Honkers Under the Holly (The Cocky Kingmans)

4. Fake It Till You Make It

FAKE IT TILL YOU MAKE IT

T he moment our car pulled up to Magda’s Bel Air estate, I knew I was in trouble. Not because of the red carpet entrance, or the champagne-wielding waiters in tuxedos, or even the actual searchlights sweeping across the night sky. No, I was in trouble because Mac Jerry, wearing a vintage-inspired tuxedo and nervously adjusting his bow tie, looked exactly like a 1940s movie star who’d stepped off the silver screen.

“You okay?” he asked, offering his arm as I carefully maneuvered out of the car in my gold lamé gown. “You seem tense.”

“Just channeling my inner Rita Hayworth,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. The dress was a miracle find from a vintage plus-size boutique, and I’d spent an hour watching YouTube tutorials to get my hair into these perfect victory rolls. But it wasn’t just the party and the deliciousness of being on Mac’s arm making my stomach flutter.

This morning, my roommate Tiffany had cornered me in the kitchen of our shared West Hollywood flat. “You’re not fooling anyone, SJ,” she’d said, examining her manicure. “We all know you’re hiding that weird bird in your room. We told you, either the goose goes, or you do. Last warning.”

Five models sharing a flat had seemed like such a good idea when I moved here six months ago. Now it felt like a shark tank, except with better cheekbone contouring.

“Is that Magda?” Mac squinted at a figure descending the grand staircase.

It was indeed Magda, my career fairy godmother, wearing what had to be vintage Valentino and dripping with old Hollywood glamour. She’d taken a chance on me when every other agency said plus-size girls were trending down. Now I just had to prove her right.

“Sara Jayne,” Magda air-kissed both my cheeks. “That dress is perfection. And this must be the famous Mac. I’ve been watching those viral videos with Sir Honksalot. Brilliant campaign strategy.”

“Oh, that was all Tommy and Sara Jayne’s idea,” Mac said, doing that adorable thing where he deflected praise. “I just try to keep the goose from eating the furniture.”

“Too modest.” Magda linked her arm through mine. “Sara Jayne, darling, April de la Reine has been asking about you. She loved the Oktoberfest rescue story. Come, I’ll introduce you.” She paused, glancing at Mac. “You don’t mind if I steal her for a moment?”

“Of course not,” Mac said, though his smile looked a bit strained. “I’ll just... mingle.”

I watched him head toward a cluster of men in tuxedos, walking like he was trying to remember which fork to use first at a fancy dinner. But the moment he infiltrated the circle of men, he received hand shakes and pats on the back like he was already one of the pack. Good, that meant I didn’t need to rescue him and this was my chance—April de la Reine could change everything for me. Maybe enough to afford my own place, one where Sir Honksalot would be welcome.

“Now then,” Magda said as we climbed the stairs, “let me tell you exactly why April asked about you. It seems her new line at Crown of Curves needs some fresh faces...”

I took one last look at Mac over my shoulder. He caught my eye and gave me a tiny wave that made my heart flip. Somehow, in the middle of all this old Hollywood glamour, that awkward little gesture felt more real than all the sparkle and shine combined.

April de la Reine was nothing like I expected. Oh, she looked exactly like her billboards—stunning, confident, curvy in all the right places—but she laughed like a college girl and kept stealing appetizers off her husband’s plate.

“The Sir Honksalot videos are genius,” she said, tucking a bacon-wrapped date into her clutch… for later? “That’s exactly what we need for the Luxe Curve lingerie launch—authentic moments, genuine relationships. Not just posed perfection.”

I tried to focus on her words—this was my big break, after all—but my eyes kept drifting to where Mac stood with a group of football players. I’d expected him to be awkward around all these ultra rich celebrity sports guys, but instead he was gesturing animatedly while the others nodded.

“Your young man played ball, didn’t he?” April followed my gaze.

Coach Kingman - Bridger - nodded. “I recognized him right away. He had this fourth-quarter comeback in Oregon’s last championship bowls game. Was one of the throws I’ve ever seen. Too bad about his arm and knee. He might have been one of the greatest QBs in the League.”

My heart did a little skip. I knew Mac was a football fan, but he’d never mentioned being a player, or a career-ending injury.

Magda’s voice drifted through the nearby French doors, sharp with frustration. “What do you mean Janet and Francois cancelled? They’ve watched the house for the holidays for the last three years.”

