth it,” Graham went on. “Because by salvaging what’s left of your dreams, you just obliterated my shot at mine.” He exhaled a deep breath. “Burns is going to go nuclear when he finds out.”
Brent swallowed hard as if to silence his nerves. “Graham, I know what this looks like, but I swear, I would never—”
“Save your breath, man. Everyone’s got an angle. It’s just the way it is.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “That’s on me for thinking you’d be any different. This damn Christmas spirit nonsense got to me, I guess.”
The mention of Christmas seemed to dim Brent further. “Graham, please don’t give up on what makes this season special just because of a little hiccup.”
Graham suddenly looked like a volcano ready to erupt.
“A little hiccup? You used me, Brent!” Storming about, Graham had officially entered a rage state.
“All this talk about falling for me, about still feeling a connection after all these years, it was nothing but a lie.” He stopped in his tracks, processing.
“God, to think you had the nerve to accuse me of dishonesty, while here you were orchestrating your own scheme all along.”
Brent looked like he’d just taken an arrow to the chest. “Please ask yourself, Graham. Do you honestly think I would sabotage you just so I could—”
“I don’t have time for this.” Without ceremony, Graham stormed back into the house. It was time to do damage control.
Inside, he marched to the stairwell, not even bothering to acknowledge his mother and their now lipstick-smeared Mayor on the couch.
“Coco, we have to get out of here—now!” He tapped his fingers on the banister.
The paparazzi may not have cornered them yet, but he knew better than to underestimate those hacks.
If they risked staying put, those lousy scribblers would surely sniff them out before long.
But, if they hightailed it pronto, maybe—just maybe—they still had a chance of getting out of this unscathed.
“Coco!” he called out again.
He waited for a response.
Nothing.
He grumbled under his breath. Was Coco really that heavy of a sleeper? A growing sense of unease began welling up inside him. Why wasn’t she answering?
One last try, Graham, he told himself. Sucking in his breath, he unleashed his voice at the top of his lungs. “Coco! Wake up!”
What followed, though, was simply more of the same.
Silence.
An icy grip seized his chest. Something was not right.
Heart racing, he bounded up the stairs. “Coco! Did you hear me? It’s go-time, sister!”
But as he swung his bedroom door open, the scene he discovered made his pulse flatline.
Coco Holliday was nowhere to be found.
All at once, the world started spinning. Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. This is not happening.
A flashback from earlier that evening filled his mind’s eye.
Even in the moment, the idea of West Hollywood’s most infamous party princess passing up a social occasion—even one as folksy as his mother’s Christmas party—just to observe a sensible bedtime had seemed majorly fishy.
Still, Graham hadn’t bothered to question it.
With how chaotic this trip had been, it only felt fair that at least something would go right.
Boy, had he been wrong.
Coco choosing to hit the sack before dawn had seemed too good to be true because it had been too good to be true.
He cursed under his breath. Coco hadn’t turned down a fun night—she’d simply ditched their sorry attempt at a party in search of an actual good time.
Good luck with that, scoffed a voice in his head. You might as well cold-call an A-list Hollywood talent agent as happen upon an exciting night out in sleepy Mistletoe Grove.
Still, one question remained. How had she managed her getaway? Surely, someone downstairs would have noticed if she’d tried to sneak out the front.
And then he felt it. A cool night breeze gently grazing his skin.
His eyes darted across to the open bedroom window.
“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath.
Well, that answered that.
He kicked the bed leg, cursing as his big toe throbbed in pain.
This was exactly why getting distracted by Brent had been such a bad idea.
He’d been so preoccupied getting swept up in love—and, if he was being honest, lust—he’d completely lowered his guard around Coco. And now, he was paying for it big-time.
To think he’d been dumb enough to believe Coco had turned over a new leaf. That she’d suddenly left her party girl exploits behind thanks to the wholesome, small-town influence of Mistletoe Grove.
God, what a laugh.
For all he knew, she was at this very moment six Fireball shots in, turning a tabletop into her own personal dance floor at one of the local dives.
Meanwhile, Hollywood Today was hot on her trail.
This was by definition as bad as things could get.
Maybe it wasn’t too late, though. Maybe, if he moved fast, he could scoop Coco up before the paparazzi found her.
And dealt a death blow to both of their careers.
His resolve renewed, Graham bounded back down the stairs. His mother and Brent waited attentively at the foot.
“I’ll come with,” Brent offered after Graham’s rapid-fire explanation.
Graham, however, was in no mood for assistance. Least of all from the person who’d helped put him in this mess.
“Hard pass,” he answered on his way out the door. Before disappearing, though, he stopped to lock eyes with Brent for a final beat. “And to think I had almost changed my mind for you.”
The slam of the door behind him sent a rattle through the entire house.
“Now, what do you suppose he meant by that?” his mother mused aloud.