My Christmas Billionaire

by Katie Evergreen

  “At least I made it before the speeches started, I’d be mortified to miss those.”

  Everly thought he must be one of the artists, although she didn’t recognize his face—and there was absolutely no way she’d forget a face as gorgeous as his.

  Clearing her throat, she managed to find her voice.

  “I was late too.”

  She cringed at her words, but the man didn’t seem to notice.

  “Glad I’m not the only one. Your accent isn’t local, are you here as one of the budding young artists?”

  Everly nodded, smiling.

  “I’m hoping to win a place to stay, but I hear one of the judges is a distant member of the Royal family, so I really don’t think I stand a chance. My work isn’t overly traditional, and if the judges are dusty old boring royals then they really won’t like my work. How about you?”

  Before the man could reply, the microphone kicked into life and a voice announced the beginning of the evening’s celebrations. They both swung around to look at the speaker, the chancellor of the university, resplendent in full gown and robes. Everly turned around to wish the man good luck, but he had vanished into thin air. Knitting her eyebrows together, Everly turned back to the presentations, holding her hands tightly together to stop them from shaking.

  2

  Dusty old boring royals? Edward thought as he made his way through the crowds to the front of the room.

  He’d been called a number of things in his time, but never a dusty old boring royal. Not until today, anyway. He wasn’t exactly old, he was only twenty-nine. The woman had looked anything less than old and boring herself. Her eyes had sparkled at him from the moment he’d clonked her with the door. The thought made him blush. Not a great first impression. No wonder she had called him names.

  That wasn’t it at all, he knew. The girl had absolutely no idea who he was, which was a nice change. Most of the time he was mobbed by people who wanted the chance to tell him how much they loved the Queen, and how great they thought he was. Perhaps this woman didn’t know him because he was only thirty-first in line to the throne, and those kinds of numbers didn’t reach as far as the States. Yet she was strangely familiar to him, as though he had seen her in a dream years ago and was only just remembering her now. It was as though he had an itch he couldn’t quite reach.

  Focus, Edward!

  He had a job to do here, and with all these people watching him, not to mention the press, he couldn’t risk messing it up. Still, he hoped that when he read out the winners of the program, the woman would come and join him at the front of the room. He would love to get to know her better and show her that not all royals were dusty, old, and boring.

  He’d taken his time to pick his favorite pieces of art, walking around this room over and over for the last few days. They had closed the gallery for him, allowing him to really spend time with the wonderful artwork. He had been overwhelmed by the sheer talent he had observed. Of course, there had been a few pieces that made him turn his head in a number of funny positions to work out what he’d been looking at, but mostly he’d been happy with the work. There had also been a few pieces that had caught him off guard, sending shivers down his spine, and even causing tears to spring into his eyes. That, Edward had not been expecting at all.

  The sapphire-eyed woman had said her piece of work was not traditional. Edward was keeping his fingers crossed that it wasn’t one of the pieces that had made him turn cross-eyed.

  He stood back and listened to the chancellor finish up his speech—which was certainly dusty and boring.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,” the old man said, his robes swishing. “Can I please introduce the patron of the arts for London University, and the benefactor behind this prestigious exchange, His Royal Highness the Duke of Caudwell, Edward Harrington.”

  A rapturous applause filled the room. Edward took a deep breath and swallowed down his nerves before stepping up to the microphone and shaking the Chancellor’s hand.

  He looked around the room, all eyes focused in his direction. Edward’s own eyes darted around, trying to find the woman he’d been speaking to only moments earlier, but there was no sign of her. He cleared his throat and addressed the crowd.

  “Thank you, thank you,” he began, lifting his arms to try to stem the applause. “Welcome, everybody, to the Museum of Arts at the London University. Thank you all for joining us here this evening. You look rather marvelous. The exchange program is in its third year, and this year we have opened the admission to students from overseas who show a great deal of promise in their chosen subject. This has been a great learning curve for my team, as we received almost five times the number of applicants and had to spend three days and nights going through their portfolios. Next year we will make the closing deadline earlier, so we can at least get some sleep.”

  A gentle patter of laughter rippled around the room.

  “This program has always had a special place in my heart, as a lover of the arts, and as patron of the arts school here at London University. I love doing my small part to help the students develop into the artists they deserve to be, with no financial stress. As we all know, it’s a hard market to break in to. Some of the alumni from the program have gone on to show their work worldwide, and this makes me immensely proud. The five winners of this year’s program will be given the same opportunities; a small grant to help them work, some of the best tuition in the country, a chance to exhibit their work, and for one lucky participant, a fully-funded post graduate year here at London University. As you know, tonight we are here to announce the winners of the exchange program. It’s been a very tough decision to make. I, and the other two judges, have taken a long time to whittle the thirty artists down to only five. I wish I could keep all of you here for the remaining weeks, but unfortunately my hands are tied.”

