Chapter 4
Grant
If there was a dignified way to plunge into a pool bobbing with ice cubes while tangled with your tug-of-war partner, I hadn’t found it. Then again, nothing involving Valerie Spellman ever left me looking professional or feeling particularly ethical.
I tore my gaze off Valerie and the guy from Team Mistletoe, plotting over cocoa like old friends.
She was huddled under a towel, wet hair plastered to her cheeks, a far cry from the polished princess dripping with sunshine she usually portrayed.
And still, even half-frozen and bare-faced, she could turn a rival into a wingman with one curve of her lips.
Well, except for me. I was never on the receiving end of a genuine smile.
All of mine were laced with poison.
Which was for the best. She was gorgeous, there was no denying that, but I wasn’t a glutton for punishment.
One real smile and she’d probably trap me in one of her magical meet-cute snares.
The kind that would have me mail-ordering her flowers from the East Coast. But I was smarter than that.
I had no plans to add to the flower graveyard she watered with the tears of her minions.
It was no secret that the two of us were each other’s office villain. Some people had work spouses; I had a work arch-nemesis. Valerie might use her magic to bring other people together, but with me, every word and every look was a targeted strike.
And I didn’t just take it; I gave it right back. It was the strangest relationship in my life, and oddly, it felt like the only real one. At least it had a pulse, unlike the glazed-over, quietly condemning encounters with my family.
“Walk with me.” My grandfather’s voice cut through the still-roaring crowd.
He didn’t wait to see if I’d listen. These days, I always did.
There was a time I would have slept straight through his calls, passed out after staying up till dawn.
The funny thing about that time, though?
He never called. I only ever saw him at Christmas, standing stiff in a suit while my extended family posed next to a professionally decorated pine tree for the family photo.
For three hundred and sixty-four days out of the year, I didn’t exist.
Until the accident.
I shoved the memory aside and focused on the wet sand under my shoes as we walked toward the beach. Palm fronds blocked the view of the pool and the buzzing crowd as teams continued to compete.
“You lost your first match,” my grandfather said, leaning one hand against a palm tree. “Keep it up, and you’ll wave goodbye to your winning streak. You still have a long way to go to catch up to Matt’s record.”
My jaw flexed. “We’re still in it. It was one challenge.”
“If you were less distracted by your rivalry with that Sunbelt girl—” His frown deepened. “I don’t know what it is with you two.”
“Her name is Valerie.”
He cut me a sidelong glance, disapproval shadowing his face.
But he should know her name and show some respect.
That rivalry was the only reason I showed up to the office most days.
Valerie’s expectations of me were low, and that was…
refreshing. If she had the nerve to look at me with worship in her eyes, I’d probably quit on the spot.
“The board will be watching you at the luau tonight. They’ll want to see leadership, not a spectacle.”
“Right.” I slung the towel over my shoulder, letting the word hang between us. Then I forced a grin. “I’ll be on my best behavior. I’ll even wear my finest Hawaiian shirt—flamingos in Santa hats and palm trees.”
“You’ll wear a suit. There will be one waiting in your hut.”
He checked his watch. I looked back toward the water, my thumb finding the gold signet ring I’d worn ever since taking Matt’s spot inside the company. It never quite fit. The irony wasn’t lost on me, but it felt wrong to have it resized.
Waves rolled in, licking the shoreline. We were in paradise, a month out from our busiest season. Christmas was the only time of the year when I felt real magic. Not just the kind we wielded, but the kind in the air that promised hope and laughter. But what if that all changed?
This time next year, I’d be in charge of an entire division, along with an experimental team that would either be my legacy or my downfall.
I could charm my way out of a gift bag, schmooze donors blind, even magically MacGyver my way through a miracle or two… but building a legacy?
I barely knew where to start.
I was almost thirty, looking back at a life that blurred from one wild indiscretion to the next.
If it had been me instead of Matt, my memory would’ve been nothing more than a sad, empty stocking hung on the mantle every Christmas.
My family would shake their heads, murmur about wasted potential, and pack me away in the attic with the rest of the holiday decorations.
No substance. No mark left behind. Just a cautionary tale of the guy who’d been a good time at parties.
But knowing I wanted to change and become a leader everyone respected didn't suddenly give me all the answers. We were in the miracle business, and even I knew I was a tough case. Just ask Valerie Spellman.
My grandfather cleared his throat and straightened the front of his button-down shirt. The man was all business, even in the tropics.
“Show up early to greet the board,” he said.
I nodded as he ducked under a palm frond and headed back to the pool. The competition was nearly over for the day. In a few minutes, he’d be up there reviewing scores and announcing tomorrow’s challenge. People listened when he spoke. They always had.
Everyone saw a man who carried the weight of the agency like a mantle of honor. The Delaneys had always doled out tough love draped in tinsel. When I was younger, I used to joke that he had to be Santa’s hard-as-nails boss. How else do you think all those presents got delivered in one night?
I dragged a hand through my hair and scowled. He might be tough… but seriously—
Who wears a suit to a luau?
***
A few hours later, I knocked on Valerie’s hut. With HR breathing down my neck and all eyes on me, I couldn’t risk showing up to the party without my theoretical ball and chain.
The door swung open; the wreath jingling as she filled the doorway. Her gaze skimmed my suit, suspicion flickering across her face as she blurted out the exact same question I’d asked myself on the beach.
The answer: no one. Suits were for funerals and weddings, and my best Hawaiian shirt was hanging unloved in the closet for the moths to enjoy.
But while I was dressed for a wake, Valerie looked ready to raise the dead.
Tiki torchlight bathed her skin, dark curls spilling over her tanned shoulders.
Her dress was tropical print meets temptation, halter-tied and backless.
Twin gold hearts dangled from her ears; the only jewelry she ever wore.
