Work Text:
Wearing a Santa costume to the Venturer Media office party isn’t the first mistake Rupert has made in his time with the company, but it certainly feels like the worst one.
He’s not sure why he wanted to dress up as Santa exactly, other than that he’s feeling like getting a few of the lovely office ladies drunk enough to sit on his lap before leaving for his next contract. Christmas spirit has nothing on alcoholic spirits. Only he steps into the crappy building and, despite being overwhelmingly positive from the women, Declan O’Hara very quickly lets him know that the costume is…poorly received.
“What fuck?!” O’Hara yells at him once he’s dragged Rupert into his office and closed the door. “You’re dressed as Santa.”
Rupert looks around. He’s being pranked, right? “It’s Christmas,” he points out.
“It’s December 14th,” Declan deadpans.
“So? Look, do you want to boost morale or not? I know I do. Because of me, your employees get to keep their jobs over the holidays and, if they’re lucky, well into the next five years. That’s worth some jolly ol’ fun, isn’t it?”
He smirks and jiggles the padded belly of his suit, but Declan doesn’t find it funny.
“This is a holiday party,” Declan corrects him. “Not everyone here celebrates Christmas, so we agreed years ago to change the theme to something more secular.”
“Well he’s not really a Saint if that makes it better, he’s just some fat old fuck in a suit.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I’d chastise you for worrying about being ‘cancelled’ or whatever it is they call it these days, but for that you’d actually need to have an online presence,” Rupert grumbles, “which, as of right now…”
“Oh, don’t start with me, Rupert—”
“If you would just listen to me about hiring Caitlin as a social media assistant—”
“Absolutely not—”
“I know she’s young, but the rest of this office knows fuck all about trends, myself included, and if you just offered it to her as an internship while she finishes school—”
“She’s too young, she wouldn’t be able to—”
“Handle it? Yeah, you say all women have that same problem funnily enough,” Rupert bites back.
Criticism, as Rupert has well learned these past three months, does not land well with Declan. He’s stubborn, but most importantly, he’s stubborn with a vision, which has made it even harder to help his business since Declan refuses to adapt to circumstances or feedback.
So naturally, Declan responds to this by marching right into Rupert’s face. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”
“Oh, come off it!” Rupert groans, coolly leaning away from Declan’s intimidation tactic and sauntering over to sit down on Declan’s desk. “You know very well you don’t trust the women of this office as much as the men. I’m not saying it’s intentional, maybe old habits die hard, but this company sure will unless you find people who can manage your mobile app that’s failing so miserably, and that’s Caitlin. I won’t be around for much longer—I’m only here right now as a formality—and when I’m gone, she is the only asset who will keep you afloat. I know when to step away from tradition. You don’t. You’re a dinosaur sometimes, Declan. You need to keep up with the times.”
He knows what he’s doing: being a dick. Rupert is very good at it, and frankly enjoys it most of the time. This time, though, it’s not without purpose: he knows he’s right about this.
Rupert’s been nothing but glad in the twenty years of his career as a consultant to be brought in as a fixer. Slashing budgets, firing staff, building new plans, reinvesting money, changing course. All the drastic moves business owners and company staff are too timid and spineless to make, he makes for them. It’s what he’s best at: doing as much damage as possible for the greater good and then leaving before the clock strikes twelve. This job has felt a little…different. For a lot of reasons, it’s been the most personal. Maybe that’s why he feels so adamant about keeping this company afloat. Either way, he knows it won’t survive if Declan O’Hara doesn’t bloody listen to him, so his harshness is full of truth that Declan has ignored hearing in all other forms.
Besides, he needs to get Declan in the mood to loosen up a bit, and the only way Declan will agree to that is if he is pushed to drink.
Before Declan can swing at him (and from the look in his eye, Rupert can surmise he’s seconds away from doing so), Rupert pulls the key to Declan’s bottom desk drawer out of his pocket and dangles it in front of him.
“Now, I’m going to take that exquisite brandy from your drawer and find some eggnog to spike it with, and you’re going to get drunk enough to horribly butcher some carols with your hardworking employees. Or go home to your wife and children, for God’s sake. It’s December 14th, after all. Everyone’s favourite non-denominational holiday.”
Declan sighs, giving in after a moment of staring somewhat longingly at his desk. “Fine,” he sighs, snatching the keys from Rupert’s hand. “But only a splash of it in the eggnog, Rupert, I’m serious,” he warns with a wagging finger.
Rupert puts his gloved hands up in surrender. “Promise. Maud won’t even be able to smell it on your breath when you come home.”
“She’s not home,” Declan informs him as he begins to wiggle his desk drawer open and pull out a nice bottle of brandy. “Neither are the kids.”
Rupert, about to take the bottle from Declan, freezes. “What?”
“They come every year for this,” Declan says, nonchalantly returning to his desk. “My wife loves a party too much to miss out. Taggie—you remember Taggie, my eldest?”
Rupert clears his throat. “Only vaguely.”
“Well she caters for everyone. Gets some good business out of it, and the company saves costs on parties since she does it for free. Who do you think makes the eggnog?”
Rupert’s mouth suddenly feels dry and swollen. “Oh. Right,” he manages to squeak.
Declan thinks nothing of it, just shakes his head and laughs. “I sometimes forget you’re an outsider.”
“Well…” Rupert looks down at himself, his Santa costume and thick leather boots. “I am from the North Pole after all. Here to climb down your chimney and save you from financial ruin. You can thank me later.”
“Ha! Right,” he chuckles. “Well thank you. I mean it, Rupert. I owe you a lot. Bet you’ll be glad to move onto the next job. You’ve done plenty here, already extended your stay by a month. Actually, that reminds me I still have to finish your contract report.”
“Right. Uh…take your time with that, yeah? I’ll be out there celebrating with the rest of the office.”
“Alright, I’ll be out in an hour. The suit is fine, just…nothing inappropriate.”
Declan pats him on the back and returns to his desk, paying very little mind to Rupert. With Declan’s temper subsided, Rupert slinks back into the office space with nothing but the brandy in his hand, his stupid costume, and something itching uncomfortably inside his clothing…
“Hi, Rupert,” a warm, mousy voice greets him from over his shoulder.
He pulls the fake mistletoe from in his pants and shoves it in his coat pocket instead. The urge to be a devilish rake leaves him entirely.
As soon as he turns around, his heart wobbles at the sight of her and he smiles crookedly. “Taggie.”
Leaving this place has not been the triumphant liberation Rupert thought it would be. Usually, he’s more than happy to move on from whatever crisis he’s just managed, to float around totally adrift. Not this time. Some sentimentality splinters through his heart and makes him long to stay. Not forever. Just…longer than what he has. And it’s because of her.
Taggie. Taggie, the very off-limits daughter of the man he currently works for. Taggie, the sweetest angel on this green earth. Taggie, the sole source of his trepidation about leaving this place behind. The only person who could make him stay, who could make him do anything if it meant she’d smile.
There she stands, in a gorgeous solid black dress with a scoop neck and puffed short sleeves. It takes everything in him not to let his eyes linger too long on the dangerously short length and the sheer black tights with little bows on them. Instead, he focuses on the apron she’s wearing around her waist, red and white and striped like a peppermint. It matches the red tinge to her hair perfectly. She’s a festive vision. He could cry looking at this perfect angel of a woman knowing he can’t touch her.
“Merry Christmas,” she says nervously, flattening the wrinkles of her apron and stepping closer.
“Happy holidays, I suppose,” Rupert corrects her jokingly, but swallows awkwardly. “Your father was very insistent about it. A real twenty-first-century man.”
Taggie giggles. “Well you’re wearing a Santa suit so I thought ‘Merry Christmas’ would be safe with you. I can be very beservent, you know.”
Rupert fights a smile and tries to work out what this one is. Observant, he realizes. Taggie’s dyslexia sometimes makes her confuse or mispronounce words, but her mispronunciations are all so close in sound that it really just makes her all the more charming. It’s almost infuriating how adorable he finds it.
“Yes, very,” he says. “And you know you’re always safe with me, Tag.”
Rupert instantly chastises himself—stop being so corny, you didn’t even mean it like that, she’s half your age, she’s your employer’s daughter, too forward—but Taggie’s eyes twinkle in response and it soothes his anxieties.
“I know,” she assures him, like she understands just how much he means it.
He clears his throat and looks around the room, to the nondescript music playing and the small clusters of chatting employees dispersed about the room. No one’s free to save him from doing something stupid. He wouldn’t want to talk to anyone else here anyway. Not anymore. “I wasn’t aware your father threw work parties like this at all.”
