The Billionaire's Holiday Obsession

by Nadia Lee

  She’d been so convinced he was on her side, that he really wanted to see her do well. She’d opened a line of credit, using her portion of the family land as collateral. And she’d given him fifty thousand to buy equipment from liquidation auctions and secure a lease.

  He’d used the money to pay off his bookie.

  She put the heel of her hand against her belly and rubbed the hot and painful spot.

  There was no way to get the money back—Gio apparently didn’t even have a job. It was up to her to make it right, and she’d rather be dead than have the bank take the land that had been in her family for three generations. Her family didn’t deserve to lose their legacy because she’d been stupid and gullible. They might not have supported her, but none of it was out of cruelty. They simply didn’t see her as anything other than the little girl who stayed home and cooked and cleaned because that was the role she’d played since forever.

  Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she pulled it out to check the caller. