My Fake Christmas Fiance (Kane Christmas #1) - Julie Kriss

Chapter 1

December 24 – One Year Ago

From: Penelope Gold

To: Wesley Kane

Subject: You’re ruining my life

Wesley,

What the hell just happened? I walked into a meeting thinking we were going to discuss The Christmas Experience—my father’s company—merging with Kane Co.—your father’s company. I thought we’d do this one last meeting, the final one, and then we’d all be off for the most important day of the year: Christmas Eve.

I thought the meeting was to hammer out money and timelines and legalities. I was ready to discuss those things—I prepared for weeks. I had printouts and PowerPoints ready to go. One last meeting before I left for my Christmas vacation.

But instead of a business discussion, what I found was my father, your father, one lawyer, and you. And none of you wanted to talk about numbers or timelines at all.

Instead, the meeting was about you and me getting married.

As part of the merger deal.

Let me write that again, because it’s legitimately insane. You and I are supposed to get married as part of the merger deal.

I mean, come on. Aside from the fact that such a clause is completely unheard-of, I barely know you. We’ve met—what, five times? Six, including the meeting we just left. We don’t live in the same city. We have nothing in common. I think you even have a girlfriend—or several, maybe, because who keeps track? You’ve made it pretty clear that you think I’m boring and nerdy, when you think about me at all. Which is practically never. Which is fine, because I never think about you, either.

And yet this was my father’s idea. I had to learn in a merger meeting that my father is concerned that I’m going to be single forever. That no man will ever marry me. That he wants to see me “taken care of,” which sounds more like arranging a Mafia hit than a wedding. I had to learn in this meeting that my father thinks I’m completely unmarriageable, and that he is using this merger to correct the problem. And that your father wants this merger badly enough to agree.

I don’t want to get married, even though I’m twenty-nine. And until now Dad has been happy that I’m single, because it means I have more time to work at the company. And I’m sure you, with your string of girlfriends, don’t want to get married either. Yet here we are.

When this stupid idea was proposed by our (possibly senile) fathers, I looked at you, thinking that for once you’d take my side. We could both rebel in solidarity, and the marriage idea would be forgotten forever. We may have nothing in common, but for once I thought we’d have just this one thing.

Instead, you gave me one of those smiles you think is charming—I suppose it works on all of your other women—and said, “I’m in.”

I’m in.

Really?

I can’t even write this right now. I need a drink.

Okay, I’m back. I drank some extra-strong tea, in case you’re wondering if this is a drunken email. It isn’t.

I barely even remember everything that happened in the rest of that meeting. I know I argued a lot. I know I was outnumbered. I know the lawyer already had papers drawn up, because our fathers had figured beforehand that you and I would both agree. I know that if I’d walked out of that meeting the entire merger would be off, a lot of people would lose their jobs, and it would all be my fault.

So somehow we now have papers that say we’re engaged, and we have one year—until next Christmas Eve—to actually get married or the entire merger falls apart. Somehow I’ve signed them. Somehow you have, too.

I don’t want to marry you, and you don’t want to marry me. I don’t want to move to Denver, and you don’t want to move to San Diego. And yet we signed this crazy piece of paper, after which you promptly left the meeting and got on a plane back to Colorado. You even turned off your phone so you and I can’t talk about this, and I’m stuck writing this email.

You don’t seem concerned. So tell me, genius. We’re legally supposed to get married by Christmas Eve next year. Do enlighten me. How, exactly, is this supposed to work?

Regards,

Penelope, the woman whose life you just ruined

From: Wesley Kane

To: Penelope Gold

Subject: Re: You’re ruining my life

Penny,

Relax. You take things way too seriously. I’ve got this under control, okay?

I get that we don’t know each other. You’re