“Well Mummy loves parties and Daddy loves Mummy, so.” Taggie shrugs and follows Rupert’s gaze around the room. None of it seems to interest her as much either. Her eyes find Rupert again, and then look back down at the brandy. “Is that for the eggnog?”
“Oh. Uh, yes,” he says and hands it to her. “Didn’t realize you were going to be the one making it.”
“Yeah, Daddy always says it’s a good networking opportunity,” Taggie explains. “He’s not wrong, but with all the budgets being tightened this year I’m not sure anyone will want to splurge on catering for events.”
Rupert winces. “Sorry about that.”
Taggie’s eyes go a bit wide. “You don’t have to be sorry at all. You saved us! None of these people would be here right now if it weren’t for you,” she points out. “They’re all so wonderful, I would have hated to see them struggling around the holidays. We would have been struggling too. So thank you.”
“Well, my contract is up now so you’re on your own,” he tries joking to lighten the mood, because all of a sudden his heart had started to ache.
Taggie sombers and stares shyly down at the bottle in her hands. “Right, yeah. I, uh…You will still stop by, won’t you?”
Rupert shrugs. “It depends.”
“On what?”
“A lot of things. Will you be around here?”
Taggie smiles. “Of course. I’m the company’s only caterer.”
“Unpaid caterer,” Rupert reminds her, still bitter about that on her behalf.
“I don’t mind, really,” she insists, humble as ever.
“I’ll try to stop by every now and then,” he promises with as much restraint and feigned nonchalance as possible, shelving the salary matter for a later date. Incentive to come back, he reminds himself. He’ll be there to advocate for a worker, instead of to simply pine after the most unavailable girl in the world. “Just to check in on whether the implemented strategies are effective.”
“Oh. Right, yeah. The strategies,” Taggie agrees with a nod which somehow looks disappointed. She rocks back and forth on the balls of her feet.
God, the urge to kiss her is overwhelming. She rocks forward a little too close to him and he catches the scent of cinnamon and vanilla extract. She must have been baking all morning for this party. Visions swarm his brain of her prancing around the kitchen in this apron, laughing as she adds pinches of salt to a pot of caramel and rolls out gingerbread dough. The scene is so enticing it knocks the air out of him.
“You should go put that brandy in,” he tells her abruptly, before he stops being able to form sentences altogether. “One ounce for every pint of eggnog. I need to…file a report, or…have a fucking cigarette…I don’t… excuse me.”
He marches past her as fast as possible and tries not to feel completely ridiculous when the bells on his boots jingle with each stomp. Idiot.
The further away he gets, the safer he feels. Someone grabs him pretty quickly and yanks him towards an office chair decorated with tinsel.
“Oh, my! Rupert! Or Saint Nick, I should say. C’mere,” Maud, Declan’s wife, coaxes Rupert as she pushes him into the chair and sits on his knee. “Tell me if I’ve been naughty or nice.”
“Ooh, me next,” an employee named Enid pipes up.
“Wait! Nobody do anything mental before my phone finishes charging,” Caitlin whines, practically tethered to the wall by insisting on holding her phone while it’s plugged in. “I’m always missing the best stuff at these parties, but I’m determined to capture something totally brilliant this year. It would be so great for the company Instagram. Enid, put on something more upbeat, yeah? Maybe those Sabrina Carpenter holiday covers.”
Enid complies, rushing over to grab Caitlin’s phone and take over DJ duties so that Caitlin can move around once more. Immediately, she finds her way to Rupert.
“Caitlin,” Rupert greets her, relieved that her presence provides an excuse for him to stand up from his throne and get Declan’s desperate wife off of his lap. He stands up and hugs her. “Happy December 14th.”
She scrunches her nose funnily at him. “Looks like Daddy didn’t send you the memo about that whole secular thing, did he?”
He smiles tensely. “Nope, not a word.”
“Are you going to at least make some fun out of it before you go?”
Rupert sighs and only briefly glances over his shoulder to notice Taggie drinking her eggnog now with Declan’s right hand man Charles, looking not entirely there in her conversation with him, before he turns back to Caitlin and puts on a devilish grin.
“Oh, absolutely.”
The day Taggie met Rupert was a disaster.
