Read Decked with Holly for Free Online

wants to promote our new celebrity line in February, right in time for Valentine’s Day. We were thinking something like ‘Fall in Love with the Single Men from ReadySet!’ What do you think?”
    â€œWell, we’re not all single. Tim is in a relationship, and Chris and I aren’t looking to be set up on blind dates, here.”
    Mr. Ridgley just waved his hand at that. “None of you are married. That’s all that counts. And since no one knows who Mr. Goff is involved with, well . . .”
    â€œThat’s Tim’s business,” I said coolly. “Not mine, not yours, and not anybody else’s.”
    â€œOf course.” Mr. Ridgley backpedaled wildly. “I just mean, well, who knows what will happen to relationships two months from now. Isn’t that right, Cynthia!”
    She smiled coyly and then said in a voice that was clearly meant to be husky but just sounded hoarse, “You can never predict or plan for true love.”
    â€œQuite right!” her father chuckled. “That promo is still subject to change, of course. ‘Cruise into Love with ReadySet’ might be a better sales pitch.”
    Just listening to all of this crap had me feeling stressed all over again. This was supposed to be my vacation, and between dealing with the Ridgleys and worrying that any second The Mess might jump up, point at me, and start shrieking, I felt about as relaxed as the captain of the Titanic when it hit the iceberg.
    I needed to get out of that dining room. Fast.
    But business came first.
    â€œAs long as the band’s privacy is respected, we shouldn’t have a problem.”
    Mr. Ridgley beamed. “Excellent.” He promptly continued munching on his lamb while Cynthia peppered me with questions about the upcoming album. I answered the ones I could and merely smiled when she touched upon something confidential. In Hollywood, you learn pretty quickly that the best way to keep a secret is to keep your mouth shut.
    I kept wondering if The Mess had identified me, but I controlled the urge to check until dessert. I leaned back casually and glanced over. The Mess appeared to be too preoccupied with stabbing ferociously at her slice of pie to notice me.
    Strange.
    I finished my chocolate cake and made mindless small talk just long enough so that I wouldn’t seem overly eager to leave. Normally, I was good at acting casual. That’s the image of myself I personally branded: the rumpled but unflappable rock star.
    Too bad it wasn’t even close to the truth.
    I made my escape from the dining room and headed straight for the tackiest-looking gift shop on the ship. At least three girls had been staring at me over the meal and I found that fact more than a little disconcerting. I wasn’t ready to lose my newfound anonymity. So after only a few minutes of deliberation, I bought a tacky Hawaiian-print shirt with enormous palm trees on it and a baseball cap with Mexico scrawled across the brim. I forked over some cash before slipping back into the dressing room so that I could wear my disguise out of the shop. The outfit would probably be enough to throw even superfans like The Mess off my scent.
    After all, no one would suspect a rock star to be dressed like a geeky tourist.
    I could finally relax. And there was no better place to do that than in my luxury suite, something I took advantage of by sinking into one of the plush sofa chairs and propping my feet up on the nearby coffee table. Damn, but it was nice to have the place to myself. The cramped living arrangements on the tour bus get old. Fast. But I wasn’t going to have any trouble adjusting to traveling in a deluxe suite. It’s one of the perks of being a celebrity: Every now and then you get to really kick back in style. Which in this case meant an enormous bedroom, a spacious bathroom, a “living” area, a walk-in closet, and a wet bar. And attached was my personal verandah, which