Contents
Title Page
Author's Note
Invitation
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Endnote
About the Author
A VERY MERRY BILLIONAIRE CHRISTMAS
A SPECIAL EDITION HOLIDAY NOVELLA
Melanie Marchande
© 2014 Melanie Marchande
The cover art for this book makes use of licensed stock photography. All photography is for illustrative purposes only and all persons depicted are models.
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is intended for adult audiences only. All characters are fictional, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
***
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Author's Note
Merry Christmas, lovely readers!
As this story references characters and relationships from other books, it doesn't strictly function as a standalone. I suggest reading at least I Married a Billionaire, I Married a Master, and His Secretary: Undone to appreciate what's going on here. But of course, you're welcome to give it a try as sort of a sampler platter - and if you're curious about how these couples ended up where they are, well, you know where to go.
In the spirit of giving, 100% of my profits from the sale of this book will go towards a charity. Visit my website for more information.
Enjoy.
- M
Chapter One
The Westbrook, Billionaire's Row
Apartment 3607
The afternoon of December 10th
"No."
The curvy redhead shakes her wild curls, glancing at the home theater screen, then to her husband, and then back again.
"No? Why not?" Tall and lean, all hard edges where she is all soft peaks and valleys, Adrian Risinger points at the image on the screen. "Look at that."
"I'm looking," she insists. "I'm looking, and I'm horrified."
"It's amazing. Did you see the falcon?"
"I saw the falcon. I'm not clear on why a falcon flying directly at the camera is supposed to make me want to buy a hideous five million dollar house."
Adrian tosses the remote down on the plush red sofa. "You're no fun," he says. "The implication is that the grounds are big enough to go falcon hunting."
"The grounds? Are you listening to yourself right now?" She leans on the back of the sofa, and Adrian reaches for her hand, smiling absently as their fingers intertwine without any conscious effort. "And don't even get me started on the interiors. This house looks like Tony Montana's wet dream."
"Exactly."
She snorts. "You are unbelievably tacky."
"We're going to need a house eventually."
"Why? This place is perfectly nice."
"Sure, but it's no place to raise a family."
"What on earth makes you think I want to raise your demon spawn?"
"You seemed pretty eager last night."
"That was just roleplay. Plenty of things are hot in roleplay, but that doesn't mean I really want to be kidnapped by a ruthless mobster. Or spend the rest of my life barefoot and pregnant in...that kitchen."
"Don't be ridiculous, we'll have a staff. In fact, they come with the house."
"You know, I'm pretty sure I saw that in a horror movie once. I don't think it ended well."
He grins, patting his thigh, and she only hesitates a moment before rounding the corner of the sofa and sitting down on his lap. "I promise you," he says, winding his arms around her waist, "if we find a redheaded maid that I see as Alexandra Breckenridge, and you see as Frances Conry as a cloudy eye...we'll sell the house immediately."
"After you have your way with her, you mean."
"Well, obviously. I'm not going to pass up the opportunity to fuck a ghost. That doesn't just come along every day." He smiles, nuzzling against her neck. "Be serious for a minute, love."
"You know that's impossible."
"We need a house." He kisses her gently, just under her earlobe, before continuing. "Doesn't have to be in the kitchen, but I do want to see you barefoot and pregnant. I know you want it too. What I don't want is to raise kids in this soulless high-rise. Am I wrong, Megs?"
"You know you never are." She sighs, smiling a little. "I want to have so many of your children. Like, twenty. They'll drive me insane but I'll love them more than I thought possible. Just like their dad. I draw the line at barefoot, though. I'm going to keep wearing shoes."
Adrian lets out a dramatic sigh of disappointment. "Well, I think we should at least look at the place. For science."
"Can't we make an appointment some other time?" Meg wrinkles her nose slightly. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'd love to go to a crazy billionaire's Christmas party, slash house showing, but not as much as I'd love not to."
"The house showing is just a rumor," her husband reminds her. "Besides, think of the stories we can tell the children." He grins. "All twenty of them."
"You know the only way that's actually going to happen is if you figure out a way to splice your DNA with a seahorse and bear at least eighteen of them yourself," Meg snickers.
He wants to tell her how sexy she is, how sexy she'll be when she's swollen with his seed, but he can't quite find a non-laughable way to word it. He wants to tell her that her stretch marks will only add character. That he hates the idea that a woman's body is destroyed by the one thing everyone thinks she's supposed to do with her life.
But he's acted like enough of a sap already.
"Speaking of crazy billionaires," he says, "they say Daniel Thorne will be there. I've always wanted to meet him."
"Really?" Meg twists her head around to look at him. "You've never met? I just figured..."
"He doesn't go to a lot of parties," Adrian says. "Which sort of contributes to Dr. Clickbait's overall thesis, if you're into that sort of thing."
