Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 132(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 132(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
Billionaire Con Romero has hated Christmas for three years. Every whiff of evergreen and every jingle bell reminds him of how much he wants something he can never have. Willow Kaplan might be legal, but she’s still forbidden.
Although a virgin, Willow has always been more naughty than nice. And more than anything, she wants to belong to Con. Now she just has to convince the stubborn billionaire that she’s the best Christmas present he will ever receive.
Reader Note: This was previously published under the title: The Last Christmas Present. It’s since been recovered, reedited and some details changed. Safe.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER 1
CON
“The Devonshire notes are summarized. All emails have been responded to and all the Christmas gifts have been purchased, except for this one.” My assistant, Tim Yutley, points to a name at the top of my list. “I’ve attached a list of suggestions for you.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. I fucking hate Christmas.
“Why is the office music stuck on that Ho Ho Ho shit?” I growl. “And what the hell is that monstrosity around your neck?”
The thin young man flips up the end of his blinking tie. “It’s called a tie, boss. And as for the music, it’s Christmas. I know you don’t celebrate it anymore, but the rest of us do. Also, here’s our bonus checks.” He shoves a sheaf of checks in front of me. “Every year, my mom asks me how I like my job and I tell her that it’s great except for one month out of the year when my good-humored boss turns into a Grinch.”
“Christmas is more than two weeks away. And if I were a Grinch, you wouldn’t be getting one of these.” I scrawl my signature on the top one which conveniently is for Tim and slap it face down on the desk.
“This is true.” He snatches up the bonus and slides it into his breast pocket. “But you have to admit that you are very ornery during this time of year. You won’t let us put up Christmas trees, mulled cider is deemed the devil’s drink, and the sight of flashing holiday lights makes you frown for days. You never used to hate Christmas. In fact, up until three years ago, you used to attend the Yuletide Black and White Ball.”
My pen stills halfway through the signature on the next check as Tim’s words bring up a tortuous memory—one that I spend all year stuffing into its stocking in the back of my head. Yeah, the smell of pine trees and spice fucks me up. It makes me want things that I have no business wanting.
“People don’t like Christmas, Tim. They like what they get at Christmas, such as these.” I finish signing the bonus and wave it at his face. “If the holidays were just people getting together and eating without giving gifts, we wouldn’t start celebrating it in October.”
“We do have a holiday about togetherness and food that involves no gifts. It’s called Thanksgiving. You worked through it, so I can see how these days run together for you.”
Tim’s worked for me for a long time, which is the only reason he gets away with this snark. I opt not to engage. The boy dyed his hair green, for Christ’s sake. He loves this fucking holiday so much he might as well embroider it across his ass.
I finish signing the checks. “Did you hire that assistant you wanted?”
He hums about Santa baby getting lucky as he gathers up the staff bonuses. “Sure did. She starts tomorrow and I’ll have her whipped into shape in a week.” He gives me a little pat on the shoulder. “You’ll survive without me. It’s only ten days.”
“Ten days of hell,” I mutter, but I let him go without protest.
Tim works like a dog for fifty weeks out of the year. The only thing he wants is to spend two weeks with his family. Christmas is big for them. I think one of them even dresses up like Santa and comes to the house to pass out gifts. So we get a temp in to answer phones and remind me of appointments, although I don’t have many. It appears that most people are like Tim and enjoy the break. I like to work. After all, it’s not like I have something to go home to.
I never used to be grumpy about the holidays. Not until three years ago. Three years ago, a forbidden morsel draped in organza and silk interrupted a little private moment a socialite was trying and failing to have with me. She’d lured me into the room telling me she needed to speak to me about something.