Mistletoe Miracle

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

The first hour was a masterpiece of accidental dual dialogue.

Evan, convinced she was the most talented actress he had ever encountered, decided to give her the test of a lifetime.

“Tell me about your background,” Evan prompted, swirling the pale gold Sancerre in his glass. “Where are you from? What were you studying before you decided to focus on… this opportunity?” He used the word ‘opportunity’ pointedly, hoping she would slip and use the word ‘audition’ or ‘gig.’

Serenity answered truthfully, believing she was sharing her life with the man her father hoped would cherish her.

“I grew up here in the city, mostly. Just outside the financial district, on the other side of the tracks, literally,” she joked, forcing a light laugh. “I never went to college. I tried community college for a semester—a nursing assistant program—but the shifts at the cafe made it impossible. So, I’m a professional waitress. I’ve mastered the flat white and the art of knowing exactly when a customer needs a refill before they ask for it.”

Evan stared at her, genuinely floored. Most actresses, even methodical ones, would invent a better cover story than ‘professional waitress.’ But Serenity delivered the line with such unpretentious sincerity, such a casual acceptance of her modest life, that it felt like an indictment of his own privileged existence.

She is brilliant. She’s giving me the perfect backstory for the family: humble, hardworking, practical. She’s playing the anti-elite, the grounded reality check I supposedly need.

“The art of anticipation,” Evan mused, leaning forward again. “That’s a critical skill. Knowing what a person needs before they ask. Do you apply that philosophy to other areas of your life? For instance, to people?”

“Of course,” Serenity replied instantly, thinking of her father's ever-changing needs. “That’s all life is, isn’t it? Anticipation. My whole world right now revolves around it. Knowing when to talk, when to listen, when to distract. Sometimes, you have to push aside what you want and just focus on delivering the exact moment of comfort or stability that someone else needs.”

Evan felt an unexpected jolt—a moment of resonance that cut through his cynical armor. His own life was nothing but anticipation: anticipating market shifts, anticipating the board’s reaction, anticipating his competitors’ moves. But she was applying it to caring.

“That’s… a professional grade commitment to empathy,” Evan conceded, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. “I don’t usually see that level of genuine dedication, even in my executive team.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” Serenity said, a shadow passing over her eyes. She thought of her father fading away, his small requests for simple things—a certain blanket, a certain song—becoming huge, monumental tasks.

Evan saw the shadow and interpreted it as the actress deepening the performance. She’s letting me see the emotional cost of her ‘commitment.’ It's a calculated vulnerability push. It's fantastic.

“So, you’re here because of a need for ‘stability,’ and you excel at anticipating others’ needs,” Evan summarized, trying to keep track of the complex, unspoken contract he thought they were negotiating. “Let’s discuss the core mission. My family legacy, Sterling Corp, is a billion-dollar entity. I need to demonstrate to my grandmother, who is old-fashioned and frankly, a hawk, that I have a serious, committed partner who is not only a good fit for my professional life but is also… genuine.”

Serenity's cheeks flushed. “Genuine. Yes, I promise you, I am genuine. My father wouldn’t have connected us otherwise.” She felt a pang of guilt. Was she being genuine, accepting this strange, paid arrangement? No, but her motivation was genuine.

“I believe you are, Serenity,” Evan said, a slow, genuine smile returning. He was genuinely impressed. “You have a rare talent for conveying authenticity. It’s perfect for the role. The only thing you should adjust is the aesthetic. While the… humble look is a brilliant opening statement, moving forward, we need to curate a more, shall we say, sophisticated presence for the family events. Brandt, my assistant, will handle the wardrobe and grooming budget.”

Wardrobe and grooming budget. Serenity closed her eyes for a split second, taking a breath that smelled of expensive espresso and French pastries. He's trying to help me look the part of a 'stable partner' so his grandmother believes me. He wasn't insulting her clothes; he was financing her transformation so she could fulfill her father's wish to see her "looked after."

“I… I appreciate the proactive planning, Evan,” she murmured, lifting her glass. “It’s a lot to process, but I’m ready to commit to this. Completely.”

For the next hour, they didn't talk about contracts, grandmothers, or acting. They simply talked, and the conversation flowed with an ease that shocked Evan. He, the man who considered small talk a tactical weakness, found himself speaking about his earliest memory of Sterling Corp’s gleaming lobby—the feeling of destiny settling on his shoulders at age ten.

Serenity, forgetting her performance anxiety and her debt, spoke about her love for old books and the quiet, fierce dignity of her father, a man who, despite everything, always insisted they had "enough."

“I respect that,” Evan said, listening intently as Serenity described working three jobs to keep their small apartment. “The drive. The relentless pursuit of enough. Most people I meet only focus on the pursuit of more. It’s refreshing.”

“It’s not refreshing; it’s survival,” Serenity corrected gently, feeling comfortable enough now to challenge him slightly. “But my dad always said that the truly stable person is the one who finds satisfaction in the quiet things. In the community. Not the noise of the market.”

Evan leaned back, running a hand through his dark hair. The sheer, unvarnished honesty of her statement struck him deep in the gut. He had spent his entire adult life chasing the noise, the crescendo of billion-dollar success, and he was undeniably successful, yet perpetually empty.

She’s trying to ground me, he realized. This is the heart of the agency’s strategy—to provide a philosophical counterweight to my corporate cynicism. And it’s working. He found himself genuinely wanting to hear more of her quiet, stable philosophy. The contrast to his high-stakes world was intoxicating.

“So, if you could choose any career, Serenity, knowing what you know, what would you do?” Evan asked, a genuine curiosity replacing his business calculation.

