Billionaire's Holiday (An Alpha Billionaire Christmas Romance Love Story) (Billionaires - Book #17)

by Claire Adams

  Most of the buttons on my shirt had popped off and now it wouldn’t close properly. Great.

  He came over and put both hands on the sides of my shoulders, rubbing them lightly. He kissed my forehead.

  “Sorry about your shirt,” he said. “We can’t have you leaving the office like that now, can we? Wait here.”

  He turned and went into his office, returning a moment later with a blue button down shirt of his own.

  “It’s clean,” he said. “And it’ll be big on you, but at least it’ll get you home without having to flash any passersby.”

  “Thanks,” I said, taking the shirt from him. I left my own shirt on and buttoned his on over it, giving me a sort of odd, misshapen look. We both stood there, not saying anything. Finally, I bent down and grabbed my purse. “Well, I better get going. I’ll see you later.”

  He walked me out, and I didn’t know what to say, so I felt awkward, but he seemed completely content, a happy half-smile on his face. At my car, he again put his hands on my shoulders, pulling me to him, then wrapped me up in his arms in a long embrace, his face nuzzled next to my neck.

  “You be good,” he said when we pulled apart. “I’ll see you later.”

  I got in the car and got out of the parking spot as quickly as I could, breathing a sigh of relief when I turned the corner and he was no longer in sight.

  What the hell had just happened?

  Yes, it had been so good, but I also felt disappointed with myself. Was I really one of those girls who was incapable of resisting a good-looking guy? Shouldn’t I have just yanked my purse back up and stomped out when that whole thing had started? Didn’t I have any self-respect, any dignity? Just because something felt good didn’t mean that it was the right thing to do.

  I drove for a while, not really thinking about anything. My inner thighs were aching as a reminder of what we’d just done, and at that moment, I found myself wishing more than anything for a time machine to go back and not have done it at all. Now that the good feelings were done and over with, I wished that it hadn’t happened.

  I met up with Caroline the next evening after work, glad that Ian had a late meeting with a client so he wouldn’t be there to try to tempt me into having sex again. It had been so good that last time. Well, every time that we’d had sex had been good, but the other night had been mind-blowing.

  Caroline waved me over when I got there. “Hey,” I said. “How’s it going?”

  She held her beer up to me. “I’ve been working like a dog,” she said. “And I totally deserve this beer. Probably at least three or four more after this, too. How’s everything with you?”

  “Oh it’s great,” I said sarcastically. “I’ve still got a stalker, my boss that I slept with—lost my virginity to—is acting like he’s only got eyes for me, which I know is a big act, but I can’t find another job, and I’ve got an appointment with some shrink to go talk about a quarter-life crisis.” I decided not to mention the part about our office encounter the other day. At least not right now. I knew she wouldn’t approve and would probably give me some sort of lecture about being a strong woman, about not giving in to a guy just because he was hot and wanted to have sex.”

  “Quarter-life crisis?”

  “Yeah. Don’t ask. It’s something my mother set up.”

  Caroline laughed. “Oh boy,” she said. “This ought to be good.”

  “Apparently, he’s writing a book about people going through quarter-life crises, and he wants to interview people and probably include their sob stories in his book, and my mother said that I’d be the perfect candidate for it. Under other circumstances, I might have disagreed, but I’m starting to wonder if she’s right. I mean, what the hell am I doing with my life? Aren’t I supposed to feel a little more adult by this point? I still feel like I’m seventeen. Like I’m waiting for my life to start, like I have no clue what I’m supposed to do but that’s okay because I’m still young and I’ve got time.”

  “You are still young.”

  “I know, but look at you. You’ve got a career. You know what you’re doing.”

  “That’s not true, but thanks for saying it.”

  “Anyway, the point is you’re not working some menial job, sleeping with your boss. You went to college, got a degree, and got a job in that field. I am totally floundering, am completely adrift, have no idea what I’m doing, and am just making some really bad choices, it seems. So, I’m going to go talk to this guy, and maybe he’ll be able to shed some light or something. At the very least tell me I’m not alone, which I guess will make me feel a little better.”

  Caroline patted my arm. “You’re being too hard on yourself,” she said. “The whole thing with Ian—he’s hot, and it sounds like he was great in bed, so who cares if you slept with him? You’ve realized that he’s a dick, and now you’ll have a better idea about it when the next guy comes along. And we all need to pay the bills, right? And sometimes that means taking work that doesn’t perfectly align with what it is we went to school for or got our degree in. But that doesn’t mean you can’t still be working toward something. Have you written anything lately? Have you been working on that at all?”

  “No, I’ve been too stressed with this job stuff and Noah and every time I sit down at my computer, the sight of the blank screen just staring back at me makes me want to scream.”

  “You know, I feel that way too sometimes. I think it’s just part of the process. You just have to let yourself feel it, and it’s uncomfortable, sure, but eventually it passes and you’ll get an idea, or inspiration will strike, and then you’ll be off and running.”

