The Holiday Hoax by Jennifer Probst

Chapter One
    “She’s hot.”
    Aidan Hunter looked up at the skinny blonde with perfect features and the too-tight sweater dress. She perused the enormous ten-foot spruce tree as if imagining how many perfect decorations she’d squeeze on the branches. Aidan shook his head and continued lifting Christmas trees out of the truck. “Too high maintenance,” he said.
    His best friend apparently disagreed. “You’re crazy. What’s wrong with high maintenance if she looks like that?”
    “I just want a nice girl, Vin. Someone normal.”
    Vin let out an impatient breath and leaned against the truck. “No one’s normal nowadays. Besides, you’re not normal either. What guy who’s worth millions goes undercover to work on a Christmas tree farm? What are you trying to prove?”
    Aidan stifled his impatience and tried to explain himself again. “I told you. I’m tired of women after my money and the family fortune. I want to find someone who likes who I am—no strings attached. I need a break from the spotlight.”
    Vin stretched his hands out to encompass the miles of unending farm country covered with trees. “So you come here? I didn’t even know you had a cabin out in the boondocks.”
    “We’ve had it for years. Dad used to go on hunting expeditions back in the day. For now, I have four weeks over the holidays to be a regular guy.”
    Vin wrinkled his nose. “I hate manual labor. Listen, I only came up for the weekend. A friend of mine is having a holiday party and I want you to come with me. It’ll be fun.”
    “No, thanks.”
    “You’re coming. Saturday night in Rhinebeck. Maybe you can find your normal woman there.”
    “Vin, I don’t want—”
    “Great, I’ll call you with the address. You’re coming.” Aidan didn’t have time to respond because his friend walked off the farm, carefully treading on the moss as if he couldn’t recognize ground after living on concrete his whole life. Aidan held back a laugh.
    Born and bred in Manhattan, Aidan had grown up comfortable, living in penthouse apartments and taking cabs around the city. It was only lately he’d been pulled to upstate New York, as if the fresh air cleansed both his body and soul. He pulled off his gloves and glanced around the tree farm.
    Damn, he was tired. Tired of the jet-setting life he’d built for himself. Tired of the demands of money and the expectations of society. Tired of being shadowed by his father’s famous name— The Pasta King . But how could he complain when half the country struggled for work?
    If his father could see him now . Aidan only intended to lay low and scope out the local social scene in an effort to clear his head. But too many hours alone in the woods gave him a bit of cabin fever. When he’d seen the sign on the local road looking for workers to help on the tree farm, he’d pulled in without hesitation, and secured the job within minutes.
    The labor gave him blisters, sore muscles, and a cold nose. Yet, an inner calm settled over him, surrounded by the fresh scent of pine and the chatter of people involved in the excitement of the holidays. Still, he needed time to find his own way and decide what path he wanted to follow. He craved to build something for himself on his own terms, and ached for a woman by his side who wanted him, not his company. So here he found himself—doing manual labor in an upstate town no one had heard of, dreaming of Mrs. Right.
    Poor little rich boy.
    The inner taunt made him chuckle, shake off his thoughts, and return to work.
    ****
    Isabella Summers walked through the rows of trees and pulled her coat tight around her. The wind whipped high and fast, and her cheeks burned. This was stupid. Why was she getting a tree when she was alone for the holiday? Would this really make her feel better about spending another year alone?
    She fought back a sigh and kept looking. No, she was going to do this. Her home looked sad and pitiful. Being alone did not mean missing out on all