Serenity’s eyes lit up, the green-grey shimmering with an unforced passion. “A children’s librarian. A tiny library in a small town. A place where I could connect a quiet child with the perfect book at the perfect time. No rush, no tips, just pure, slow connection.”

Evan imagined the scene: Serenity, bathed in soft afternoon light, guiding a child’s finger across a dusty spine. The image was intensely peaceful, a stark contrast to his own life of perpetual motion and high-wattage glare.

“A beautiful ambition,” Evan conceded. “Perhaps one day you can achieve it.”

“Perhaps,” Serenity sighed, the weight of her reality returning. “But right now, the only ambition is making sure my father is happy. He needs to know I have a life beyond the cafe. A life that has… prospects.”

She looked directly at him, and the vulnerability was so raw, so potent, that Evan felt a sudden, protective urge he hadn't experienced since he was a teenager looking out for his younger sister. He was falling, hard and fast, for the performance.

“Consider your prospects secured,” Evan said, his tone decisive. He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. His touch was warm and firm. “I am a man of my word. This… arrangement, this partnership, will give you exactly the stability your father desires.”

Serenity felt a rush of emotion—relief, gratitude, and a thrilling, unfamiliar warmth that had nothing to do with her father’s request. She pulled her hand away gently, her cheeks burning.

“Thank you, Evan,” she whispered. “Thank you for being the kind and caring man my father told me you were.”

Kind? Caring? Evan thought. He was paying an actress ten thousand dollars to play his fiancée to trick his grandmother. But the words, spoken with such genuine gratitude, settled comfortably on his shoulders. He liked the feeling of being seen as kind and caring by her.

“I need to make sure we’re aligned on the details,” Evan continued, bringing his business brain back online to manage the complexity of the lie he was orchestrating. “This is a demanding role, Serenity. You must be available for two corporate functions next week, one dinner with my grandmother, and one small lunch with my sister. You must familiarize yourself with my history, my company’s trajectory, and a list of key family names Brandt will provide. Do you have a smartphone? Brandt will text you the briefing materials tomorrow.”

Serenity frowned slightly. Corporate functions? Trajectory? This was far more elaborate than a simple first date.

“I have a phone,” she confirmed. “But I don’t think I need a briefing book on your company. I’m just here to get to know you, Evan. What matters is the connection, the chemistry. I’m not applying for an executive position.”

Evan felt a flash of irritation at her resistance—a momentary break in the flawless performance. Is she trying to imply she's above the research?

“Serenity,” Evan said, his voice tightening with his CEO authority. “The connection is important, yes, but the presentation is non-negotiable. My grandmother will ask you about my upcoming merger with Helios Tech. If you don’t know the key players and the valuation, the facade crumbles. This is a high-stakes, high-wire act, not a casual chat. You are representing me. You need to be prepared.”

Serenity felt the familiar sting of class difference. She realized he didn't just want her to be a 'stable partner'; he wanted her to be a competent, financially aware trophy—someone who could discuss billion-dollar mergers while smiling sweetly. It was exactly the world she was outside of, the world she couldn't afford. But she was doing this for her father. She had to try.

“I understand,” she said, her shoulders squaring with renewed determination. “I’ll read everything Brandt sends. Consider me fully briefed and committed.”

The fierce determination in her eyes was startling. Evan felt his irritation melt into sheer intrigue. She wasn't just talented; she was driven.

“Good,” Evan said, nodding curtly. “Brandt will coordinate everything. Now, let’s leave the corporate talk aside. Tell me more about this tiny library fantasy. Is there a specific town?”

Serenity smiled, a genuine, warm smile that reached her eyes, and Evan felt a deeper, more dangerous crack in his cynical shield.

As Serenity described a fictional town she had once read about—a place with quiet rivers and a covered bridge—Evan watched her. He was captivated by the sheer, unforced light of her presence. He was paying this woman ten thousand dollars to lie to his family, and yet, in this moment, talking about covered bridges, he felt more seen, more understood, than he had in years. The professional transaction, the elaborate lie, had unexpectedly given birth to a thrilling, bewilderingly authentic connection.

The evening ended with a promise and confusion.

“I enjoyed our conversation, Serenity,” Evan said, standing up outside the café. He put a hand lightly on her elbow, a possessive, territorial gesture he hadn't intended. “I’ll be in touch. Brandt will contact you tomorrow morning with your schedule and the first installment of your retainer.”

“I enjoyed it, too, Evan,” Serenity replied, looking up at him with utterly sincere eyes. “You’re not exactly the sweet, steady man my father described. But I think you might be better. Kinder, in a way that truly matters.”

She turned and walked away, her borrowed dress swirling slightly.

Evan stood there, dumbfounded. Kinder? He was paying her to be a pawn in his inheritance game. But as he watched her disappear into the city night, he didn’t feel like a cynical tycoon. He felt like a man who had just stumbled upon a genuine, flawless diamond he had paid for, thinking it was cubic zirconia.

He pulled out his phone, texting Brandt: Cancel Talia Vance. The replacement is perfect. Double her retainer. Triple the prep material. And Brandt, don’t let her out of my sight.

Serenity, walking toward the subway station, clutched her worn purse. She had a strange, exhilarating feeling of hope mixed with the bitter taste of having accepted payment for her heart. I’ll do this for Dad. And maybe… maybe Evan Sterling, the powerful, confusing man who solves problems with kindness and cash, could truly be the stability I need.

They had sealed their agreement—a stunning, dazzling commitment built on two perfectly opposing lies. The web was spun, and both of them, believing they were in control, had walked directly into the center of the trap.