I wasn’t exactly eavesdropping, because she was having a meltdown twenty feet away in clear view of everyone in the room.

“No. No. It’s six weeks in Europe and the Amalfi coast. Jones already booked the yacht.” Magda paced the terrace, phone pressed to her ear. “The house is fully booked for photo shoots over the holidays. Who am I going to get? Who can we get on such short notice? This is a disaster.”

Jones’s attention turned from the circle of guys and he moved out to the terrace with his wife. He lay a calming hand on her shoulder. “We’ll find someone, honey. What about one of your girls?”

“Are you insane? They’re wonderful models, but... remember what I was like at their age? All parties and drama until I met you. We need someone stable. Boring, even. I want a nice, settled couple who’d rather organize their sock drawer than throw a rager.”

I thought about my perfectly color-coded sock drawer. About Sir Honksalot, who needed a real home with a real yard. But I wasn’t part of some boring settled couple. Unless...

Sometimes the craziest ideas are the ones that make the most sense.

“Excuse me,” I said to April, already moving toward Mac. He looked up as I approached, his face lighting up in a way that made my impulsive plan feel a little less insane.

“Sara Jayne,” one of the other players called out. “Jerry here was just telling us about the goose rescue. Man’s got game—on and off the field.”

Mac’s ears turned pink. “I was just explaining how Sir Honksalot’s social media presence could help shift public perception of Tommy’s... enthusiasm for fun.”

He looked so adorably professional, and smart, and not at all boring. Before I could overthink it, I grabbed his hand.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I need to borrow my fiancé for a moment.”

Mac’s eyebrows shot up, but bless him, he didn’t miss a beat. Just squeezed my hand and smiled that smile that made my knees wobble.

“Of course, honey.”

As I pulled him away, I whispered, “I need you to trust me and play along, okay? I’ll explain everything later.”

Because if we could sell this, in the next two minutes before Magda’s assistant could come up with a solution, I think I could just solve both our housing slash pet goose problems.

“Does it involve a goose house? Because Tommy keeps sending me listings...”

“Even better.” I took a deep breath.

I practically dragged Mac toward where Magda and Jake stood on the terrace, my heart pounding louder than the jazz quartet playing inside. This was either brilliant or career suicide. Possibly both.

“Magda,” my voice came out an octave higher than intended. “I couldn’t help but overhear?—”

“Darling, eavesdropping is so gauche,” Magda said, but she was smiling. She knew she’d been freaking out in front of a lot of her guests.

“—and I just, well, Mac and I are exactly what you’re looking for.”

Mac’s hand tightened on mine. I could practically feel him trying to figure out what he was supposedly perfect for.

“You are?” Magda’s perfectly groomed eyebrows arched.

“We’re literally the most boring couple in L.A.,” I babbled. “Last Saturday night we spent three hours organizing his sports memorabilia by team, year, and player stats.”

I hoped that made sense, because I had no idea if what I’d said even made sense, or that he wouldn’t mind that I made that up right out of my butt.

“After alphabetizing her portfolio by clothing type,” Mac added smoothly, catching on that whatever this was, it involved proving our boringness. God, I could kiss him. Later. After he forgave me for whatever this was about to become.

“And the weekend before that?” I squeezed his hand.

“Comparison shopping for goose-safe cleaning products,” he said, not missing a beat. “Had to make spreadsheets.”

Jones laughed. “Sounds like you two are either perfect for each other or sharing a single personality.”

“How long have you been engaged?” Magda asked. She was probably wondering why I hadn’t mentioned it to her or had a ring on my finger. I needed to think fast.

I felt Mac’s tiny jerk of surprise, but he covered it by pulling me closer.

“Not long,” he said, which was technically true, since it had been approximately forty-five seconds. “I know I should have waited to get my grandmother’s ring to ask, but I didn’t want to wait.”

Whoa, he’d even covered why I wasn’t wearing a ring. He was anything but boring. In fact, his fast thinking was quite the turn on.

“It feels like we’ve known each other forever,” I added, which was also true, even if we’d only met at Oktoberfest.

Magda studied us, head tilted. “And you’re living...?”

“You know the girls at the flat aren’t exactly goose-friendly,” I blurted out.

