My Bereaved Billionaire: A Clean Billionaire Romance (My Billionaire A-Z Book 2)

by Katie Evergreen

  He laughed, and it was such a warm, genuine sound that she laughed too. He nodded at her nametag, and she felt a sudden rush of embarrassment.

  “I thought you’d be a fan of Christmas,” he said. “Is your name really Merry?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Blame my parents, they called me that because they said I made them feel like every day was Christmas. You wouldn’t believe the stick I got for it at school.”

  “I can guess,” he said. “Believe it or not I had the same problem.”

  Another large group of people walked through the door, forcing the man to take a step closer to her. He was tall, over six foot, and there was the most incredible scent drifting from him—part nutmeg, park musk. Merry had to take a step back to stop herself from feeling faint. She distracted herself by handing a leaflet to another customer, taking a deep breath before turning back to the man.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I love Christmas. At least, I used to. There’s just something about this time of year that’s so special, so much fun. But, you know, when you’re all on your own like I am, it’s…”

  She put a hand to her mouth. Why did she always do this? No wonder men tended to give her a wide berth, she had a habit of throwing every little detail of her life at them within minutes of meeting.

  “Sorry, way too much information.”

  “It’s okay,” the man said. “I totally understand. If you’ve got family around you, it’s the happiest time of the year. But if you’re on your own, it can be the loneliest.”

  “That’s it,” she said. “Exactly.”

  The song overhead changed to the Little Drummer Boy, and Merry shivered as another blast of cold air blew in from outside. The man still showed no sign of leaving and she wondered if it was because he was enjoying talking to her. The thought of it made her panic, because whenever she started talking, she messed things up. Besides, there was something in his expression, and in the way he kept glancing into the store, that made her think there was another reason he was here.

  “So, what about you?” she asked. “Have you got family here in the city?”

  “Yeah,” he said, nodding. He looked like he was about to say more when somebody clear their throat behind him. Merry’s heart sank as Mrs Cradley stepped into view, her clipboard gripped in her talon-like fingers, her cold eyes glaring through her black-rimmed glasses.

  “Miss Sinclair, may I have a word?”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs Cradley,” Merry said, flapping a leaflet in the man’s face even though he already had one. “I’m handing them out the best I can.”

  “This is neither the place nor the time for small talk,” Mrs Cradley said, offering the man a dismissive smile that was almost rude. “I’ve been watching you for some time now. How many times do I have to tell you that we do not pay you to chat?”

  “I was just…” Merry started, but she didn’t have anything to add. She was just chatting. “I won’t do it again.”

  “Excuse me,” the man said, looking Mrs Cradley in the eye. He seemed to have straightened up, because he was even taller now than he had been moments ago. The force of his words made Mrs Cradley lean back, holding her clipboard up protectively. “This young woman was just helping me decide on what to buy my fiancé.”

  That hadn’t been what they were talking about at all, and even though she was grateful to him for defending her, Merry’s stomach turned unpleasantly when she heard that he was engaged.

  “She was being extremely helpful, and I don’t think she deserves to be treated like this. She’s a credit to your store.”

  Mrs Cradley’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets. She opened her mouth, then paused. She looked at the man, a strange expression on her bird-like face. Then she muttered something and hurried off into the perfume hall, using her clipboard to flap people out of the way.

  “Wow,” said Merry. “I’m so sorry that happened.”

  “You really don’t have anything to be sorry about,” the man replied. “She was completely out of order.”

  “Maybe,” Merry said, handing a leaflet to another customer. Her hand was shaking, and she hoped that nobody would notice. She hated confrontations so much. All she wanted to do was curl up into a ball beneath the half price saucepan sets across the aisle and hide there for the rest of her shift. “Maybe not. I do talk too much. I just forget myself sometimes.”

  “I like to talk,” he said, and she smiled gratefully.

  “So, do you want some advice on what to buy your fiancé?” she asked, trying to hide the disappointment in her voice. “There are some amazing pieces of jewelry upstairs, and we’ve got a new art department. If you like, I can show you around?”

  “No, thank you,” he said. He opened his mouth as if to say something else, then glanced at his watch instead. “I’d better get on, my dad’s expecting me.”

  “So you do have family,” she said, smiling. “That’s nice.”

  “Yes to family,” he replied. “But no to nice. They’re not exactly the kindest people.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “But it’s a magical time of year. Maybe this holiday will be different.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “It was nice to meet you, Merry.”

  He offered her his hand and she shook it eagerly.

  “It was nice to meet you too,” she said, tilting her head expectantly.

  “Christian,” he said, taking the hint. “Have a very merry Christmas, Merry.”

  “You too,” she replied, but as she watched him walk away—the way all men seemed to walk away—she couldn’t help but think that this was shaping up to be the worst Christmas ever.

  2

  Don’t look back, Christian told himself. Just don’t look—

  He looked back, seeing the young woman who had greeted him. She was watching him go, and when he caught her eye she beamed another beautiful smile his way. Merry was an unusual name, but it fit her perfectly. She had to be in her early twenties, and everything about her seemed to suggest that she was merry and bright, just like the Bing Crosby song that had been playing a moment ago. She was dressed in the traditional Carroll’s red dress, with green tights and shiny black heels. Her red hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, and her face seemed to glow like it was Christmas morning. Her eyes were such a vivid shade of green that he wondered if she was wearing contact lenses.

