S nowflakes danced and swirled outside her windows as Jane considered whether or not to call. She could have a fire and some cocoa, read a book while the flames crackled .

She could. But she wouldn’t. Her little project was consuming her. She’d met with Ian several times over the last week, and he was shaping up nicely. So nicely, that she’d had a thought—her annual dinner party was a perfect time to test Ian, to see how he held up for the Ladies. The whole point of the event was to reveal her décor. And it was fair, after all—Ian had helped with every bit of the decoration this year .

Looking around, Jane had to admit it turned out better than usual, too. It wasn’t even any of her newer pieces, it was just that Ian had an eye. He’d been right when he’d encouraged her to move her collection of wreaths from the staircase to the hallway where they could be better seen. It had made all the difference .

In fact, the more she looked, the more she liked. If only Christmas could stay all year, she thought for the thousandth time. Not just Christmas, but this Christmas. This Christmas of Ian .

O Tannenbaum came on the radio, and she hummed along. Should she call, or not call? She sang the question along to the tune .

It was just that they needed to spend even more time together if they were going to fake a relationship. And, more importantly, if she were to ensure that the lessons in better living she’d been giving him were going to stick .

Not because she missed his company. She didn’t need company, never had .

The walls, bare of photographs, stared accusingly back at her. But photos of her exes, Fluffers, her lunch crowd, and her deceased family would only serve to make her look sad. And think of how much longer it would take to pull them down before putting up her Christmas flare? The wreaths were definitely a far more festive option .

“O, Holy night…should I call Iiiiiiiaaaan,” Jane sang along to the next song. She flipped open her iPad and began to look through dress ideas to find one specifically to show up the bride on Christmas Eve .

Was that bright red silk with the white fur wrap too tacky? It was so Christmas, though, and both pieces were completely reusable. In fact, the red dress would be just the thing for her décor party .

She considered that the all-white satin that would make her look positively like a Christmas angel. All white might be too obvious that she was showing up Andy, though, so perhaps not. It stayed on her Pinterest board, though, because it, too, would work for the dinner party .

She let her mind wander to the delicious thought of what Ian might look like in a suit. A proper suit, Italian-made and tailored, with a wool-cashmere blend. Not the all-purpose suit he already owned that was likely purchased from JC Penney .

His suit !

She’d completely forgotten that she intended to buy him a new one. She’d have to work on that even sooner now that he’d need it for her dinner as well as for the wedding. Not that he knew about the dinner yet .

There was only one thing to do, and it was a brilliant slaying of all the birds with a single stone, or phone call, as the case may be .

“Yes, hello, Ian?” she said when his familiar rumble answered the phone. She tamped down the thrill in her tummy at the sound, knowing it was only about her plans coming together. “Are you free to meet me in an hour at Astor & Black on Summer? Wonderful, I’ll see you shortly .”

Now, forget her dress for the wedding—what was Jane going to wear to meet with him now ?

The answer presented itself immediately when she opened her closet. The Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dress in gold and green hugged her curves perfectly while also maintaining the sort of professionalism that befit a paid relationship like the one she had with Ian. (Was there such a thing that befit a relationship like theirs?) Plus, the colors were perfectly seasonal while not being overtly Christmas-y. No one ever appreciated the amount of thought she put into these things, but it was gratifying just to feel good .

Forty-five minutes later, she was gently stroking just the type of fabric she’d been daydreaming about putting Ian in as she waited for him .

Five minutes after that, her breath was leaving her as he strode into the store and struck her all over again with just how handsome he was. Yes, she mused, she had really lucked out when she’d found him. He was twice as good-looking as the men who typically graced the social pages, if half as cultured .

He saw her and grinned, and her stomach dropped. Yes, she’d definitely lucked out .

A stray snowflake melted on his eyelash, and she shook herself. They had work to do, and it didn’t involve her getting googly-eyed over the fact that her fake date was very good-looking .

“You’re early,” she stated, but it was a compliment. The fashionably late entrance was only for women. More specifically, only for women who didn’t understand how much work goes into pulling off an event where people should really be respectful enough to show up when the invitation tells them to .

She still begrudged Parker Winthrop the entire bottle of Dom that was wasted when she chose to show up after cocktails and distract the other guests from theirs at the Christmas dinner she’d hosted four years ago .

Naturally, she continued to invite Parker, it would be unseemly not to. However, her drinks were a bit short each time, and in another four years, Jane calculated they would again be even .

“I was excited,” Ian was saying as she refocused on him. “I never thought I’d be in a store like this. It’s gonna be some wedding, huh, Jane ?”

“You have no idea,” she assured him. “But we will be the most interesting pair there.” And they would be even more interesting if people knew the truth. So she had to ensure they never would .

Which meant the outfit they settled on had to be perfect .

“I’d love to see you in something like this,” she pointed at a three-piece suit with a bow tie that Justin Timberlake would look just scrumptious in .

Ian, she was certain, would look equally scrumptious. If not more so. Her breath stuttered in her chest just imagining it .

“Okay,” Ian said, ever the willing subject. It was another reason he was so perfect. “But what will you be wearing? I like your dress tonight, by the way. Very seasonal without being over-the-top .”

Jane smiled as her heart picked up speed. She was thrilled with his compliment, and only partially because this attention to detail was exactly what would ensure their success .