Absolutely nothing in her day was going right. She had been late to a private brunch she was catering, Gertrude had somehow yanked the bag of chocolate chips (for the pancakes) off the counter and threw up from eating so much chocolate, and the terribly expensive vet bill came straight out of her significantly reduced cheque since her parents refused to pay for it.
That was how Rupert met her for the first time: essentially, begging her father for money. Or even a little sympathy. She had driven herself all the way to Daddy’s work, a process which was always overwhelming for her, and she was trying so hard not to back down without an answer, but her strong voice never holds strong for too long when it comes to her father and she found herself being pathetically steamrolled.
“Tag, I’ve told you, I can’t afford to help you with the dog you wanted,” he huffs. “This company is sinking, I’m putting everything into this right now. Our crisis consultant is about to walk through the door in five seconds and this piece of work gets on my nerves enough as it is without you getting on my back. Grow up, Tag. Vet bills are part of being an adult.”
“I just…but she’s so sick and my day has been so horrible, and…and…”
The door to his office opened from behind her shoulder right as Declan said, “I don’t want to hear this anymore, okay?”
“Is everything alright in here?” She turned to see the famous Rupert Campbell-Black, renowned playboy and the man who kept Britain’s richest CEOs from being stupid with their money. God knows why he had agreed to take this job, but he did.
“Yeah, fine,” Declan assured him curtly, gesturing between them. “Taggie, this is Rupert Campbell-Black, he’s consulting for Venturer Media. Rupert, this is Agatha, my eldest.”
“Taggie,” she corrected him out of habit, but it was the only word she could seem to form. Her throat was suddenly dry and closing up at the sight of this very tall, very handsome man.
His eyes studied her curiously, in a manner that unsettled her. Not because it was inappropriate, which it probably was, but because it set her skin on fire.
“Nice to meet you, Taggie. Is this a bad time to talk about budget cuts, Declan?”
“No. I was just seeing her out,” Declan told him (but was really informing Taggie of this).
“But—”
“Do you visit your father often?” He interrupted, and it was then she noticed that while her eyes were darting between Rupert and her father, Rupert’s eyes were still firmly locked onto her.
She blinked at him a few times. “No. Not really. I’m not on my phone a lot. I’m not…I don’t know anything about news and media.”
“Well neither does your father,” Rupert quipped jokingly, and then winked at her. Actually winked. Taggie nearly melted. “Why don’t I see you out then? So your father has some time to prepare for the gutting I’m about to perform on half his branches.”
Daddy made some sort of sound from his desk, but was likely as stunned as Taggie was.
Taggie simply nodded. “Uh…alright.”
He held the door open for her and they walked out.
“So how long are you here fo—”
“How much was the vet bill?”
Taggie’s eyes went wide and she felt the blood leave her face. “You heard that?”
“Most of it, yes,” he admitted like it was nothing. He stopped at a desk and pulled out a chequebook and pen.
“I-I’m sorry about him,” she sputtered. “He’s just in a terrible mood, he’s not usually like this.”
Rupert smirked. “Such an angel. No, I’m fine. I’m used to people not liking me. I prefer it that way actually. Keeps me unattached. And I’m firing half his staff, he should be mad.”
“Well…” she swallowed, unsure of how to answer.
“So?” He waited expectantly. “How much was it?”
“No, I can’t let you do that,” she insisted immediately. “Caitlin—my sister, Caitlin—she’s a big…influencer, or whatever you call it. Well, sort of big. Big enough to make some sort of crowdfunding video if I asked, so I’m fine, really. You don’t have to worry about i—”
Amidst her protest, Rupert scribbled something down on the cheque and folded it up. He stood up from the desk and pushed the paper deep into the palm of her hand with his thumb, enclosing her fingers around it for her. His hand lingered, brushing against the backs of hers as it retracted.
“I took a guess. Hopefully it’s enough.”
They kept walking to the elevator. When they arrived, he hit the button for her and leaned in really close. He smelled fantastic, like some sort of spice Taggie couldn’t name.
“Take care of yourself, Taggie,” he said.
His hand guided her forward into the now open elevator, so gently that she felt like she was floating. She turned around, opening the cheque in her palm, and her jaw immediately dropped.
“Five—oh my god! This is too much, I can’t…”
But the elevator door shut before she could give it back.
