The Billionaire's Christmas (Second Chance Islands Book 4)

by Jenna Brandt

  The Billionaire’s Christmas

  Second Chance Islands

  Jenna Brandt

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Locale and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events, or actual locations is purely coincidental. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email jenna@jennabrandt.com.

  Text copyright © Jenna Brandt 2019 and 2020.

  The Billionaire’s Christmas and Second Chance Islands Series © Jenna Brandt 2020.

  Cover photos from depositphotos.com and designed by Jenna Brandt

  This book was previously published as Comet's Blazing Love and was part of the Holliday Island Resort series. All references to that world and the characters in it, have been removed.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Sneak Peak of The Billionaire’s Reunion

  Sneak Peak of Waiting on the Billionaire

  Sneak Peak of The Billionaire’s Birthday Wish

  A Note from the Author

  That’s not the End

  Also by Jenna Brandt

  Join My Mailing List and Reader’s Groups

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  To my family.

  You have inspired, encouraged, and believed in me.

  You all make me the best version of myself.

  Chapter 1

  The flashing lights of the cameras and endless myriad of questions were getting on Blake Witlock’s nerves. He should be used to it by now, considering he had dealt with it for the past decade ever since he won his first Gold-medal in the 100-meter sprint. It never got easier though, and added with the fact that all sorts of unpleasant memories were surfacing now that he was headed back to his family’s resort, he wished he had fought harder against his forced return.

  “Blaze, Blaze, can you tell us why you’re headed back to your family island?” one of the reporters shouted from his spot behind the chain link fence near the private airport in Madrid.

  Blake shot a withering look over at the reporter, not liking the fact the stranger thought it appropriate to use his former Olympian nickname without his permission. He had been dubbed “The Blazing Comet” after his first Gold-medal victory in the Madrid Olympics ten years ago when a reporter had written that when he ran, he looked like a blazing comet shooting across the sky. He often wondered if his father had planted that first story with the reporter to flourish his reputation in the industry. Over time, it had been shortened to “Blaze” by friends, and he had begrudgingly allowed it. However, when complete strangers used it, especially the paparazzi, it made him heated with anger, though he hid it as best he could.

  “Does this have to do with the promised unveiling of several new attractions on the island during the holiday season and in the new year?” a second reported probed.

  “Do you know that both your brothers have been seen returning to the island, too?” a third reporter asked, followed by two more rapid questions. “Does this mean that your father is stepping down as CEO of the resort? Is the ‘Witlock trio’ taking over?”

  A shake of his head caused his dark, brown hair to shift around his face. He let out an annoyed sigh. One nickname was bad enough, but to have a second one was the stuff of nightmares.

  “What are your plans for your part of the island?” a fourth reporter shouted. “Several new buildings have been raised in the past year. What are you going to do with them?”

  Whitlock Island—the bane of Blake’s existence. Why did his father expect him to turn his part of the island into a world-renowned fitness destination for celebrities, sports icons, and fitness gurus? Blake didn’t want to be back at the resort, but his father made it clear that if he didn’t return, Blake would lose all his perks tied to the family name and money, including his massive trust fund. Granted, Blake had accumulated plenty of wealth and prestige on his own, but his father could make his life miserable if Blake didn’t agree. Plus, part of him still wanted the old man’s approval, despite the fact Blake was certain he would never fully get it. After all, he had let his father push him to focus on sports, even though he wanted to pursue other passions. His father hounded him all the way to the Olympics, wanting a Gold-medalist in the family, and still it wasn’t enough for Gordon Witlock.

  “Is Crista Reed joining you on the island? We hear she’s the reason you broke things off with Tara St. James. Is it true?” the first reporter followed up with a new round of questions.

  Blake lifted his hand and shielded his face. Normally, he would smile for the cameras and wave, give pleasant but vague answers, and thank the reporters for their time. Today, he just wasn’t able to muster the facade for the looming paparazzi. Instead, he headed up the metal staircase, made his way into the lounge area of his family’s private jet, and plopped down in one of the plush leather armchairs.

  He pulled out his phone that was buzzing again and glanced down at the screen. Of course, the vultures were still circling the carcass of his love-life, which only days before had gone up in flames.

  “Mr. Witlock, welcome aboard,” a pretty blonde stewardess greeted with a warm smile. “Can I get you anything? Perhaps, you’re usual glass of Macallan single malt scotch?”

  He gave a small nod, still looking down at the article describing how he jilted yet another girlfriend after hooking up with a different woman. He hated all the unwarranted bad press he was getting lately about his love life. Ninety percent of the time, the stories were solicitous and riddled with fabrications that made him look like a complete jerk. This wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.

  Letting out an even heavier sigh than before, Blake leaned his head back against the headrest, preparing himself for the long flight back home.

