Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

JINGLING, NIX THE MINGLING

Holly

I vy and Merry veto my choice of outfit and makeup, instructing me to take off several layers of the former and add several layers of the latter. I’m numb enough that I allow them to take over, which results in my walking into the North Pole Social Club wearing a silver sequined minidress and a smoky eye. Delphina and Quinn, who were tasked with holding down a table until we arrive, both do double-takes.

“You’re fire,” Quinn tells me.

“Holly Jolly, who knew you had this side?” Delphina cracks.

I tug at the top of the strapless dress Merry lent me and give them both a look. It’s a minidress on my sister. I have five inches on her, so it’s more like a long tube top on me. “Just so you know, I am not dressing for the male gaze. I did this for me.”

“Sing it, sister,” Delph agrees.

“She did it because she was completely zoned out while we got her ready,” Ivy explains.

“And one more thing,” I add, pointing around the red velvet settee. “I only want to jingle. Not mingle.”

The social club’s annual party is known for its strong singles vibe. The absolutely last thing I want to do is flirt.

“Noted,” Merry says. “Yes to dancing, no to flirting. What about jangling?”

I give her a blank look. “What?”

“The signature drink tonight is the Jingle Jangle Peppermint Espresso Martini,” she explains. “Because the coffee will make your nerves jangle.”

“Oh. Oooh. Bells, yeah to jangling!”

“Did you just say … bells, yeah?” Delph paints me with a pained look.

I start to laugh, then I remember where I heard the phrase and the laugh turns into a growl. Ivy flags down a tuxedoed waiter. “Quick, we need five Jingle Jangles.” She jerks a thumb at me. “It’s an emergency.”

The waiter gives us a wide grin. “Got it.”

When the drinks arrive, I’m just finished catching everyone up with the whole saga. We thank the server profusely. He must hear enough of my sad tale to understand our mission because he says, “I’ll just keep them coming.”

Quinn rewards him with a bright smile. “Perfect.”

We raise the martini glasses in a toast. “To jingling,” Merry says.

“And jangling,” Ivy adds.

“And us,” I declare.

We throw back the drinks and I can tell the Jingle Jangle is going to be dangerous. It’s sweet, creamy, and has a kick.

“I can’t believe Anderson left Tabitha in the woods,” Delphina says.

“I can’t believe Jack didn’t know about Holly and Anderson,” Quinn counters.

Ivy gapes at them. “I can’t believe Jack is Jackie Freaking Samuel’s son!”

Merry nods her agreement. “That is the biggie.”

“It is, right?” I say. “Like that’s a huge secret to keep from your girl—lawyer.”

“Girl—lawyer? Is that like a Girl Friday?” Delph wants to know.

I feel the blush creep up my neck. “I was going to say girlfriend, but that’s not what I am. Was. Am?”

“Ouch. You’ve got it bad. Come on, time to jingle.” Quinn pulls me to my feet and the five of us hit the dance floor.

We form a tight ring and dance our booties off, our hips swaying and our hair flying, as the bass reverberates in my chest. The sequins on my borrowed dress catch the lights, sending tiny sparkles across the floor. Whenever someone tries to encroach on our circle, Merry tells them our coven isn’t interested in men except when we need a human sacrifice. After the third time, the news must spread because nobody will meet our eyes, let alone approach us.

We collapse back on the settee for another round of martinis. The red velvet is hot against my bare legs. Above us, silver tinsel dangles from a crystal chandelier drip, and everywhere the scents of peppermint, alcohol, and coffee mingle with perfume and sweat emanating from the dance floor. It’s both gross and exactly what I need.

“How’d you come up with the human sacrifice bit?” I ask Merry.

“Aunt MJ.”

“That tracks.”

Ivy sips her fresh drink. “You do know why you’re so mad at Jack, right?”

“Because he’s a jerk?”

Merry shakes her head. “No. Because you opened up about your deepest hurt and he kept quiet about his biggest secret.”

I sit with this for a minute. Then I say, “Which is very unfair.”

We drink in silence until Ivy clears her throat. “Only you don’t like to talk about Anderson because you’re trying to protect yourself from reliving a really crappy experience. But Jack kept his identity a secret to protect his family business, not himself.”

She’s deduced this motive from another article that I showed them about the Jackie Samuel publishing empire. Apparently, Jack has until the end of the year to convince the board he can be trusted with the business. She thinks he was afraid if he told anyone who he was, the news of his arrest would spread. And maybe she’s right, but I was his girl—lawyer. He should have told me.

I’m about to make this point, when Delphina says, “Unlike some people who shall remain nameless but whose initials are AWC, Jack hurt you because he’s loyal, not because he’s a disloyal snake.”

She has a point. But still. Regardless of Jack’s motive, he did hurt me. I drain my glass. “More jingling!”

We hit the dance floor until our feet hurt and we need to cool down. Then we weave our way through the throng of gyrating bodies and return to find five more martinis arriving at the table just as we do.

I’m definitely feeling the effect of the drinks, so I sip this one more slowly. “So what should I do?”

“Accept it,” Merry says with conviction.

“ Accept it ?” I do not like this advice.

“Accept that whatever you have with him is imperfect. He broke your trust. But that doesn’t mean you throw out the whole man,” Ivy expounds.

Quinn shrugs as if to say, well, you could .

Delphina says, “I think what your drunk sisters are trying to say is that sometimes people deserve second chances. Anderson did not. Maybe Jack does. Maybe he doesn’t. Just let it play out.”

"Just let it play out?”

“Just let it play out,” she repeats.

Her words spin around me like snowflakes. Or maybe that’s my head spinning. It’s hard to tell. Part of me wants to argue, to demand a plan of action, to take charge the way I always do. But maybe Delph is right. Maybe sometimes you have to let things unfold naturally.

“Okay,” I finally say.

“Okay.” She gives my hand a squeeze.

We finish our drinks, the world’s best waiter pours us into a Sober Sleigh, and I fall asleep on the way home with my head lolling on someone’s shoulder.