Wasn’t he supposed to be cleverer with his money? Some silly magazine (Forbes, maybe, or the Financial Times, or some other company which took itself too seriously and was most definitely giving Daddy a run for his money) had named him one of the most eligible bachelors and competent businessmen in England. Surely, this was not a wise decision. To give five thousand dollars to a woman he’d just met! How completely insane! She didn’t deserve it. She really didn’t.
Except, for the first time in her twenty years of living, Taggie felt like maybe she did deserve something good like this.
The months that ensued were dreadful and confusing and electric. A whirlwind, frankly. They got to know each other pretty quickly, but Rupert began to pull away as soon as the end of his contract began to approach. From the second it was mentioned, he became skittish and evasive.
It’s not like they were…anything, really. It’s entirely possible Taggie could have read into things too much. Maybe she misinterpreted that one time he lost his train of thought in a meeting as soon as she entered the building to drop off lunch for her father. Maybe she misinterpreted the way he had asked Caitlin for her number and texted her, and it truly had been just to check up on Gertrude, and that their following hours-long text conversations had been nothing but politeness. Maybe she overestimated the importance of the way he made an appearance at a fancy costume gala dressed as a devil talking about how he wanted to find his angel after spending weeks calling her “angel,” his new nickname for her. She had been the one showing up to her father’s office more often, orchestrating these run-ins, so the chance that it was all in her head wasn’t out of the question.
But she had to know, once and for all. So when her father suggested maybe not catering the holiday office party this year, she protested a little too quickly.
“I’m just saying, Tag, you’ve had a busy year,” Daddy said. “I wouldn’t blame you if you had other things to do. I thought Mrs. Baddingham said she wanted you as a caterer for her Michaelmas tea on the 15th. You should save yourself for the job that can actually make you money, before you have to swallow your pride like me and bring in an outsider for help.”
“I can do both,” she insisted. “I promise, I can handle it.”
“Are you sure? You don’t have to,” he told her. “I know it’s sort of a tradition since you were old enough to cook, but your business has been growing a bit and we could use the income, so I won’t pull you from your responsibilities.”
“You won’t,” she promised again.
He eyed her suspiciously.
“What?” She asked nervously.
“Nothing,” he said. “It’s just…You usually hate doing the work parties. You barely like Christmas.”
This was true. Taggie usually hated the holidays since she was the one bearing all the responsibilities of cooking, wrapping presents the nice and neat way her family adored, making sure no one got duplicate presents for certain people, setting up the decorations and installing the lights. Nothing about being all alone shelved with manufacturing everyone’s joy but your own is fun.
But she wanted to see Rupert. It was embarrassing how badly she wanted to see him. His charming smile, his smooth and expensive suits, the waves in his hair. And he was going to be gone by the new year, she knew that much. The party might be the last chance she’d have to see him before he moved on with his life and forgot all about her. Foolishly, she wanted to ask him to stay. Maybe not at the company—she’s not sure how much more she could take of him and Daddy fighting constantly—but in her life, in whatever capacity he wanted. She’d settle for being his friend, if that was even possible.
So she stood resolute.
“Well it’s not a Christmas party, is it? It’s a December 14th party. I can do those just fine.”
Declan shrugged. “Alright.”
It was a go. She spent the next week making everything from scratch, nearly manic from excitement.
Rupert doesn’t remember exactly how the idea of a rolling chair derby came about, but he knows that they’re having fun.
He’s pretty sure it had to do with a discussion about reindeer. Eventually the chairs were lined up into a V formation and being pushed around the office as wild screams and cheers ensued. He commentates on the first round and then lets a man named James take over. They’re already in the third round, and some people have started to make bets. At least he thinks he’s heard that right.
Despite appearances, he’s only been paying attention to half the conversations thus far. At some point, a lot sooner than he expected, people had started slurring their words and acting a bit nonsensical anyway. He should have guessed that Declan would have an office full of people who were unable to handle even a single ounce of liquor.
Still, it gets a bit weird when the HR ladies start trying to ride his thigh a little too aggressively when getting their photos with Santa, and everyone’s starting to forget his name and just call him Nick.
All the rowdiness and opportunity for sexual deviancy would have appealed to him a couple of months ago. Now, being the only sober one in this room, he has the distinct urge to get away from it all.
Oh well. He’s never been one for betting anyway. The last risky bet he took cost him five thousand dollars.