  As Peyton Belmont stepped out of the private jet, her teeth immediately started chattering. She tightly pulled together the edges of the jacket she was wearing. She was definitely going to have to purchase a new, thicker one as soon as possible.

  Peyton had thought she had packed well for the frigid weather her mother warned her about when she took the job at the Witlock Island Resort in Alaska. Nothing could have prepared her though, for the chilling wind that blasted off the Prince William Sound.

  “We have spare coats for our guests, Miss Belmont,” the stewardess offered from behind her. “Can I get you one?”

  Peyton didn’t want to admit she needed the loaner jacket, and decided to make a quick dash for the waiting Land Rover. The snow flurries were getting thicker by the moment, and if she didn’t hurry, she wouldn’t be able to see two-feet in front of her.

  She slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder and rushed down the metal steps, which as it turned out, was a mistake. Her foot slipped on the last step, and before she knew what was happening, the ground was moving out from underneath her. The world tilted, and she knew that at any moment, she was going to make contact with the groun
d.

  To her surprise, a strong, firm hand grabbed her by the arm and saved her from her own blunder.

  “Thank you,” she gasped out, trying not only to steady her voice by her wobbly legs.

  “You’re welcome,” a deep, masculine timbre said, prompting Peyton to glance up to see the face that matched the magnetizing voice.

  Even through the snow, she could tell the man was handsome. With a tall, chiseled physique and facial features that rivaled any model, Peyton found herself floundering to find a follow-up to her initial response as she stared into his coffee-colored eyes. After all, it wasn’t every day that a woman found herself being rescued by a handsome stranger.

  “You’re new around here,” the stranger stated, helping her to stand upright before letting go. “So, let me give you a couple pieces of advice. Dress warmer and don’t rush in the snow. Next time, there might not be someone to catch you before you hit the ground.”

  Too bad the handsome stranger was as arrogant as he was good-looking. Peyton stepped back, not liking the chastising tone that came with the advice. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a ride waiting for me.”

  He gave her a curt nod, before she turned to the side and headed for the waiting vehicle. Once safely inside, she waited for the car to start moving. When it didn’t, she politely asked, “Are we waiting for something?”

  “Yes, ma’am, we’re waiting for Mr. Witlock,” the driver said from the front seat.

  Peyton’s eyes grew wide with recognition of the name. She had no idea that Gordon Witlock was meeting her. She patted her coppery-brown hair and adjusted her outfit, hoping she didn’t look a wreck from her earlier snafu.

  A few minutes later, the car door opened and revealed to her utter surprise, the stranger. “What do you want?” The question laced with accusation tumbled from her mouth before she could help it. The last thing she wanted was to go another around with the man, no matter how handsome he might be, prompting her to add, “I’m waiting for someone.”

  “You are, are you?” he asked with a smirk, sliding into the seat next to her. “Well, I’ve arrived. My plane got here a little bit before yours and when the driver said the new hire was arriving shortly after me, I wanted to check you out.”

  “Who are you?” Peyton inquired, stiffening with apprehension. She hated being in the dark, and the stranger obviously knew who she was, though he had pretended otherwise just a few minutes earlier.

  “Blake Witlock,” he stated with a smug grin.

  Instantly, she recognized the name. She had done her research about the resort before taking the job. Blake Witlock was Gordon Witlock’s middle son and one of the infamous “Witlock Trio.” He also happened to be in charge of the portion of the island she had been hired to help renovate. However, from everything she read about him, he preferred to spend his time abroad and rarely saw to the day-to-day operations of the place. She had a sinking suspicion it meant she would be working with the pompous man.

  “I can tell by your reaction; you know who I am. You should know, it goes both ways. My father told me he was hiring a wellness guru to help re-brand my section of the island. He has some absurd notion I can’t manage to do it on my own, which I plan to prove otherwise.”

  Peyton took a deep breath, and forced herself not to blow up at the man. She reminded herself it was only a three-month contract, and she could withstand anything if it meant she got the cash she needed to take her company to the next level.

  “First off, Mr. Witlock, I’m not a ‘guru’ as you put it,” she said, giving him a disdainful glare. “I’m a wellness coach, which means I help people cultivate the best version of themselves by finding a balance between their physical, mental, and spiritual self.”

  “All I hear is a lot of cleverly strung together buzz words. You forget, Miss Belmont, I’ve been in the fitness industry for over a decade. I know for the majority of people in it, it’s more about how you brand what your selling rather than how it will actually benefit someone. I’m not like that though, and I don’t want my section of the island to be either. I plan to make it the best fitness destination in the world, and I don’t plan to use any gimmicks to do it.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, since your father hired me to help you do just that. The wellness center and program I plan to implement will entice guests you’ve previously neglected,” Peyton pointed out.