Typical Valerie. Once she found the perfect pair, she never bothered with anything else.
Must be nice. Even her ears had soulmates.
I tugged at my starched collar, the night air suddenly heavy in my lungs, and forced my eyes to safer territory—her feet.
“Who wears three-inch heels to walk through sand?”
She wriggled her toes, the nails painted red like the flowers on her dress. “I’ll be fine, thanks.”
Valerie breezed past me, leaving behind a hint of vanilla and stiletto footprints.
“You’re late,” she tossed back.
“They call it fashionably,” I muttered, falling into step behind her. “And I’m already sweltering in this getup. I’ll probably die of heatstroke.”
“I’ll send carnations,” she drawled, glancing over her shoulder—just in time to catch her heel in the sand. A soft yelp, a flail, and her wide eyes snapped to mine.
Instinct kicked in. My hand found her waist before she could pitch forward. Her back hit my chest, her curls brushing my chin. I cleared my throat, the sound rough as if sand had lodged there, too.
“Careful," I said, "or we’ll have HR-mandated side-by-side caskets.”
She steadied, gaze flicking to where my hand still rested on her hip. “Only you would be morbid in paradise.”
“Only you would send budget-friendly flowers to my funeral.”
Her nose wrinkled as she bent to kick off her heels. Slinging them over her shoulder, she slipped free of my grip and moved down the path.
I swallowed the very brave I told you so.
Ahead, festive music mingled with the crash of waves. Twinkle lights draped the palms, a canopy of a thousand tiny spotlights.
We walked in silence.
Not the comfortable kind.
Tension clung to the balmy air as I searched for something—anything—to say. Small talk was my specialty: weather, sports, whatever meme had gone viral. Nothing too deep.
But Valerie saw straight through all that. And it wasn’t like I could tell her the truth, that I was already in over my head.
She’d love that. She'd probably start a conga line straight to the board, hips swaying to the rhythm of my downfall.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but that only made things worse. All I saw was Valerie in that too-tight tropical dress.
I needed to take the edge off, but one-night stands had long lost their appeal—leaving me alone with a head full of not-so-professional scenarios starring my arch-nemesis.
If she had any clue, she'd make me the case study for her next seminar: Soulmate Red Flags 101.
Which was fine. She wasn’t exactly my dream girl. I didn’t expect my partner to be a walking miracle who ticked every box on her impossible romance checklist.
Valerie slowed, then stopped in the middle of the path. She bounced once on her toes, breaking the silence with an audible curse. Watching her was like watching an elf dressed to kill commit to a decision.
She turned to face me. “We need a plan.”
I narrowed my eyes. “A plan?”
Valerie planted her hand on her hips, the silky fabric of her dress tightening over her curves. “Let’s face it. That last challenge was a disaster. Half the agency expected us to drown each other. Everyone will be watching to see if one of us stabs the other with a limbo pole tonight.”
I tried to hide my grin at her weapon of choice. “A limbo pole? They’re serving dinner. I’d opt for a shrimp skewer. More portable.”
Her growl was unexpectedly cute. “Delaney, I’m being serious. We need to play this differently.”
I tipped my head back, staring at the lightbulb canopy. She wasn’t wrong. If I messed up tonight, I’d also have to worry about my grandfather scanning the pavilion for sharp objects.
“Fine. What do you suggest? Lobotomies?”
Her teeth ground together like she was considering it. “No. Something less surgical. We fake it. For the board. For HR. For all the agents expecting a show.”
Fake it. Of course.
A laugh scraped through my throat. She was offering exactly what I needed to appease my grandfather: an olive branch.
But it wouldn’t be Valerie unless her branch was wrapped in thorns.
She just didn’t know how deep that offer cut.
I wasn’t sure if I could stomach the version of us that was nothing but a detached, spiritless performance.
“No,” I said finally.
She blinked, not expecting that. “No?”
I stepped closer. “Not with each other. We fake it out there.” I jerked my head toward the glow of the pavilion ahead. “But never with each other.”
She paused for a breath, a flicker of something softening her expression. But it vanished as her chin tipped up, her lips curving, slow and dangerous.
“I think I see what you mean. Like this?” Valerie angled her head and addressed a tiki torch like it was a department manager. “Why yes, it was Grant’s genius and thoughtful idea to institute agency-wide healthy snacks in the breakroom. You know what they say, an apple a day…”
Then she shifted her hips, turning back to me as her hands slid up my chest, catching the lapels of my suit and giving them a firm tug.
She went up on her toes and spoke in my ear. “This suit makes you look like a stuffy corporate goon who doesn’t like to have any fun.”
And just like that… all was right in the world. A sardonic smile tugged at my mouth as she dropped back to her heels.
“And the award goes to… Valerie Spellman.” I brushed her hair off her cheek and leaned close enough to feel her breath. “But I thought a man who’s boring, buttoned-up, and prefers doomscrolling to keeping his girlfriend happy was your type.”
Her green eyes flared. “At least he knows how to use his phone for more than swiping right.”
I swallowed a laugh and shook my head. This was one hundred percent going to backfire, but at least it would be fun.
Valerie stepped back and held out her hand like a dare. “All right. That felt good. Tonight we’ll be esteemed colleagues. Maybe even… friends.”
“With benefits?” I arched an eyebrow.
She snorted through her teeth. “You would say that. Friends with fine print.”
I closed my hand over hers and gave it a shake. “Ah, legalese... now who’s the corporate stooge?”
She looked into my eyes, a deep and soulful search. “I’m suddenly reconsidering the lobotomies.”
“Too late, Spells.” I spun her toward the pavilion. “Tonight, we dance on eggshells. Hope you can twirl better than you can walk in those shoes.”
“Don’t you dare say it…”
I nudged her forward. “I told you so.”