Rupert slinks away as soon as he can, unbuttoning his santa coat and letting the white undershirt breathe a bit. He finds himself on the balcony of the office building, leaning his elbows against the glass edge, and finally having his much-needed cigarette. The smoke in his lungs feels comforting and warm against the cold air of the snowing winter night.
“You.”
A voice calls him, but it sounds distant. He sighs. “I’m not actually Santa. Go find another poor sod to bother.”
“Is that what you really want?”
Significantly louder this time, in a devastating heartbroken tone, Rupert can finally recognize the voice and spins around.
“Taggie.”
“Answer my question, SantaRupert,” she demands, stumbling her way up to him on the balcony.
She nearly falls down when she reaches him after seeing how high up they are. And fuck if he can’t help it: he reaches his arms out to stabilize her.
“You’re drunk,” he tells her kindly.
“What? No’mm not, I’m fine,” she insists through a drawled-out slurring of words. “I only had thirty cups of eggnog. Wait, no. Ugh, I always do this. My brain is just…three. I had three cups of eggnog.”
Taggie is a terrible liar even when sober, so her earnestness piques his concern. “Only three?”
She nods, batting her eyelashes at him. “Mhm.”
“How much brandy did you put in the eggnog?”
“An ounce for every ounce of eggnog, just like you said,” Taggie says.
“Oh, angel,” he groans with a sympathetic tilt of his head.
The root of all the chaos of this party becomes glaringly obvious. A 1:1 ratio is potent indeed.
“What?” She seems to mull it over for a second, and then Rupert watches as her eyes go wide. “Oh no, I did it wrong, didn’t I?”
He winces, and it’s confirmation enough for her.
“Oh my god,” she cries, burying her face into his chest. “I got everyone here drunk out of their minds. I’m such an idiot!”
God, he should really be fighting this. He shouldn’t lean his cheek in closer so it’s against her head, smell her hair and rub comforting circles on her back. But he does.
“You’re not an idiot,” he assures her. “You’re too kind, that’s what you are. You’ve been stretched too thin doing something big for your father for absolutely no compensation at all, which I will advise you as a business consultant is completely ridiculous, and so your mind just mixed two little numbers up. That’s all.”
“You think so?”
He suppresses a laugh. Oh, if only this girl knew how good of a heart she has. “I do.”
“I’ve ruined Christmas,” she sniffles against his shirt.
“It’s December 14th,” he adds.
“I’ve ruined your shirt,” she points out, pulling away (come back here, he instantly thinks) to wipe at his white undershirt.
“I’ll get another one,” he shrugs. He sees Taggie shiver a little and adds, “Here. You must be freezing out here.”
Rupert takes off his Santa coat and wraps it around her, coaxing each floppy drunken arm into each sleeve.
“Thanks,” Taggie says, her hand moving back to graze over his chest, where the stain of tears remains. Rupert’s heart gets all wobbly again.
“Taggie…”
“You didn’t answer my question, SantaRupert,” she reminds him.
“Your question?”
“Do you really want me to sod off and find someone else?”
He shakily breathes in and out. “No,” he admits in a whisper.
“Then why do you pull away from me? I mean, every time I think that you…that we…well you just ruin it all and now I’m out here in the snow like a complete idiot wondering…wondering whether the hell you actually want me!”
Rupert’s entire world stops.
The snow still falls around them. Voices still chatter inside the building. Noises of traffic come from below. But he registers none of it. He only sees the beautiful, vulnerable girl before him, heart open and eyes just begging to be loved as if he’s worthy and good.
“You have no idea,” he rasps, his voice husky and uneven, “just how much I want you.”
She trails her hand up to rest on his shoulder, and then eventually says, “Good.”
“Terrible,” he corrects her.
“Why is it terrible?”
“Because I’m not a saint,” he explains for the second time, under a very different meaning. “I’m just some old fuck who has no business being with someone as young and beautiful as you.”
“You’re not that old,” she points out with a wry smile. Her hand curls around to the base of his neck and plays with his hair.
“There are a million other reasons why this shouldn’t happen. For one, you’re Declan’s daughter,” he adds, trying to resist this still.
“You don’t work for him anymore,” she counters, leaning in a little closer.
His brain short circuits. “And you’re drunk,” he argues. “You might regret it.”