"It's gross," Meg declares. "I know it gets readers, but it's gross. Dr. Stu is scum, I don't care how many degrees he has. He makes all his money going on late-night talk shows and speculating about the latest former child star's complete and total breakdown, for our entertainment. I guess they've all gone to rehab, so he's got nobody left to pick apart except Daniel Thorne. Can you imagine how he must feel, reading that?"
"Not that it matters," Adrian says. "Brilliant is brilliant. I probably have a personality disorder, and look at me!"
Meg snorts. "Well, I'm just as qualified to diagnose you as Dr. Stu is. How many times, in the last month, has an ATM told you to feed it a stray cat?"
"God, not that kind of personality disorder!" Adrian laughs. "I mean, at worst, I'm a raging narcissist, right? Maybe with a touch of sociopath."
Meg tilts her face so that their noises just barely touch. "Of course not, Mr. Risinger. You're just a damaged anti-hero. If only you could find someone to understand you. Oh, but who could ever learn to love a beast?"
With a playful growl, Adrian stands, hauling her up with him and then tossing her back down on the sofa. She dissolves into shrieks, then giggles, then sighs...
***
The
Chelsea Arms, Billionaire's Row
Apartment 56
The evening of December 11th
"So, what do you think?"
Jenna rubs a towel through her hair, glancing at her husband from across the hallway. "I think I just walked in the door from a twelve-hour flight. Can we talk about this later?"
"To be fair, you've been home for an hour." Ben waves the embossed invitation in the air, like a bidding card. "Yes or no? He's not the kind of guy who likes to be kept waiting."
"If you wanted a timely answer, you could've asked me two months ago, when you got it." She perches on one of the kitchen stools, absentmindedly folding and unfolding the towel. "Are Daniel and Maddy going?"
Ben clears his throat. "I'm, uh, I'm not sure. He's not exactly talking to me."
The actress rolls her eyes. "I thought you were going to patch things up while I was at the shoot."
"I did try." Ben is indignant.
"Define 'try.'"
"I sent him, like, ten or twelve text messages. And I only called him an asshole once."
Jenna rolls her eyes. "You need to fix this, okay? Just apologize. Grovel. Do whatever you need to do. You're acting like a child, and he has every right to be upset with you."
"Why? It's ancient history."
"Trust me, Ben. He doesn't care that you did it, he cares that you told him. Because you very obviously told him for the express purpose of pissing him off. Just apologize."
"You don't give orders around here."
"Sometimes I do. Like, right now." She sighs. "You slept with his sister, Ben. Just say you're sorry."
"Well, first of all, I'm not sorry." Ben raises one finger, and then another. "Second of all, it was a million years ago. Before she even knew her husband. Daria and I had just broken up. It was a momentary lapse in judgment. I don't see why it has to be a big deal."
"It didn't have to be. Especially if he never found out. But he did, because you told him. Because you were being - and I say this with all the love in my heart - a bit of a dick."
Ben makes a dismissive noise, waving his hand. "Maybe. But there's no reason for him to make such an issue out of this. Back in the day, we would've worked it out with a quick fist fight..."
"A, no you wouldn't have. B, he has a daughter now. He sees things a little bit differently. His sister's always been top dog - she's older, she's arguably tougher, she stands up for herself. I think he regrets not being there for her. Being 'a man,' whatever that means. He feels responsible for the fact that you seduced her."
"For the record, she seduced me." Ben crosses his arms.
"Definitely do not mention that to him. Now that he's really responsible for someone else, he feels it even more. And you had to go and rub it in his face."
"I was not rubbing anything!" Ben insists. "You're reading too much into this. He needs to get over himself. He's upset over those articles, over that stupid celebrity doctor who's never even met him, doing an armchair diagnosis for a quick paycheck. He's not upset over me and Lindsey ten million years ago. There's no reason for him to take it out on me. We're adults, aren't we?"
Jenna stares at him for a little bit too long. "I don't think you really want me to answer that question."
***
Thorne Industries, Office of the CEO
The afternoon of December 12th
Maddy Thorne tents her fingers, unconsciously mirroring her husband across his massive desk. "You really, really need to get some perspective on this," she informs him.
Daniel just stares. "She's my sister, Maddy."
His wife takes a deep breath ."Please don't take this the wrong way, but...Lindsey can take care of herself."
"Evidently, she can't." Daniel Thorne's jaw twitches. "I mean, him?"
"I feel like I should be offended on behalf of my friend." Maddy's lips draw into a thin line.
Her husband glances at her, sharply. "Of course not. A man like him is absolutely fine for her. But for Lindsey? For my sister?"
"Daniel, it's...it's practically ancient history."
"You sound just like him."
"Well, it is! I mean, when that happened, you were probably still sandwiched between two supermodels at the Bellagio. It's not worth getting upset about something that happened when we were all different people."