  He waved at her, and she waved back—the little collection of leaflets exploding from her hand again. Even from here he heard her groan, and she almost took out another customer on the way down to collect them. He laughed gently, wondering if he should go back to help her. But he stopped himself. He wasn’t here to speak to the greeters, even if this particular one was charming and beautiful and wonderful to talk to.

  The reason he was walking through the doors of Carroll’s Department Store for the first time in five years was far more serious.

  Christian sighed, looking around to get his bearings. The giant tree towered above him, reaching the balconies of the third floor and pouring out so much light that it almost hurt to look at it. There were hundreds of presents at its base, but Christian knew that all those perfectly wrapped boxes were empty, and just for show. It was how he felt now, wrapped up in his suit—perfectly presented but empty. It was the first time he’d dressed up in years, and he’d bulked up a lot in the time he’d been away, mainly from all of the digging and lifting he’d done as part of his work building schools and houses and hospitals in the Philippines. The suit barely fit him anymore, but it didn’t matter because he’d only have to wear it once. He just wanted to make a good impression.

  Not that something as simple as a suit would make today any easier.

  Taking a deep breath, he set off around the tree. The store was absolutely full of people, young couples in matching Christmas jumpers and delighted children running rings around their parents, all of them laughing and smiling and shouting with excitement. How many times had he run screaming around this shop when he
was a little boy? He wished he could be as happy as they were, but it was a long time since he’d been able to enjoy the festive season. And now that he was back here, the chances of him enjoying this year’s were even slimmer. What he’d told Merry was true, Christmas was about family, and his family had never made him feel very welcome.

  He reached the elevator and rode it up with a group of high school kids who were hyped up on hot chocolate and marshmallows. They got off on the third floor, leaving him to ride to the top of the building alone. He stepped off into homeware, making his way through the crowds to the staff door right at the back of the building. There was a keypad there, and he typed in the number to open it—his date of birth. To his surprise, the light blinked red and the keypad bleeped angrily. He tried again, and as he was going for a third attempt the door swung open and Christian found himself face to face with somebody he had hoped never to see again.

  “Christian Carroll,” said Amy Marshall, looking him up and down as if he was a rat that had scurried in from the street. “I’d like to say it was good to see you, but we’d both know that was a lie.”

  She was five years older now, but just as beautiful as she had been when they had dated. Her short, brown hair was immaculately styled, her elegant Chanel suit molded to her stunning figure. But her expression was as devoid of warmth and kindness as it had ever been.

  “Amy,” said Christian, nodding curtly. “The code has changed.”

  “A lot has changed,” she shot back. “You’d know that if you hadn’t abandoned ship.”

  Christian did his best to push the anger down into his stomach. He’d always known there was a chance Amy would still be here, but he’d hoped he could get through today without seeing her.

  “Is dad here?” he asked. “He wanted to see me. He said it was urgent.”

  He’d received the message two days ago, from his base in the Philippine island of Rapu Rapu where he had been helping to build a school for local children. It had been the first contact from his dad in years, and something about the way it had been worded had made it clear how serious it was. He’d packed up and flown home that night, and the thirty-six hours of travel were starting to take their toll. He rubbed his eyes, feeling like he could lie down right here and sleep for a week.

  “He’s here,” said Amy. “I told him it was a bad idea to invite you, but you know how he is. There’s no saying no to that man.”

  “Are you going to let me in, then?” Christian asked. Amy smiled unkindly and didn’t move, blocking him like a doorman.

  “I’ve got a good thing going here,” she said, leaning in to deliver the ice-cold words directly into his ear. “Do not mess it up. Am I clear?”

  “Crystal,” Christian replied. “Believe me, I want to be here about as much as you want me to be. Just let me through.”

  Amy stood there for a moment more, then moved to the side.

  “He’s in the office,” she said as he walked past. “And he’s pretty angry.”

  That was nothing new. Lewis Carroll was as famous as his literary namesake, and as far as the world knew he was the same gentle giant that appeared on the TV adverts every year dressed, dressed as Santa and “Ho! Ho! Hoing!” next to his Christmas tree. Only a few people had actually met the short-tempered, ruthless man behind the myth, and Christian knew the truth better than anybody. There was a good reason that his father was a billionaire many times over, and it wasn’t because he was as generous as Father Christmas. If anything, he was more like Ebenezer Scrooge—before the ghosts.

  Christian reached the office door and paused, composing himself. Then he knocked.

  “Who is it?” growled a familiar voice from inside. Christian felt a rush of anxiety at the thought of seeing his dad again after so long.

  “It’s me,” he said, turning the handle and opening the door. “It’s…”

  He froze, thinking for a moment that he’d made a mistake. There was only one man in the bookshelf-lined room, sitting behind the same antique desk that had always been there. But it couldn’t be his father. For one, he looked about half the size he had last time Christian had seen him. He’d lost maybe a hundred pounds, and it seemed like he had shrunk vertically as well. His hair had all but fallen out, and his famous white beard was thin and scraggly. Christian was so shocked that it took him a moment to notice the oxygen tank next his father’s chair, a face mask resting on the desk.