  “You make it sound so simple.”

  “It is, though. You’re just letting all this other stuff get in the way of it. Which I understand; I’m not trying to say that all the shit you’re currently dealing with isn’t super stressful. Girl, you have a lot on your plate right now! But I think if you were writing, then it might help.”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  “You’ve always been happier when you’ve been writing.”

  She was right, I knew this, but it felt like so long ago that I’d last written something that I could barely remember what it felt like.

  When I got home later that night, I saw a car that looked like Noah’s, parked a few spaces up from the front of my building. It was dark, so I couldn’t tell if there was someone sitting in there or not, but I hurried into the apartment, anger and anxiety swirling through me. Part of the anger because I was once again aware of how helpless I was, how completely inept I would be at defending myself. I hoped that Jonathan would be able to teach me everything he knew about self-defense. Another part of me, though, knew that I was feeling like this because everything seemed like it was out of my control. And that was really my biggest problem: I didn’t feel like I had control over any aspect of my life.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Ian

  Women seldom played hard to get with me, but when they did, boy, I sure as hell found it arousing. It rarely happened, and often happened out of default; they’d think I was out of their league, they’d feel intimidated by me, they would assume I was already taken. That’s how it had been with Wendy, the nurse at Pete’s nursing home, at first. She’d been all business. Except I happened to catch her looking at me when she thought I wasn’t aware of it, and I knew that she was interested. And now Daisy, it seemed, had decided to play hard to get, too.

  After I had fucked her at the office though, the game continued the next day, at which point I began to wonder if it was really a game. I’d be sitting there at my desk, and I’d look up, and she’d be doing data entry, or answering the phone, and I’d watch her, waiting for her eyes to meet mine. They never did, though. It was as if she was purposefully not looking at me, replying with the most perfunctory answers to any question I asked.

  Had she enjoyed the other day so much that she’d decided to adopt this attitude permanently? That certainly wasn’t the vibe that I was getting.


  During lunch break, she actually left the office. I looked out the window and saw her sitting across the street on one of the benches that overlooked a small community garden. A few moments later, I saw Jonathan walk over and sit down next to her, though there was a big gap of space between them. I went back to my desk and tried not to wonder too hard about what it was they were talking about.

  When I saw her getting ready to go later that day, I asked her if she’d first come into my office.

  “I’m getting the sense that there’s something you want to say to me,” I said.

  She looked down. “No, there’s not really.”

  “Daisy.”

  She didn’t look up.

  “Daisy,” I said again, and I waited until she finally raised her face and looked at me.

  “What?” There was a hint of irritation in her voice, sort of the way a teenager would sound when a parent was asking a particularly annoying question. It reminded me of how young she actually was.

  “There is something wrong,” I said. “I’m not sure what, but I can tell you are definitely not happy about something. Is it because of the other day? At your desk?” Maybe that had been taking it too far. Maybe I should have just stopped when she said she had to go the first time.

  She blinked a few times and didn’t say anything. I could see her thinking, though, trying to work out what it was she wanted to tell me. Or if she wanted to tell me. I tried to think of what it was that might be bothering her. Was she not okay with the fact that I was her boss? Had doing it in the office been too uncomfortable? Or maybe it was—

  “I know about your other secretaries,” she said finally. “I found out. I know that this is something that you just . . . do.”

  Ah. Okay. Well, everything was starting to make sense now. “You did?” I said. “From who?” Probably Jonathan.

  She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. What does matter, though, is that I feel like a fool for thinking that there was actually something . . . something special between us. I know how stupid that sounds.”

  “It doesn’t sound stupid,” I said. “And I happen to agree with you—I do think there’s something special between us, too.”

  But she kept shaking her head. “You’re just saying that. How can there be anything special between us when you’ve done this exact thing with your other secretaries?”

  “It was only one,” I said. “It’s not like that was part of the job description. And the difference there is that the thing with her was solely physical. Just physical attraction, nothing more.”

  “Oh,” she said, her voice small.

  Shit. I hadn’t been expecting this. Fucking Annie! Fucking Jonathan, too, or whoever the hell she found out about it from. “Daisy,” I said. “I don’t want you to think that what’s been going on between us hasn’t meant anything to me.”

  “I’m sure it’s meant something to you,” she said, “just not what it did to me. I know that you enjoyed it. But I felt like . . . I just thought . . .” She trailed off. “Never mind. It sounds stupid. I’m not trying to be a bitch to you; I just don’t know how else to handle it. Having to come into the office and see you every day.” She gave me what seemed to be a brave smile. “I’m glad we’re talking about it, though. I mean, it’s uncomfortable and everything, and I’m embarrassed to admit it, but it’s good to get it out there. Good that I realized this stuff now and not later.”

  “You’re making it sound like I’ve done something terrible to you,” I said. I must’ve had a rather distressed look on my face, because she came over and touched my cheek, a sympathetic expression in her eyes.