"I never stayed at the Bellagio. It's a tourist trap." Daniel glares at her. "You're missing the point completely. Lindsey's not like that. She never has been. Between the two of us, she was the rock. Strong, independent, everything I always wanted to be. She doesn't need...someone like him."
Realization dawns across Maddy's face. "You're not really upset because it's Ben, are you? You're upset because he's dominant."
Daniel's jaw twitches. "Of course not," he mutters, turning back to the papers on his desk. "That would be..."
"Silly," his wife suggests. "Some would say unwise, even."
His eyes narrow slightly as he looks up at her again. "This isn't about you and me."
"Exactly," she says. Then, when he just frowns a little, she adds on: "By which I mean, it's none of your business."
"He should've considered that before he told me," Daniel growls, softly.
Maddy's eyes catch something on his desk, and she stands suddenly, rounding the corner to grab it. Daniel keeps his elbow firmly planted on the pile of papers, but she slides it out successfully.
"Really?" Maddy folds it in half without even looking at the headline. "You've got to stop looking at these, Daniel."
"I don't have to stop anything," he snaps, jumping to his feet. Maddy stands her ground, crunching the newspaper in her fist. "I have to know what they're saying about me, and I'm allowed to be in a bad mood about it, and it's still not your business to tell me how to fucking react to everything."
She sighs heavily. "I don't have the energy to fight with you today. But I'm only trying to protect you from a spiral that you know leads absolutely nowhere." Taking a step forward, she lays her hand on his arm - he jerks suddenly, as if to pull away, but doesn't. She goes on. "I know you're scared for Laura. I understand. I get it, okay? But you've heard everything the doctors said - she's very bright, and very quick. Her verbal skills are going to catch up. And it's got nothing to do with you."
Daniel's silent for a long moment. "You don't know that," he says, finally, his eyes on the floor.
It's the most honest he's been in a long time.
He's so often looking at the floor. With a monumental effort, he drags his eyes to his wife's face - to her eyes, and after all this time, there is still something inside him that curls up like hearing fingernails on a chalkboard. It's not her. It's him. Her eyes are big and beautiful, they were what drew him to her in the first place. Because he so rarely saw them.
Before, when she was only his employee, he mostly looked at the back of her head, so often bobbing silently to music that only she could hear. This endeared him to her immediately, like she somehow operated on the same wavelength. A ridiculous thought, but it made him smile.
He did try to talk to her once or twice, something she vehemently denies, but he knows they had at least a few elevator conversations where her cheeks reddened and she just stared at the industrial carpet, like she thought she'd spontaneously combust if their eyes actually met.
Yet another quirk they shared in common.
It's never gotten easier. That's not true - he can hold her gaze now, longer and longer, especially when they play their games. He can slip into the role of Sir and finally feel at home, comfortable in his skin. That's a gift she's given him.
It hurts to look at her, but not as much as not looking.
It was a joke, growing up. Not a funny one, per se, but his father certainly made enough comments about his mental state that he always accepted he was weird. Perhaps broken somehow. But until Dr. Stu, as he styles himself, did that interview...
I think there are a lot of undiagnosed people out there, on the spectrum...oh, I'm sorry, I'm talking about the autism spectr
um, of course.
Take, for example, the head of Thorne Industries. The designer of the phone you've all probably got in your pocket right now. That man's brilliant, but he's not exactly normal, is he?
Not normal. He's never thought he was normal, but he's never actually thought he was diagnosable. A few years ago, it wouldn't have mattered. But now he's passed his genes on to someone else - someone who might have been infected with his chronic irritation at existing in a world full of other human beings, the noise in his head, the feeling like something inside him is constantly, constantly scratching to get out.
His stomach roils at the thought.
Maddy is suddenly wrapping her arms around him, holding him tightly, and it's not the first time he wonders if she can actually read his mind.
The warmth and pressure of her body slowly calms his thoughts, replacing the jangling incessant thoughts with soft blissful nothing.
Chapter Two
The Day of the Party
"...catch a tiger by the toe..."
"It's never going to work," Ben cuts in. "There's too many of them."
Jenna whirls around, her heels squeaking on the spotless concrete floors. "You told me to choose. I'm choosing. Don't question my methods."
Ben mutters something that definitely includes the word spanking, but Jenna pretends to ignore him, even as her cheeks turn pink.
"That one," she says, finally, pointing to a vintage black Impala looming in the corner.
"Interesting choice." Ben grins, going for the key rack. "You just want to feel like Dean Winchester, don't you?"
"I'm assuming that's why you bought it," she says, pulling open the passenger door and sliding in. "Obviously I'm Sam, since you're driving."
A Very Merry Billionaire Christmas (Special Edition Holiday Novella) Page 1