Sincerely Not Yours (Knitted in Love #1)

5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Harris stepped into the dueling piano bar, not excited to spend his Saturday evening surrounded by strangers, especially when he laid eyes on the onslaught of holiday cheer. He’d been to Sing-Alongs Tavern before, many years ago, before he moved to New York. But the usually dimly lit, lively bar had been transformed into a Christmas nightmare, practically glowing from the inside out.

Strands of twinkle lights and green garland covered every surface and most of the ceiling. A large Christmas tree dominated one corner of the bar, adorned with baubles and silver tinsel. Two garishly dressed pianists occupied the dueling pianos, which sat on a raised stage against the back wall. Were they supposed to be elves? Muppets? Harris cringed as the crowd sang along with the pointy-hat-pianists, belting out “Deck the Halls.”

“This is going to be a long night,” he grumbled to himself, just as a hostess approached, sporting a Santa hat.

“Happy Holidays,” she greeted with too much pep, the end of her red hat swinging. “Do you have a reservation? We’re completely booked this evening.” She gave an apologetic gaze, batting her eyelashes.

“I’m here for SheTime. Should be on the list. Harris Ryan.”

“Oh,” the hostess perked up again. She scanned her computer screen, clicked, and smiled. “Perfect. I can show you to your table. This way, please.”

This was anything but perfect. Still, Harris followed her through the packed bar, weaving through tables occupied with people adorned in tacky Christmas attire. Harris looked to be the only person not dressed in a costume. He smoothed down the front of his collared shirt and adjusted his jacket, wondering when Chicago had lost its sense of style.

“Here you go,” the hostess said, setting a menu on the high-top table. “The other rep from SheTime is over by your product display. She can bring you up to speed on the schedule tonight. Your server will be by shortly.”

As the hostess wandered off, Harris scanned the bar, past clinking glasses and groups of off-key patrons, singing loudly. The festive madness was already fraying his nerves. Could he get away with a neat whiskey, even though this was a work event? Maybe he’d only stay long enough to see what the company was paying for. How in the heck would this positively affect their bottom line? He wanted to go straight back to his brownstone and enjoy a stiff glass of aged Kentucky bourbon in peace.

As Harris removed his jacket and hung it on the back of the chair, Gigi appeared. She popped out of the crowd, taking him by surprise.

“You’re underdressed!” she yelled her greeting over the singing patrons. Harris turned, immediately losing his train of thought when he took in her outfit. His mouth opened, but there were no words. Gigi outshone the Christmas tree in the corner.

Just like their first encounter, she sported a Christmas sweater, but this one was a holiday billboard—bright red with a huge, fuzzy Christmas tree covering the front. Blinking lights protruded from the tree, glowing in an array of colors. Harris gawked. There had to be a substantial battery pack hidden under her shirt.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see you coming,” he uttered, without thinking.

“What?” She tilted her head, shaking a headband full of sparkling, round ornaments that sat atop her dark, shoulder-length hair like a crown.

“Nothing.” He shook his head, thankful when the last chords of “Deck the Halls” ended, and the singing stopped.

As the crowd clapped and found their seats, Gigi dug into the tote bag on her chair. “Didn’t Dean send you the details for tonight?” It was a little easier to hear her as the crowd wound down.

“No. He just told me when and where to be.”

“Hmm.” Gigi smiled, like she had something up her sleeve. “Good thing I brought an extra sweater.” She tugged a red-and-green monstrosity from her bag, holding it up for Harris to see. He nearly gagged. The entire front of the sweater was a cartoon-like reindeer head, complete with felt antlers that protruded like sad, crooked fingers.

“Excuse me, what?” he asked, horrified. “What is that for?” She did not expect him to wear that, did she?

“You can throw it on over your shirt. Come on.” She shook the sweater, clearly delighted with her reveal. “We don’t have much time.”

“Time for what? What is happening?”

Tossing the sweater at him, she said, “Before Merry-oke. We’re up next.”

He caught the shirt, mostly to keep it from falling to the sticky bar floor. “Merry-oke?” he slowly repeated. “Is that what it sounds like?”

“ Exactly what it sounds like. Christmas karaoke, with the pianos.”

He shook his head, taking a step back. “No, no, no, no, no. I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Actually, you did when you agreed to take Kim’s place.” Her smile was sweet, but Harris was getting this strange vibe that she was enjoying his discomfort. “Each of the sponsors for tonight’s event is competing in Merry-oke and the crowd picks the winner. The winning team gets to donate a thousand dollars to the charity of their choice. SheTime’s charity is Toys for Tots, so we need to sing our little hearts out for the kids. Right? You wouldn’t want to let down the kids. Would you, Harris?”

