Mistletoe Mischief: Chapter 1 – The Plan Was Just for Show

 All she wanted was to survive the office holiday party without crying into the spiked cider—and definitely without seeing her ex arrive with the girl he told her not to worry about. Enter Asher, her infuriatingly attractive coworker who offers to be her fake date… strictly for show.

The rules are simple: no mistletoe, no flirting, and definitely no kissing.

Too bad the party theme is Mistletoe and Merriment.

And Asher’s never been great with rules.

Chapter One 

Jenna 

The Plan Was Just for Show

There should be a support group for people who get blindsided by the words ‘plus one confirmed’ in a company-wide holiday party email.

Especially when the plus one in question belongs to your ex. And especially when he’s bringing her. The her he told you not to worry about.

I stare at the screen like it might change if I blink hard enough. Spoiler: it doesn’t.

From: Events Team

Subject: Sleigh What?! Holiday Party Guest List 🎄🎉

“…We’re so excited to see everyone tonight! Dress to impress, bring your festive spirit, and don’t forget—this year’s theme is Mistletoe and Merriment. Couples photos will be taken at the door…”

Couples. Photos. Mistletoe.

I groan into my coffee mug and drop my forehead onto the breakroom table.

“Bad news?”

I don’t even have to look up. That voice, low, smug, way too amused for eight-forty-five in the morning, belongs to exactly one person.

Asher.

“Don’t,” I warn.

Asher slides into the seat across from me like he owns the whole damn office. Which, to be fair, he kinda does. Not officially—he’s not the boss—but you wouldn’t know that by the way people hang on every word that comes out of his sarcastic, stupidly attractive mouth.

“What’d I miss?” he asks, sipping his overpriced latte. “Printer jam? Client meltdown? Secret Santa gift reveal gone wrong?”

I lift my head just enough to glare at him. “They’re doing mistletoe photos.”

He blinks. “Okay…”

“And my ex is bringing his just-a-friend who definitely wasn’t just-a-friend when we were still together.”

“Oof.”

“Thank you.” I drop my head again. “Your sympathy is noted.”

Asher doesn’t say anything for a second. Then:

“Want me to go with you? Make your ex hate himself for leaving you?”

I lift my head again. “To the party?”

“No, to the DMV. Yes, to the party.” He shrugs, casual as ever. “I clean up well. I’ve got a black suit and decent table manners. And I’ve faked my way through worse situations.”

I narrow my eyes. “You’re serious?”

“Why not?” He leans back, arms crossed. “We work together, people already know we get along, and I look good in photos. Plus, if your ex is going to show up with the girl he told you not to worry about, the least you can do is walk in with someone better-looking.”

“That’s a low bar,” I mutter.

He smirks. “Still clears it, though.”

I hesitate. Not because it’s a bad idea, but because it’s a little too good.

Me, showing up with Asher? That’ll get noticed. The entire office has been making up fake rumors about us for months. Sharing a cab to the last client dinner turned into an engagement story in the copy room. I’m pretty sure someone started a betting pool about when we’ll finally hook up.

And now he’s offering to play the role? Just like that?

“What’s in it for you?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“I’m already going. Might as well make it more fun.” He shrugs. “Free food, strong drinks, and the smug satisfaction of watching your ex realize he fumbled the bag. Win-win. And maybe I get to watch you panic every time someone yells mistletoe.”

I groan. “God, the theme. I forgot the actual theme.”

“It’s practically romantic comedy bait.”

I give him a look. “This isn’t romantic. And it’s definitely not a comedy.”

Asher shrugs again, unbothered. “Speak for yourself. I’m having a great time.”

I sigh. “Fine. But this is not a real date.”

“Obviously.”

“No weird flirting.”

“Define weird.”

“Asher.”

“Fine. No weird flirting.” He pauses, smirking at me. “Just charming banter.”

“No mistletoe.”

“It’s literally in the party name—”

“No mistletoe. No accidental kisses. No lips grazing cheeks or whatever other nonsense you think makes you look smooth.”

He presses a hand to his chest like I’ve wounded him. “You wound me. I am the definition of restraint.”

I give him a flat look. “You flirted with the vending machine last week.”

“It flirted first. It gave me two bags of chips.”

“I’m not kidding. One slip, and I’m throwing you under the reindeer sleigh.”

“Harsh.”

I shrug. “Ground rules are ground rules.”

He grins, pulls out his phone, and opens his calendar. “Seven-thirty. I’ll pick you up. Don’t be late or I’ll start without you.”

---

By the time I get home to change, I’ve replayed every possible worst-case scenario in my head—right down to my ex proposing to her in front of the damn cocoa bar.

My fingers hover over my phone more than once. I consider bailing. But the idea of showing up alone and pretending I’m not bothered by all of it? I can’t. Not this time.

My dress is simple and black, low-cut but not too low. It walks the line between sexy and safe, like I’m not trying too hard, even though I definitely am. I blow out a slow breath in the mirror and mutter, “It’s fake. It’s nothing. You’re just showing up with a friend.”

Sure. A friend who knows exactly what to say to get under my skin. A friend who smells stupidly good in his clean laundry and cologne way.

I’m screwed.

There’s a knock at the door.

I open it to find Asher standing there in a black suit, open collar, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a sprig of fake mistletoe between two fingers.

“Don’t you dare,” I warn.

He grins. “Relax. It’s for intimidation purposes only.”

He offers his arm. I hesitate, then loop mine through it.

“Remember the rules.”

“No mistletoe. No flirting. Definitely no kissing,” he recites dutifully. Then, under his breath, “You’re no fun.”

“I’m realistic.”

“Mm. We’ll see.”

---

The event hall is glowing with warm lights and snowflake cutouts taped to every flat surface. The cookie table is the size of my last apartment, and the dance floor already has three people doing the Macarena like it’s 2002.

I spot my ex immediately. He’s across the room, smiling like he didn’t destroy my self-esteem last spring. His new girlfriend clings to his arm like she’s auditioning for a role.

Asher follows my gaze. “You want me to cause a scene?”

“No.” I exhale. “Just… stay close.”

He links our fingers and leans in. “You sure you don’t want a scene? I have ideas.”

The moment we step through the archway into the main hall, a camera flash goes off. Then another.

“Mistletoe photo!” someone yells.

My body locks.

I glance up. Sure enough, dangling above us from a glitter-wrapped beam is a giant sprig of mistletoe.

Asher follows my gaze. “Oh no,” he says, completely deadpan. “Not this.”

I stare at him, warning in my eyes.

He grins.

Another camera flash. Then chanting. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

I freeze.

Asher doesn’t.

He just smirks and takes a step closer.

Come back tomorrow for the next Chapter

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Published by LS Phoenix

New Hampshire, USA

https://linktr.ee/authorlsphoenix

First Edition: December 2025

Cover Design by LS Phoenix