I roll my eyes. “This is a onetime thing. It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s never a big deal, Drew. Until it is. Do you think the Grand Canyon was created in a day? No. It happened in increments—one small grain of soil at a time. Tonight is how it starts. Then you’re missing birthdays, basketball games, anniversaries, simple but crucial quiet moments. You mean to make it up to them later, but later never comes.”

I put up my hand. “Hold up—that’s . . . that’s not gonna happen. I would never do that.”

“Just like you would never leave Kate to put together your son’s gifts all alone on Christmas Eve?”

Bull’s-eye.

She has a point. A completely impossible, unrealistic point—that makes me feel like dog shit all the same.

“The first step downhill is the hardest, Drew. After that . . . sliding is easy. Taking our loved ones for granted works the same way.”

I stare at her for a moment. And she looks so sincere, I almost believe it . . .

Until I come to my fucking senses.

I laugh. “Did Kate put you up to this? Are you a friend of Dee-Dee’s? An actress?”

She sighs. “Tonight, you will be visited by three spirits.”

“Wow, a foursome. Will they all look like you?”

That makes her chuckle. “No.”

I pick up the phone from my desk. “While this has been memorable—and totally bizarre—I have work to get done.”

“They will come to you one by one—the spirits of Christmas past, present, and future—to show you what you will never again forget.”

“Since it’s Christmas Eve and all, it seems only fair to warn you—I’m calling security.”

“Good luck, Drew. It was a pleasure meeting you, at last.”

I look down at the phone and punch in the extension for the security desk, then glance back at the couch. But—you guessed it—she’s gone.

What. The. Fuck?

I stand up and look out the door. No trace.

“Can I help you, Mr. Evans?” Sam asks through the receiver.

“Did you see . . .” I clear my throat. “Have you let anyone up to our floor tonight? A woman?”

“No, sir. It’s been quiet down here.”

I knew he was going to say that.

“Well, if anyone comes by, make sure you call before letting them up. Okay, Sam?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Evans.”

I put the phone in its cradle and stand there, brow furrowed. What the hell was that?

My cell phone chimes with an incoming email. It’s Media Solutions’ lead attorney, confirming our conference in . . . damn it, in two hours.

I brush off the uncomfortable, eerie feelings left from the crazy woman’s little visit, and sit down at my desk to focus on what’s really important. What I came here to do—pissed off my wife to do.

Close this major fucking deal.

chapter

3

Here’s where shit gets weird.

Weirder.

Ten minutes later, while I’m detailing the projected profit margin in my proposal, I hear a giggle from the hallway.

A feminine, familiar giggle.

And a second later, my niece Mackenzie comes breezing through my office door.

She’s twelve years old now, with her mother’s build—tall and lithe. Her blond hair is pulled back in a long ponytail, and she’s wearing a red coatdress with pearl buttons, black leggings, and flat black boots.

I have no frigging idea how she got here or why, but you can bet your ass I’m going to find out.

She talks into a glitter-covered cell phone. “Tell them if we don’t have those numbers by tomorrow, their balls are going to be sitting in a glass case on my desk, goddamn it.”

It’s safe to say the whole bad-word jar thing didn’t work out like my sister had hoped.

“Mackenzie?”

She ends her call and flops down into the chair across from my desk. “Hi, Uncle Drew.”

“Did you come here by yourself? Do your parents know where you are? What are you doing here?”

“Oh, come on—you know why I’m here.” Mischief dances in her big green eyes.

Which is frigging strange, because Mackenzie’s eyes are blue.

I don’t have time to comment, because in a flurry of red fabric, she’s on her feet holding her hand out to me. “Let’s get going. Places to go, people to see. Time is money.”

I take her hand and we walk out of my office, down the hall to my father’s closed office door. Mackenzie opens the door and we step over the threshold.

And I feel the color drain from my face.

Because this isn’t my father’s office. Not even close.

I stumble backward, making contact with the yellow living room wall.

“What the fuck . . .” I whisper. Confused. A little horrified.

“You don’t look so good, Uncle Drew,” Mackenzie comments.

Losing your mind will do that to you.

I turn in a circle, taking in beige couches and an oak entertainment center housing a television that is definitely not a flat screen. Miracle on 34th Street is on, and the air smells like fresh baked cookies. A modest Christmas tree sits decorated in the corner and dark red poinsettias are scattered between multiple framed family photos on the shelves. Family photos of my parents, my sister, and me—until I’m about five years old.

And then I finally fucking realize what’s going on.

“This is a dream,” I say, in a voice that can’t decide if it’s a question or a declaration. “I fell asleep at my desk and I’m dreaming right now.”

Funny. Usually my dreams are the more X-rated variety. Involving me and Kate in multiple porn-toned scenarios. Sometimes I’m a Roman emperor and she’s my toga-less slave girl who feeds me grapes and happily caters to my every whim. Sometimes I’m Han Solo and she’s Princess Leia, screwing our way across the galaxy. Other times she’s the powerful, ambitious businesswoman who lands a major client with me, then we fuck on the conference table until neither of us can walk.

Oh, wait—that last one actually happened.

The point is—out of all the dreams I remember having, my sweet niece sure as shit hasn’t featured in any of them. And not a single one took place in this place—an apartment I barely remember living in.

Mackenzie shrugs. “If it keeps you from wussing out on me, we’ll call it a dream. Do you know where we are?”

“This is the apartment we lived in when I was a kid, before we moved uptown.”

“That’s right. Do you know why we’re here?”

I try really hard. “Um . . . the sushi I ate for lunch was bad and the toxins have spread to my brain, causing some strange-ass hallucinations?”

Giggling, Mackenzie drags me forward. “Come on.”

We enter the kitchen. Sitting at a small round table is the preteen version of my sister, Alexandra. Around this time, she hadn’t yet grown into her nickname, “The Bitch,” but the early signs were there. She’s chewing gum and flipping through a Tiger Beat magazine with the New Kids on the Block on the cover. And her hair—Jesus Christ, she must’ve used a whole can of hair spray, because her bangs form a poof on top of her head, stiff and unnaturally high.

Sitting beside her, looking dapper in a long-sleeved Back to the Future T-shirt, is me. Five-year-old me. I’m kind of small for my age; the growth spurt won’t hit for another few years. But with my thick black hair brushed to the side, my deep blue eyes shining with youthful exuberance, I’m nothing short of fucking adorable.

There’s a plate of cookies in the middle of the table, with still-warm gooey chocolate chips. My mom’s homemade cookies. They’re indescribably awesome. But when young Drew reaches for one, Alexandra smacks his hand. “No more cookies, Drew. You’re going to give yourself a stomachache.”

“But they’re so good,” I whine. And I give her the puppy dog eyes. “Just one more? Please?”

At first Lexi’s expression is stern. But under the power of young Drew’s cuteness, she melts. “Okay. One more.”

Are you feeling the foreshadowing here?