“I-I—” he stuttered, gripping the thick sweater in his hand. I can’t do this. “I don’t have a singing voice.”

She shook her head, like this was a silly comment. “Everyone has a singing voice. You don’t have to be perfect.”

“No, really. I don’t sing in the shower, in the car, nothing. And I definitely don’t sing in public.”

“Really? You don’t even sing in the shower?”

“Really.”

“Well—” She tapped her chin. “That’s weird.”

Harris scrunched his forehead. “It’s not that weird. Not everyone sings.” Or likes Christmas. He wasn’t a big fan of either.

She shrugged, seeming to accept this. “Well, it’s a good thing I love to sing, then. I’m no Mariah Carey, but I can hold a tune. I was in high school choir, and—” Gigi spouted off something about being a soprano and a solo she once got, but the only two words that had jumped out at Harris were . . . Mariah Carey .

“What song are we singing?” he asked pointedly, praying to the heavens he was not right about the answer.

Gigi’s eyes lit up, matching the blinking lights on her sweater. “The crème de la crème of Christmas songs. The epitome of festive festiveness. The best-selling Christmas song of all time by a female artist. The song that is the official start of every Christmas season.”

Harris’s pulse quickened with every over-the-top descriptor. “Are we seriously going to sing ‘All I Want for Christmas’—”

“Is You!” Gigi clapped her hands in front of her chest, finishing the title of the song with enough vigor to rock Harris back on his heels.

“I don’t think so.” Harris turned and took a step toward the door. He would not throw on a garishly obnoxious sweater and join Gigi for a Mariah Carey duet. A vision flashed through his head, and he was certain he’d make a complete fool of himself and the company. But before he escaped, Gigi snagged hold of his arm. He was just about to lecture her about the ridiculous road SheTime was on, but she cut him off.

“I already told the coordinator you’d be joining me.” There was the slightest bit of panic in her brown eyes, which was the most appropriate response he’d seen yet tonight. Who surprises their new boss with public humiliation?

“You’re going to have to retract that statement. You’ll be singing a solo tonight.” He couldn’t get out of the bar fast enough.

“But I—” Gigi’s response fell short when the overhead lights dimmed, and a spotlight circled the two of them like a lasso. Harris blinked against the brightness.

“Next to the stage,” the announcer began, “will be Gigi Ricci and Harris Ryan, representing the delightful line of premium beauty products from SheTime, which are redefining the notion of self-care. Make sure to check out their holiday gift sets in the sponsored area near the Christmas tree. Pamper someone special in your life with the limited edition sets of body soap and lotions in the fun, festive scents of Christmas Sleigh Ride, Sugar Cookie Dough, and Cozy Cashmere Dreams.”

Harris froze, noticing the onslaught of eyes that were now turned on him, wanting him to sing and dance like a circus monkey. He should’ve run for the door at the first mention of Merry-oke, but now he was linked to SheTime. It wouldn’t be a good look if he shook off Gigi’s grip, cursed Christmas, and left.

Harris forced a stiff smile for the crowd.

“It won’t be that bad,” Gigi whispered. “I’ll do the singing. Just put on the sweater and you can handle the sleigh bells. You can chime in and sing if you feel comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” he repeated the word like he was being thrown to the wolves.

“Come on. You got this.” Gigi slid her hand down his arm and laced her fingers in his. Her touch sent a jolt of electricity straight through him, pushing him into a new realm of panic, but she didn’t let him focus on whatever he was feeling for long. In the next instant, Gigi tightened her grip and turned toward the pianos, taking him with her.

Harris stumbled forward, not believing his current predicament. The only thing that kept him moving—outside of Gigi’s steel grip—was what Dean had said about Gigi. His brother thought highly of her. And in this moment, all Harris could do was trust his brother’s opinion of the woman dragging him to his worst nightmare.

Hoots, hollers, and clapping filled the bar as Gigi and Harris made their way on stage. Harris wanted to disappear, but Gigi waved at the crowd like this was a normal Saturday night. She only let go of Harris’s hand when they stood in front of the two pianos. Before them were two mic stands and a computer screen with lyrics. Harris scanned the crowd. They were analyzing him as though they might’ve found a hair in their dinner.

“You all are in for a treat with this one,” the announcer said from the DJ booth in the corner. “Are you all ready for a little Mariah Carey?” A ripple of excitement rolled through the bar. Gigi waved again at the crowd, this time with both hands. Harris wondered if she’d pull out pom-poms and a cheerleader routine before the music even started.

Gigi stepped close to him, looking at ease and eager—completely opposite from what he felt. “Put on your sweater.” She smiled, pointing to the monstrosity Harris forgot he was holding. “I’ll get the sleigh bells.”

She left him, walking to the back of the stage. Horrified, Harris slid the sweater on, mostly to hide his face for a few seconds. Could he stay hidden? Tucked inside the cartoon reindeer while Gigi put on a show? Knowing that would guarantee he ended up on some stupid, viral Instagram reel, he yanked the scratchy sweater in place and finished fixing his collar just as Gigi returned.

“Here.” She handed him a leather strap with silver bells. “Shake the bells in rhythm with the beat after the first chorus ends.” When he didn’t reply, she tipped her head and added, “You know the song, right?”

“Yeah, I know it,” he said begrudgingly. It was the national anthem of Christmas. Everyone knew it. It was played to death between Thanksgiving and Christmas every year.

“Great.” Her bright reply confirmed nothing would keep her from enjoying this. Nodding at the announcer, Gigi grabbed a mic out of a stand.

Harris’s heart bounded as the announcer added a few more details, noting that the crowd could vote for their favorite team using a text code on their phone. He also said this was livestreaming on Facebook, and Harris immediately wished for a trap door that would open up and drop him into the basement. Did this club even have a basement? For a second, he closed his eyes, blocking out the beaming spotlight, wanting the next few minutes to be a distant memory.

When one pianist started with the first telltale notes of the song, Harris opened his eyes, taking in the crowd. They were chatting and drinking, only half paying attention. But when Gigi sang the first few notes, the crowd quieted, turning to watch. Harris did too.

Her voice wasn’t good; it was stunning. The clear, melodic tones cut through the room, demanding attention. Harris, who’d been ready to cringe through the entire ordeal, found himself instantly captivated. He hadn’t expected this from someone who’d just moments ago had said she “was no Mariah Carey” and then dragged him on stage against his will.

In her twinkling Christmas sweater and black leggings, Gigi effortlessly worked the crowd. She strode across the stage, singing into the microphone like a pro. With each note, her eyes sparkled with joy, which spread, catching everyone in its wake. The audience quickly joined in, clapping in rhythm. When they sang along, Gigi glanced at Harris, urging him with a smile, and he remembered the strap of bells in his hand.

Still in awe, he started shaking the bells, almost mindlessly, thinking this woman had the voice of an angel. But more than that, her courage and charisma had enchanted the entire bar, as if magic dripped from her tongue. There was no way Harris could do anything of the sort. He could take control in the boardroom, but outside of that, he’d never volunteer to be in the spotlight. Yet, somehow here he was, sharing it with Gigi, his panic lessening as her joy and voice infused the room.

He kept up his part, shaking the bells through the rest of the tune, and as the end of the song neared, Gigi belted out the last lines, her voice reaching a triumphant crescendo. Harris bent back in amazement, and the crowd roared in response. A sea of delighted faces leapt to their feet.

Gigi took a humble bow. Then she turned toward Harris, still glowing from her performance. Their eyes met to share a moment of triumph and surprise.

As the applause faded, Gigi walked over to Harris. “Great job!” she exclaimed. “We killed it!”

Harris, still processing the rollercoaster of emotions that had shot through him in the past ten minutes, managed a smile. “ You killed it.”

“Couldn’t do it without the bells.” She grinned, giving Harris this strange sense of accomplishment. A warmth spread through his chest. He nodded, caught in the moment. Why was he drawn to this woman? He’d felt it the first time he met her, too, in the elevator. She was gorgeous, of course. Bright, inquisitive chocolate-brown eyes. Soft curves and legs that went on for days. But it was more than that. She had this bubble of magnetic energy that grabbed everyone around her, including him.

Harris shook his head, dislodging his thoughts. His logical mind grabbed hold of his emotions, reminding him of professional boundaries.

You’re her boss.

He was only in Chicago temporarily, specifically to help his brother. There was no need to consider his attraction to Gigi or what that might mean.

With a crackle of the speakers, the announcer declared Harris and Gigi the new Merry-oke leaders.

Gigi laughed and clapped her hands together. Her eyes shone, catching Harris in their wake. “Looks like we have a shot at winning this thing.”

Harris nodded. As the crowd closed in, offering congratulations and clinks of their glasses, he slipped away, going back to the table where he peeled off the sweater, along with the glimmer of attraction stirring in his gut. He was here to help his brother. Nothing else. He kept telling himself that, even as the echoes of Gigi’s voice and bright smile replayed through his mind.