  “I know you’re not,” she said. “It just seems like it would be better if things didn’t go any further between us. I don’t think I can do a casual relationship. I don’t have that much experience with these sorts of things, but I do know enough to know that I couldn’t do a casual relationship with you.”

  In a way, she was saying everything that I wanted to hear, which surprised me, because up until this point, I’d never wanted a woman to utter anything other than, “Why yes, no strings attached sex is absolutely all I want from you.” That had been before; this was now. And with Daisy, for some reason that I still couldn’t quite understand, I wanted things to be different.

  “Look, Daisy,” I said, “I’m certainly not perfect, but the last thing I ever wanted was to hurt you. I’m sorry that you had to find things out this way. About Annie and everything. I didn’t bring it up because I thought it was over; I didn’t think that I’d ever have to see her again. You have to understand, she and I were never a couple. It was just a fun thing that I thought we both understood would never get serious. Unfortunately, it didn’t work out that way. Letting her go was the best for both of us.”

  The sympathetic look in her eyes wavered. “Best for both of you? Or you?”

  “Both of us. I wanted her to move on, to be able to get on with her life without having to see me every day as a reminder of what she thought she wanted. But the thing is, Daisy, she barely even knew me. There’s a difference between being intimate with someone and knowing them intimately.”

  She tilted her head to the side, frowning at me. “That sounds good and all,” she said, “but maybe she felt like there wasn’t? Maybe she felt like she did know you? And how well do we know each other?”

  “We’re still getting to know each other. But I like what I know about you so far—more so than anyone else, actually. And I’m not just saying it because I think that’s what you want to hear. This is actually a rather difficult conversation for me to be having right now.” And that wasn’t bullshit—I was feeling increasingly uncomfortable, but I knew I needed to be upfront with her if I wanted any chance of getting in her good graces again.

  “There is another part that I need to tell you,” I said. “About Annie.”

  There was a part of me that was screaming this wasn’t the right time to do it—that I should wait, break the news to her another time—but I knew if I did that, it’d be harder and harder to come clean about it.

  “Annie recently called to inform me that she’s pregnant,” I said. “And that it’s mine.”

  There was a long pause. Daisy’s face remained expressionless, but after a few moments, she nodded slowly. “I see.”

  “Which I know is probably not what you want to hear.”

  She was silent. I didn’t know if she was about to burst into tears and slap me, but she did neither; she just stood there, her arms now folded across her chest.

  “I’m sorry, Daisy,” I said. “I wish I could take it all back, what happened with Annie. The idea that this is going to jeopardize what I could have had with you is killing me, it really is. But I can’t change the past. So I’ve got to do what I can with what I’ve got to work with. I’ve been in worst situations before—believe me—and come out of those okay, so I’m not too worried. Well, maybe I’m a little worried, because some of this is completely new, but there’s nothing I can do to change it.”

  “Wow. I think I need some time to think about all of this,” she said slowly. “I don’t . . . I don’t know what to say to you right now, other than I am glad that you were honest with me. I do appreciate that. But . . . I’ve got to think about things, okay? I just . . . I need some time.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Absolutely. Whatever you need. If you want to take a couple days off, you can. I’ll still pay you.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I know, but I want to.”

  She nodded, considering my offer. “Well, maybe I’ll take you up on that. I’m not sure. But for now, I just need some time to think about all of this. Because I am more confused now than I think I’ve ever been. Thank you for talking to me, but I think it’d be best for me to go now.”

  I nodded. “Okay,” I said. “I’m really sorry, Daisy.”

  She didn’t say anything else, and I watched her walk away. And it was true—I couldn’t remember ever feeling sorrier about a situat
ion than I did right now.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Daisy

  I didn’t know what I was supposed to think.

  I went for a walk, hoping that some exercise would help, or at least clear my brain from thinking any thoughts. Really, that should’ve made everything clear. It should’ve put everything in a crystalline perspective: No way was I going to get involved with a guy who was going to have a baby with someone else! That was too much. I didn’t want to be a stepmom. I didn’t want to be with someone who was going to have the responsibility of a child with another woman.

  But there was another part of me that was trying to argue it wasn’t such a big deal; people did it all the time. I myself had a stepmother, technically, even though we didn’t really have any sort of relationship.

  My phone started to ring, and I pulled it out, telling myself that if it was Ian, I wasn’t going to answer it. Hadn’t he just said that he’d give me time to think about everything? But it wasn’t him; or at least, it wasn’t a number that I recognized. Normally I would’ve ignored it, but I decided to pick it up.

  It turned out to be Carl, my mother’s colleague. He thanked me for getting in touch with him and asked if I wanted to get together on Saturday morning, if I was still interested in being part of the project.

  “I do have plans Saturday afternoon,” I said, “but I could do Saturday morning.”

  “That would be great,” he said. He had a very calm, mild voice that made me feel at ease, even though we’d only been on the phone for about a minute. “I’ve done a number of interviews already, and some have been fairly quick. Others have been longer, but we can make sure that you’re done in time to get to your next engagement.”