by Kane, Sylvia
A Bride Under the Christmas Tree
Seven Brides of Christmas Book 3
Sylvia Kane
Copyright © 2018 by Sylvia Kane
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
1. Isabella
2. Conrad
3. Isabella
4. Conrad
5. Isabella
6. Conrad
7. Isabella
8. Conrad
9. Isabella
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Sylvia Kane
1
Isabella
“Do you have your notebook handy?” barked my boss, Mark Casey.
I cast a nervous glance at my bag, and reached down to fish around for that darn notebook. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Yes, Mr. Casey, it’s right here.” I pulled it out.
“Well, I just hope you brought everything we need for this meeting.”
In my mind’s eye I was shoving the notebook down his throat while stapling his scalp. Instead, I just smiled and nodded.
Mark was a partner at Wallace & Thornton, one of the top firms in the Atlanta area, and also a huge asshole. I was lucky enough to be his assistant. Hashtag sarcasm.
I had so much Christmas shopping to do, but my boss kept me late at the office almost every single night, and I’d almost had it. Of course, I had no choice but to do as he said. Jobs were scarce, and rent had to be paid.
What I really wanted was to open a bakery, but for that, you needed money. I was saving as fast as I could, but my dream always seemed out of reach.
We sat outside the office of Conrad Brock, a billionaire hedge fund manager. There were some issues he wanted to discuss with my boss, and I was taken along for the ride. The office took my breath away, which was saying something because my law firm wasn’t too shabby itself.
Mr. Brock’s receptionist kept giving us looks, and I had no idea what her deal was.
Finally, her phone buzzed. “Yes, Mr. Brock.”
She stood up. “Mr. Brock is ready. Right this way,” she said, her expression still bored, as she led us to Mr. Brock’s office.
“Remember to take notes,” Mark muttered under his breath. “I’ll need them later.”
I smiled sweetly while picturing my pen plunging into his carotid artery. That would be wrong, though—right?
The receptionist swung the door open and Mark and I stepped in. I drew in a sharp breath. This was the most stylish office I’d ever seen. Much sleeker and more modern than the common areas.
At the other end of the spacious office, in front of floor to ceiling windows sat a desk from which a man stood up.
“Hi Mark! Nice to see you, my friend.”
His voice was deep, measured, and distinguished. I was instantly intrigued. He was tall, which became more obvious the closer we got to him, and his handsome face wore an easy smile. His suit was immaculate, and he was obviously in great shape. You could tell by the way the suit fit him.
He could have been early to mid-thirties, but I was horrible at guessing ages. No one ever managed to guess mine, which was twenty-five, either.
He and Mark shook hands, and Mark instantly started chatting him up, but Conrad glanced at me and held my gaze.
“Excuse me, Mark, who’s this?” he asked, interrupting Mark.
I almost giggled at how flustered Mark became. The high and mighty partner was interrupted in favor of me, his lowly assistant.
“Oh, what’s with my manners today? This is Isabella Lewis, my assistant.”
Mark kept his mesmerizing, deep brown eyes on me the whole time. He extended a hand, and I took it.
“Hi, Isabella. Nice to meet you.”
His hand was warm and his grip was firm, but gentle. My hand fit perfectly into his, and I didn’t want to let go.
“Hi, Mr. Brock.”
“Mister? No, no, no. Call me Conrad. Please.”
He held my hand a moment too long, but finally let go.
“Okay, Conrad. Nice to meet you, too.”
I brushed an errant wave out of my face and sat down in the seats he indicated to us.
My face flushed with heat. What sort of sorcery was this? I hadn’t dated, or had sex, in six months, and wasn’t particularly looking for anyone, but his piercing eyes made my heart race and my stomach tie up in knots.
His gaze flitted to my shirt and when I had a chance I glanced down. To my horror, the top two buttons of my shirt were undone, and I knew he could see my cleavage from where he sat. I had the urge to fix the buttons, but something stopped me.
“So, what did you want to discuss today, Conrad?” began Mark. He looked at me and raised his eyebrows, motioning toward my notebook.
I picked it up and took out a pen with a trembling hand. The knowledge that Conrad could see my cleavage and was enjoying the view turned me on. My damp thong was evidence enough of that.
Outside, it was a dreary December day, but suddenly everything seemed alive and bright. And hot. The heat in my body, especially my core, was stifling, and I was sure it had everything to do with him.
He rubbed his beard before answering Mark, and glanced back and forth at us. That in itself was unusual, because clients usually ignored my presence. Not Conrad, though. No. He made sure I knew that he’d noticed me.
When the meeting was over, I sighed. It appeared that would be the highlight of my day, because the rest of the day’s plans involved sitting at my desk outside Mark’s office typing up notes and writing letters for him.
At least I’d have the memories of this hot, successful man’s appreciative looks, even if we’d never meet again. I looked back one last time as we walked out of his office. He was leaning back against his desk, his intense eyes fixed squarely on me.