  Edward could almost feel the tension in the room. The silence was deafening, smothering him. He pulled at his bowtie so that he could breathe, hoping that no-one would notice how nervous he looked. Public speaking had never been one of his strengths, which was difficult when his line of work nearly always involved events like this one. Charity balls, galas, fund raising parties. Being a patron of the arts and director of his own charity meant he was always standing in front of large crowds and pretending to enjoy talking to them. He thought he’d be used to it by now, but his palms were still soaked with sweat and his throat was as dry it could be. There was a glass of water on the stand next to the microphone, and Edward took a moment to have a sip.

  Looking back at his audience, Edward caught sight of the woman he was talking to earlier, and the rest of the crowd seemed to disappear from around her. She gave him a smile which lit up the room and made his stomach somersault. Then he watched as she mouthed something which could have been ‘sorry’. Her expression made him smile gently, and suddenly, inexplicably, his nerves seemed to dissolve.

  “Okay, so without further ado, let’s announce the winners. If I say your name, please come and join me here.”

  The chancellor handed Edward a small red envelope, and he felt as though sparks might fly from it when it was opened. He cleared his throat again and lifted the flap. Inside were five golden cards, each with a name written in neat black ink. He lifted the first and spoke clearly into the mic.

  “Alison Bradley.”

  A squeal emanated from deep within the crowd as the applause re-started. An older woman with cat’s eye glasses and bottle-red hair squeezed her way to the front and shook his hand, which he’d dried surreptitiously on his trousers before she took it. He turned his attention back to the cards.

  “Rory Cooper.”

  The jaw of a young man who was standing right in front of Edward dropped open.

  “No way!” he said as his friend patted him hard on the back. His face beamed with happiness. He took up a position next to Alison Bradley at the front.

  “Jennifer Smith.”

  A smattering of applause filled the room as a blonde woman stro
de to the front of the gallery and shook Edward’s hand with a limp grip. She smiled at him through narrow, steel-gray eyes.

  Edward was by now feeling a bit despondent that the sapphire-eyed woman he’d hit with the door wasn’t standing next to him at the front of the gallery. He scanned the crowd but she’d disappeared somewhere behind those who had muscled their way to the front. He read the next card.

  “James McGregor.” Edward’s heart sank a little bit lower as a very attractive young man dressed like a banker made his way toward him. The crowd went wild, he was obviously well liked.

  Edward felt the thin card in his hand, the last name inscribed on it.

  “Everly Simpson,” he said knowing that the chances of it being her were very low.

  The crowd applauded politely as they waited for the last winner of the arts program to make herself known.

  “Everly?” Edward said again, speaking clearly into the mic.

  The crown in front of him parted, and there she stood in all her glory. A smile illuminated her face, making her eyes twinkle like the jewels on her dress.

  “Oh my gosh,” she said as she shook his hand.

  Her own hand felt soft and warm, and he didn’t want to let it go. She leaned in toward him and he caught a scent that nearly knocked him off his feet—musky and sensual.

  “I’m sorry I called you old and boring,” she whispered into his ear.

  “And dusty,” he said with a smile.

  She laughed quietly, taking her place along the line of winners—earning a disgusted tut from the blonde woman that Edward frowned at. He turned back to the crowd.

  “So, ladies and gentlemen, here we have the winners of this year’s program. I wish them all the luck in the world. I would also like to say well done to those of you who have made it this far. Don’t feel disheartened, you’ve done amazingly well to reach this point. Keep working hard.”

  The crowd once again broke into applause. hushed only when the lights dimmed. Large projector screens dropped down from the ceiling of the gallery. On them, the work of the five winners was projected, scrolling through one by one. The crowd gasped and began talking about the winning pieces. There were paintings and sculptures, all of which were exquisite in their own way.

  Edward turned behind him to look at the winners, illuminated by their work. His heart soared as he watched Everly smiling at the screen to the right of her. She was so caught up in the moment she hadn’t noticed him looking, and Edward had the sudden thought that she was like a piece of art herself, somehow exquisite.

  “Quite a show, eh?” said the Chancellor, walking up to him. “Shame it’s over.”

  “Indeed,” said Edward. But all he could really think was now that Everly was staying in London, the next few weeks could paint a very pretty picture indeed.

  To keep reading, preorder My Dashing Billionaire!!