“I must admit I haven’t selected an outfit yet. I think I’ve narrowed it down to a red silk or a white satin. Whichever one I choose, a dark grey suit like this will coordinate. It’s very modern, and men’s fashion doesn’t change at the pace of women’s, so I’m certain you’ll get plenty of wear out of it .”

A solicitous salesman lurking nearby wisely chose that moment to offer a dressing room to Ian, where he’d taken the liberty of selecting a couple of styles. Jane perched on the edge of a chair, eager to see her vision come to life. It was hard not to fidget as she waited anxiously for him to appear. Was it untoward to offer to come in and help him ?

Yes, probably so. She’d have to be patient .

When Ian finally pulled open the velvet curtain, she could have fallen out of her seat .

The man in front of her was a vision, indeed. The pants fit him like a dream, snug in all the right areas. His muscles strained the sleeves of the jacket, leaving it open for her to admire the cut of the vest against the crisp white shirt .

It was only with a bit of an effort that she managed to smile and not gape .

“I think we’ve found a winner, don’t you?” she asked the tailor, who nodded and fetched his measuring tape and notebook .

“Now, I’m partial to the Milanese style of tailoring, and I think the structure would emphasize your physique,” she told him, gently running her hand over his shoulders–damn, those shoulders. They were solid rock. It might be bad form to fondle the help, but tailoring was a hands-on business .

“Milanese style?” he asked as her touch lingered on his deliciously formed biceps. Testing the fit, of course .

She opened the curtain again and gently turned him around so she could show him her meaning in his reflection .

“The cuffs,” she touched his wrists, “should be a mere quarter inch over your wrist when your arms are at your sides. It gives you the precise amount of room you need to gesture, or raise a glass, without falling prey to a shortened sleeve .”

The tailor deftly unfurled his tape and then jotted down the number, while Jane let her eyes roam over Ian .

“Here, see—the shoulders tend to be a bit more structured, which will balance your biceps perfectly.” As she spoke, her fingers were skimming again. And was it just her or was he enjoying that a little? His eyes, when she met them in the mirror, seemed to have darkened .

The tailor finished taking his measurements and told them he was finished. Ian scrubbed his hands over his face and then back through his hair .

“Not that,” she told him. “It makes you look nervous .”

“I am a little nervous,” he smiled to her reflection. “You make me nervous .”

Did he mean the wedding, or did he also feel the undeniable attraction between them that she felt whenever she allowed herself to admit it? The fact that they were, for the moment, alone did not escape her .

“There’s something we haven’t covered,” Jane said, her voice breathier than usual. “I’m attracted to you, physically.” She’d been attracted to Blake too. Funny how she hadn’t felt this timid when she’d had the similar conversation with him .

Which was silly. This was important. Part of the job she’d hired him for, so to say .

She threw her shoulders back and addressed the situation straight on. “But attraction isn’t a guarantee of compatibility. There also has to be chemistry. People will notice from a mile away if we don’t have that. Perhaps we should try a kiss. It should make us more comfortable around each other, and will also prepare us just in case we have to be affectionate at the wedding.” Not that she could guess what sort of situation that would be .

“Just in case,” Ian said. This time, it was his hand she watched in the mirror as he stroked the back of it down her cheek before turning her to face him—the real him. His eyes searched hers, perhaps for confirmation that this was what she really wanted as he leaned slowly down .

And to show him how much she really, really wanted it, she went up on her tiptoes and met him halfway .

And then his lips were on hers, and she could hardly breathe for how very compatible they were. Forgetting completely that this was meant to be a mere test, she parted her mouth gently, and Ian immediately deepened the kiss. His tongue was warm and tasted of peppermint, and all Jane could think was, “Oh .”

There was no way on earth that Blake could have made her feel like this .

Which was why she slipped her hands beneath the jacket and gently removed it, in order to better enjoy the feel of his pecs under her palms. She imagined the kiss moving further, imagined Ian untying her wrap dress. Letting it fall, to pool around her ankles, exposing her. Unwrapping her just for him .

She’d have let him if he’d tried. That’s how compatible they were .

In fact, making out with Ian was so sexy, so all-consuming, so knee-weakening, that she had forgotten entirely that they were still in a velvet-curtained dressing room until she heard a gentle cough from outside .

With a final lingering kiss, Ian released her .

She turned away toward the mirror so she could fix her lipstick while she berated herself. What on earth had she been thinking ?

She wasn’t, that was the trouble .

The burn was hot on her cheeks as she wondered just what the salesman must be thinking. What Ian must be thinking .

After all, this was never a sex-for-hire arrangement, and her behavior had been entirely wanton just then .

She peeked up from retying a perfect bow at her waist to meet Ian’s eyes once more in the mirror .

He was smirking at her, but not unkindly .

“Whoops,” he muttered. A breath of relief whooshed out of Jane’s mouth .

“Whoops,” she agreed .

“For what it’s worth, I think the chemistry is going to read just fine .”

She bit back a grin as he adjusted himself. “Just fine, indeed.” Then she squared her shoulders and turned, prepared to open the curtain and face the music .

“Madam, sir,” the tailor waiting outside politely said. “Although it is entirely against store policy, I, too, have often found tailoring to be a bit of a hands-on business .”

Jane felt entirely justified .