“The freezing cold has sobered me up a bit. Promise,” she assures him, nodding along as if humouring him.
“And…” he gulps. “And it’s Christmas. I need to be good on Christmas. Wouldn’t want to end up on the naughty list.”
“It’s December 14th,” she reminds him.
Oh, fuck it.
“Well when you put it like that…”
He pulls her in by the lapels of the Santa coat and their lips collide in a smashing, bruising kiss. The brandy is strong on her breath and he gets a good whiff of it, but what matters is just how good it fucking feels. The feel of her waist in his hands, of her hands in his hair, of their lips pulling needily at each other’s providing needed warmth in the cold night.
He pulls her flush against his chest and deepens the kiss. The way Taggie tries to thrust her hips deeper into the embrace makes him go wild.
But then she yelps a bit and pulls away. For a brief moment, he’s terrified he’s done something to hurt her, that she’s sobering up and regretting this. Instead, with furrowed brows, she rifles around in the Santa Claus coat and pulls out from the chest pocket what he’d frantically stuffed in there earlier.
She holds it between them, and looks up at Rupert in shock. “Mistletoe?”
Shit. He forgot about that. It must have been poking her through the cheap fabric of the coat. He gives a sort of nervous shrug, waiting for her reaction. Finally, after a beat, she let out an incredulous laugh. And then another, and another, until she and Rupert are both laughing warmly and leaning into each other.
“You’ve been holding out on me,” she teases him, still giggling.
“I’ve been doing no such thing!” He argues with a laugh. “I was being a gentleman. Mistletoe is very contentious these days. And, need I remind you, you were the one who showed up in this dress”—he squeezes her hips—“and then ignored me the whole night. You’ve been holding out on me just as much as I’ve been holding out on you.”
“Holding back is more like it,” she groans, dropping her head onto his shoulder.
Rupert laughs and rubs her back calmly. “Are we done with that?”
“God yes, please,” she begs. “I’m tired, Rupert. I don’t care what people say. All I want—”
“For Christmas is me?” He finishes cheekily.
Taggie doesn’t lift her head, but Rupert hears her scoff and knows she’s rolling her eyes playfully. “Maybe,” she admits into the fabric of his shirt. “I hate that song, and I hate this holiday most of the time…but maybe.”
She tilts her head to look up at him from his shoulder, and he does his best to angle his head downwards enough so that he meets her eye. With the mistletoe still in her hand, she sticks it under his chin and tickles him with it a bit so that he’s laughing when he leans in for another kiss. Her tongue needily teases at his lips asking for entrance, and he allows it. Slowly, with his tongue lapping deeper into her mouth, their bodies start to lean into a dip.
Taggie’s grip on the mistletoe loosens, and she’s just about to let it drop to the ground when their kiss gets interrupted by a big flash and a scream.
They break apart and immediately look to the balcony door to see Caitlin standing there, phone in hand.
Rupert’s not sure which is worse: the utter amusement on her face or her finger pointing directly at them as she squeals. Even in this cold, Rupert can feel his cheeks get red hot.
“I knew it! I knew there was chemistry there! Oh, thank fucking Christ I got something good on camera this year for the socials! I didn’t miss the crazy shit! Finally! We’re going to be so fucking famous!”
A crowd gathers as Taggie giggles and buries her chest into Rupert’s chest. Rupert thinks he can maybe discern Declan in the very very back of the group, but if he is, he certainly makes no scene. Maud’s off to the side staring jealous daggers at him and Taggie, and that’s plenty of disapproval for one night.
Taggie throws the mistletoe at the camera, and kisses him again.
As it turns out, they do go pretty viral in the end. The video of their first tipsy kiss gains 20 million views in the first week after Caitlin posts it (against HR’s recommendations, of course, which costs her any chance of an internship with her father in Declan’s eyes, but Caitlin tells Rupert later that it was worth it). But one thing is clear: Venturer Media is the one to break the story of famous businessman Rupert Campbell-Black finally being taken off the market by his controversially young girlfriend, and the company’s engagement skyrockets as a result.
“It’s a Christmas miracle,” Taggie jokes to him after the dust settles, one night when they’re on his couch snuggled up by the fire.
He laughs. Maybe it’s true. Maybe this was the best way he knew how to save them. But he looks at the woman in his arms, and thinks this Christmas he’s the one that’s been saved.