  “I don’t neglect any of my guests,” Blake snapped back. “And I don’t need anyone helping me run this place. You should really just save yourself the trouble and head back to the mainland right now.”

  “Your father thinks otherwise, and since he’s the one who hired me, you should take it up with him if you have a problem with it.” Crossing her arms, she turned away from the infuriating man and looked out the window. She needed the money, but she was already regretting taking this job.

  Peyton had looked forward to coming to the winter wonderland, especially during the holiday season. She thought she was going to enjoy temporarily living in the lap of luxury, since she had been raised by a single mom on a small, fixed income. It hadn’t left any room for fancy cars, vacations, or meals. Just maintaining necessities like a roof over their heads and food on the table had been a daily struggle. It hadn’t changed much when Peyton set out on her own to establish herself in the wellness industry. Every penny she made, she invested back into her company, but even all of that hadn’t been enough to make it possible for her to reach the next level for her company, which is why she needed this job so badly.

  They drove the rest of the way in silence until they reached their destination. As Peyton stepped out of the vehicle and walked the short distance to the resort, she fortified herself with a new well of resolve. She wasn’t going to let anything keep her from finishing this job, especially Blake Witlock.

  Chapter 2

  A fitful night of sleep and an angry migraine was all Blake had to show for his return to the island. He had spent most of the night coming up with ideas of how to get rid of Peyton Belmont. Not just because he truly wanted her off the family island, but because it kept his mind from drifting back to the last time he was at the resort. Blake didn’t want to think about the anniversary of his mother’s death, or the fact that it had been over twenty-eight years since he last saw her. To make matters worse, he got stuck being “mothered” (for lack of a better term) by Mara, his step-monster. The woman would rather spend his father’s hard-earned money on new designer clothes, handbags, and jewelry instead of actually caring for Blake and his brothers, often too busy with vacations, cruises, and shopping excursions to care about what happened to any of them. It was easier to focus on getting rid of Peyton, something that he could actually accomplish, rather than dwelling on a past he couldn’t change.

  The last thing Blake needed was some presumptuous, wellness “expert” trying to boss him around. It was bad enough he kept getting emails from his father telling him what he needed to do, Blake didn’t need his father’s parrot in his ear, trying to force those same ideas down his throat.

  “I have the reports from the construction crew about the building on the westside. They are behind schedule, but believe they will finish before the new year,” his older brunette assistant said, as she entered his office and handed Blake a stack of papers.

  “Thank you, Jane. I appreciate you bringing this to me. Do you mind grabbing me a cup of coffee—with two Advil—while you’re at it.”

  The woman nodded before heading out of his office. Blake spent the next hour pouring over the documents, then deciding he would do better seeing everything in person. He stood from his chair and headed for the door, but before he could leave, the door opened from the other side, revealing Peyton in a pretty plum sweater, that complimented her green eyes. Her hair was up today, which for some reason disappointed Blake since he had enjoyed looking at it when it was down last night. He shook the thought from his head. He shouldn’t enjoy anything about Peyton Belmont, except perhaps the thought of getting rid of he
r.

  It was time to put the first phase of his plan into motion. Without warning, Blake let out a huge cough, making sure to direct it right at Peyton. He rubbed his face, then let out a loud yawn. “Sorry about that; I woke up feeling really sick. I think I might be coming down with something. Not sure how good of an idea it is for us to be around one another.”

  Blake wasn’t one for lying, but the truth was, he did feel sick—to his stomach that he had to put up with an unwanted guest on the island. If he had to exaggerate the truth and turn a headache and lack of sleep into a cold, he would do it to be free from the burdensome woman.

  He followed the cough up with a sneeze, making sure to have ample spittle directed towards her. He expected her step back and give him a dirty look. Instead, she opened her purse and pulled out a tissue. She handed it over to him. “Here, you might need this for your cold.” The way she said the last word made it clear she wasn’t buying his sudden illness.

  “Aren’t you worried about getting sick? We don’t have a hospital on the island,” he told her, hoping to freak her out about the lack of nearby medical care.

  “I have an amazing immune system from the combination of vitamins, supplements, and nutritionally rich food I eat. Plus, if the unthinkable happened and I did end up getting sick, I know there’s an on-call doctor on the island,” she said with a knowing smile. “I’ll be just fine.”

  Blake’s face scrunched up in frustration, and he refrained from letting out the long list of expletives he wanted to unleash, though for a moment it was tempting, considering he thought it might do the tRichard of getting rid of her. The problem was, no matter how bad he wanted to get rid of Peyton, he wasn’t the type of guy who cursed at a woman, no matter the circumstances. He’d just have to resort to one of his other tactics.