  “Dad?” he said, walking into the room.

  “So you do remember who I am,” said his dad, sucking in breath with an alarming wheeze. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

  “Of course,” Christian stuttered. “I just… I didn’t realize…”

  “You would have realized,” said Amy, following him into the office and closing the door behind her. “If you’d bothered to keep in touch.”

  “This is none of your business,” Christian said. “You don’t need to be here.”

  “Actually, she does,” said his dad. “Amy is the general manager now, she has been for a year, ever since I got sick.”

  “What do you mean?” Christian said, his heart thumping. “You’re sick?”

  As if replying, his dad started to cough, a rasping, hacking noise that sounded painful. Amy walked around the table and helped him with his oxygen until it had subsided. Christian was so shocked he felt like his legs were about to give way beneath him, but he didn’t sit down. He forced himself to keep standing so that he wouldn’t look weak—something his dad had always taught him to do.

  Not that his dad was standing now.

  “Your father has been getting worse,” said Amy while his dad collected his breath. “The doctors say he needs to start taking things easy. He needs to stop working.”

  “Which is why I brought you here,” he growled, his blue eyes as fierce as they had always been. “I’m giving you one last shot.”

  “One last shot at what?” Christian asked. “I told you, I don’t want any part of the business.”

  “You’re happier working in the mud?” his dad shot back. “Building flea infested toilets?”

  Christian nodded, feeling the heat creep into his cheeks. One of the reasons he’d left for good was because his dad had never made an effort to understand him. Money had been the only thing that ever mattered to Lewis Carroll, but Christian had never seen the attraction. He’d taken after his mother, god bless her soul. She’d always told him you couldn’t eat gold. When Christian had witnessed the terrible conditions of the factory workers during a buyer’s trip to the Philippines, and decided to stay to help them, his dad had seen it as a betrayal of him, the family, and everything he believed in. How many arguments just like this had he had with dad before he left five years ago? And now here they were again, at each other’s throats just minutes after meeting.

  “I’m happy where I am,” he said. “I’m sorry you’re ill, dad. I really am. And I’ll do what I can to help. But I’ve made my choice. This business isn’t for me.”

  “You didn’t seem to mind when I was giving you all my money,” said his dad.

  “That’s not fair, and you know it,” Christian said. “I helped you turn the store around when it looked like everything was going down the drain. I helped you franchise. I earned that money.”

  It was true. He’d worked insanely hard for four years to save Carroll’s during its darkest days after the recession. It had been his idea to open up new stores across the world, and that’s where the real money had come from. Without him, Carroll’s would have foreclosed years ago and the family would have been left penniless, rather than billionaires. Not that his dad seemed to remember any of that.

  “You came,” his dad said. “That shows you’re at least willing to hear me out.”

  “Sure,” Christian said. “Whatever you need.”

  “I need you back here,” his dad said. Christian started to protest but his dad held up a hand. “Amy’s right. I need to take a step back or this is gonna kill me. But I need help. The company is in troub
le, son, it’s on the edge.”

  “It looks healthy enough down there,” said Christian. “I’ve never seen it so busy.”

  “Plenty of people,” said his dad, wheezing as he drew in a breath. “But nobody is buying. At least not enough to keep the ship afloat. Something’s gone wrong, and I don’t know what it is. I need somebody to fix it, somebody I can trust.”

  “What about Amy?” Christian said. He glanced at her and saw the anger in her expression. She wanted this job, he knew, and as much as he hated the thought of giving her anything he knew she was a better choice. Besides, the last thing he wanted was to be sucked back into the family business.

  “Amy is doing an amazing job,” his dad said. “She’ll continue to run the company. But I need family. I need a Carroll. And you’re the only one I’ve got.”

  “I’ve got my own business, dad,” he said. “Hopebuilders is a multi-billion-dollar company in its own right now. And I’ve got a life out there. I can’t just up and leave it.”

  “You upped and left this one,” said his dad.

  Christian sighed. Trying to argue with his dad was a lost cause, the old man was still as sharp as a tack, and just as lethal. Besides, he was right. He’d left them all in the lurch.

  “Look, I don’t want to argue,” said his dad. “I figure we’ve done enough of that. I just… I need you, Christian. I’m old, I’m sick. I don’t even know how much time I have left. Do this for me, just for a little while. Take a look at the company from the inside, find out what’s going on.”

  “He doesn’t even know the company anymore,” said Amy.

  “Christian has known this company since the day he was born,” said dad. “But you’ve been gone so long nobody will remember you. You’re in the perfect place to get to the heart of whatever is going on.”

  Christian sighed. All he wanted to do was climb on a plane and head back to his home in the Philippines. But his dad was sick, really sick. This situation was obviously stressing him out, and there was a danger it could seriously hurt him. He wasn’t being asked to take the company over or anything, just to investigate. He’d saved Carroll’s before, he could do it again. Family might not have meant much to his dad, but it still held an importance for him.