“I was just telling Sara Jayne,” April said, appearing beside us with a fancy bottle of water in one hand and several more bacon-wrapped dates in the other. “They have that natural chemistry you can’t fake. Did you know Mac gave up a career in professional football and started his own sports agency just so he could help other players make it to the big time? That’s the kind of stability you’re looking for, Magda.”

I looked at Mac, surprised. He hadn’t told me that was why he’d become an agent. His ears turned pink again, but he held my gaze with a softness that made my chest tight.

“The guest house has a perfect yard for our bright, new celebrity Sir Honksalot,” Jones mused. “You should sign him to your roster, sweetheart.”

“You’re serious?” Magda looked between us. “About house-sitting?”

“Completely,” I said, then rushed ahead before I lost my nerve. “We’re both at turning points in our careers, trying to be taken seriously. The last thing we want is parties or drama. Just a quiet place to build our future together.” I looked up at Mac, silently pleading with him to back my play. “Right, honey?”

He brushed a kiss against my temple, so tenderly it almost felt real. “Nothing would make me happier.”

Magda threw up her hands. “Jones, darling, call my assistant back and tell her we found someone. Sara Jayne, I’ll have her draw up the paperwork tomorrow.” She narrowed her eyes. “But if I come back to find my mother’s vase in pieces...”

“The only parties we’ll be having will involve spreadsheets and color-coding,” Mac promised.

As Magda and Jake moved away to handle the details, I finally dared to look at Mac properly. “I can explain?”

His lips twitched. “So, about that future we’re building together...”

“They needed boring, responsible people, and we’re the most well, we’re kind of responsible people, aren’t we? Plus, you need a place to live, I need a place for Sir Honksalot, and...” I bit my lip. “Are you mad?”

“Mad?” He grinned. “I just got engaged to the most beautiful woman at the party. Though we might need to discuss your definition of boring, because I’m pretty sure spontaneously fake-engaging yourself to someone counts as adventure sports.”

The rest of the party passed in a blur of increasingly elaborate stories about our boring lifestyle. By the time we made it out of the party, I’d convinced half of L.A.’s elite that Mac and I spent our date nights comparing tax software, and he’d somehow worked our mutual passion for proper document filing into every conversation.

“I particularly enjoyed the story about our first kiss happening over a shared label maker,” I said as we slid into the back seat of our the car Magda provided to take us home.

“Hey, that could have happened.” He caught my hand, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. “Though I think I prefer the real version.”

The memory of that kiss in his office made my cheeks warm. “Mac, about all this... I know it’s crazy?—”

“Sara Jayne.” He turned to face me, his expression serious but soft. “You just solved both our housing problems, saved Sir Honksalot from eviction, and somehow managed to make my complete inability to be cool work in my favor. You’re either a genius or completely insane, and I’m good with either option.”

“Maybe a little of both?” I leaned my head against his shoulder. “I mean, what kind of person pretends to be engaged to someone they’ve only been dating for two weeks?”

“The kind of person who jumps into the beer-soaked fray at Oktoberfest to rescue a stranger’s goose?”

“Fair point.”

My phone buzzed with a text from Tommy.

Just heard the “news” from three different people. Congrats on the engagement, you crazy kids. Sir Honksalot says it’s about time.

The message was accompanied by a photo of our goose wearing a bowtie that perfectly matched Mac’s.

Mac peered at the screen. “Should we be worried that Tommy’s spending his Saturday night dressing up our goose instead of at the actual party with us?”

“Our goose?” I looked up at him.

His ears turned pink, and he gave me the cutest slightly sheepish smile that made my insides go a little squishy. “Well, we are engaged now. What’s mine is yours, including joint custody of a partially reformed delinquent waterfowl.”

I couldn’t help it, I started giggling. After a moment, Mac joined in, and soon we were both laughing so hard the driver probably thought we were crazy. Maybe we were.

“Six weeks,” I managed finally, wiping tears from my eyes. “In a mansion.”

“With a goose.” Mac was trying to hold back his laugh, but it came out as a snort.

“During the holidays.”I giggled at him, at the ridiculousness of the situation, and the way the butterflies were tickling my stomach, my nerves, and maybe even my heart.

We looked at each other, and I felt that same flutter in my chest I’d gotten the first time he smiled at me.

“We are so not boring,” I whispered.

He pulled me closer, and just before his lips met mine, he whispered back, “Don’t tell Magda.”