I bit my lip and turned, and with an extra swing to my hips, I walked out.
* * *
“Remind me why I’m doing this? Nicole?” I turned from the mirror and shot a look at my best friend, who sat on my couch, one leg curled up under her, and buried nose-deep in her phone.
“Oh, sorry, what?” She flipped her golden blond hair over her shoulder and took a sip of the glass of wine I’d poured her.
I pulled my dress down a bit. It was on the short side—Nicole’s idea, of course. Still, it was a nice shade of deep red, or maroon. Or whatever color it was. Dang. Pulling it down only showed more of my cleavage. At least I looked good in it.
“Why am I doing this?”
“You mean going on a date with a rich gazillionaire who will hopefully fall madly in love with you and install you in his mansion in Buckhead?”
She giggled.
I nodded.
“Because you took my dare. Or lost the bet. Or whatever. But don’t worry, it’ll be fun! You’ll probably get a good meal out of it.” She winked. “In fact, I guarantee it.”
I knew she wasn’t serious, because I generally wasn’t friends with the gold-digging shallow type.
“You know I don’t care about that stuff much. I’d much rather binge-watch my favorite show than spend hours with some guy I’m not really interested in.”
“Well, you won’t know whether you’re interested until you spend some time with him right? Come on! You’re twenty-five, live a little! I’m worried you might wear out
your favorite vibrator.”
“Nicole!” I tossed my scarf at her.
She laughed wildly. “You know it’s true!” She couldn’t stop laughing, and eventually I joined her, because it was true.
“I just hope Delilah’s right, and he’s a nice guy.”
I’d lost a stupid bet with Nicole, and as a result I had to sign up with Elite Matchmaking Services. It was the most exclusive dating service in the Atlanta area and was run by Delilah Rothschild, matchmaking extraordinaire. The men were all rich, successful and interesting, and apparently had no time to meet women. That’s where Delilah steps in.
Signing up wasn’t like signing up for a cheap online dating site. Oh, no. She interviewed me and I had to fill out a few questionnaires. She also wanted to know about my education and family history. It was all very detailed, and I couldn’t help wondering if the men had similar hurdles to jump through.
Nicole topped up my glass and handed it to me. “Don’t worry, I’m sure he is. If he’s a total creep, just call me and I’ll pick you up and we’ll go out on the town. Can’t waste that hot outfit!”
“Thanks.”
“And if all goes well,” she shrugged, “stay out. But don’t put out. Let him squirm a bit. These guys are used to easy come and easy go. Of course, it’s up to you. It has been six months, right?”
I laughed and smacked her again. “Stop it!” I didn’t show it, but my crappy sex life was a bit of a sore spot. Sure, I could go out and get laid easily if I lowered my standards, but I needed some sort of connection with the man. Lately, I’ve had no time to meet anyone.
I couldn’t help but recall Conrad from the previous day. If my date was anything like him, I’d be thrilled, but that probably wouldn’t be the case because a man like Conrad probably had women falling all over him. Oh, well. Hopefully the night won’t be a complete waste.
2
Conrad
I ran a hand over my hair, careful not to mess it up. I wanted to look great tonight. Because I was rich, people expected me not to care as much as I do about appearances, but money was no substitute for grooming and looking good.
“Stanley, what do you think about my outfit?” I asked my assistant, who stood near the door in my room. Stanley was an older man in his fifties, and my favorite personal assistant at home. He had great taste in décor and attire, so I always appreciated his input.
He approached me and took a closer look at me from top to bottom. “Looks great, Conrad. Maybe you could do up that last button at the top, though?”
He reached up toward my neck but I shook my head.
“No, thanks. I like it like this.”
He quickly withdrew his hands. “Very well. Is there anything else you need help with before you leave?”
“No, thanks. I’ll be fine. Talk to you later.”
Stanley left and I strolled over to my terrace door, whiskey in hand.
I had a date tonight, and I just hoped it wouldn’t be a complete waste. While I wasn’t dying to get tied down or get married, I felt it was time for a steady relationship with a real woman. Someone different from the gold-diggers I met on an almost daily basis.
I opened the terrace door. It was a cold December night, but being uncomfortable never bothered me. A small layer of snow crunched under my footsteps as I walked to the edge. I rested my elbows on the ledge and looked out over the snow covered trees and the twinkling lights of the mansions nearby.
A lot of my wealth was family money—I’d never lie about that—but I also managed one of the most successful hedge funds and did great for myself.
* * *
Maybe this was a mistake. I wasn’t a fan of blind dates, but this Delilah matchmaker woman was supposed to be the best. They say her matches are magic. I had my doubts, but went with the flow.
“Thanks, George,” I said to my driver as I stepped out of the car. “I’ll call you when I’m done.”
“Yes, sir,” he replied, and pulled out.
I could never get used to being called “sir”, but I guess it was a part of the package.
I rushed up the stairs and a doorman swung open the door to “Masque”, a swanky new restaurant I hadn’t tried that.
“Welcome, Mr. Brock. Your table is right this way,” said the hostess with the tightly pulled back ponytail. All the hostesses and waitresses had the same extreme ponytail, I noticed. I should’ve been puzzled as to how she knew my name, but I was getting used to random strangers recognizing me and knowing who I am. I did appear in some of the magazines and papers after attending galas and fundraisers, so that could explain it.
I glanced at my watch. Eight in the evening—right on time. Good. I didn’t want anyone to sit around waiting for me, especially not a woman.
I was pleased when shown to our table. It was out of the way so people weren’t bumping into your chair, but close enough that you could people watch.
“Here are your menus, sir. Would you like to order a drink now, or wait until your company arrives?” the server asked politely.
“I’ll wait, thanks.”
“As you wish,” she replied with a smile, and promptly disappeared.
I spotted a business associate across the dining table and he tipped his head to me in greeting. That shithead. I still remembered how he tried to screw me on a deal the previous year. I smiled and nodded at him.
Something else caught my eye, and none too soon, because I didn’t want to have to make conversation with that doofus.
My gaze shifted to two figures making their way toward my table. It was the legs that caught my attention, but my heart only started pounding when her face came into focus. Well, fuck me. It was that assistant from my meeting the previous day, wasn’t it? She looked so different…so dressed up…so fucking gorgeous.
She’d spotted me too, because her blue eyes were glued to mine. Was she headed this way?
“Here’s your table. Corey will be back in a moment to take your order,” the hostess said to Isabella as she sat down across from me.
“Thank you,” the beautiful angel replied, but without taking her eyes off me.
I snapped out of my trance.
“Well, hello,” I said, trying to appear calm and collected. The dress hugged her perfectly, and she showed more cleavage today. Not that I noticed it yesterday. I wasn’t staring at her at all.
“Hi, Conrad. What a surprise!”
A surprise, indeed. After our meeting yesterday, I was afraid I might not see her again. The thought of calling her firm and getting her number had crossed my mind, but it didn’t seem like a great idea.
Her eyes were really special. They were bathed in candlelight, and I couldn’t break eye contact. They were bright, sensitive, and hinted at a naughty side. A side I definitely wanted to get to know better.
She snickered. “So, is this awkward, or what?”
I chuckled and raised a brow. “Is it?”
“Slightly, I guess.”
“Would you prefer I was someone else?”
“No, that’s not what I meant at all!” she said, and I knew I’d struck a chord.
“I know, I know.” I tried to reassure her I wasn’t offended. “Delilah wouldn’t have matched us up if it were a horrible idea.”
Her cheeks turned crimson, and it was the cutest fucking thing. Suddenly, I didn’t care about dinner at all and almost got irritated when the server interrupted us. Isabella wanted a glass of wine but didn’t know what to choose, so I ordered us a bottle to share.
We talked, and laughed, and talked. The way she absentmindedly twisted a lock of hair around her fingers and bit her lip was mesmerizing, and following the conversation was a fucking task in itself when all I wanted to do was get the hell out of there together. My stiff cock was another distraction. This girl turned me on just by being herself, and she didn’t even know it.
“Tell me, have you always wanted to be a legal assistant?”
She laughed and covered her mouth.
“God, no.
I don’t think there’re any little girls out there dreaming of my job.”
“So, what is it you really want to do?” I was genuinely interested, because she seemed so different from other women I’ve met recently. She wasn’t showing off the latest designer purse, or giving out attitude. She was a real person, with real feelings and hopes. At least that’s the impression I got from our short interaction so far.
“Me? Don’t laugh, okay?”
I smirked. “I promise.”
She leaned in. “What I really want…is to open a bakery.”
I threw my hands up. “What’s so embarrassing about that? Why would I laugh? That’s a perfectly legit thing.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You think so? So many people tell me it’s a stupid idea and a waste of time.”
This sort of made my blood boil. I waved my hand to dismiss those assholes. “Ignore the jerks. Just follow what’s in here.” I pointed to my heart. “Everything else will follow. Trust me.”
“Thanks. My current job pays the bills and I get to save a bit, but it’s hardly my dream. We’ll see what the future brings, though.” She shrugged.
Damn. I wanted to kiss those shoulders and lick that neck. Her light brown waves cascaded down to below her breast, and I ached to brush them away while taking her nipple in my mouth.
I shook my head and took a sip of my wine. Slow down, cowboy.
Conversation flowed smoothly, and I laughed more during those two hours than I had in the past two weeks.
Isabella. Bella. That’s what she would be. My beauty.
3
Isabella
Flickers of energy coursed through my body as Conrad’s car made it through the streets of Atlanta, heading for his house in…Buckhead. I remembered what Nicole had said earlier tonight and had to hold back a chuckle. That girl was always right.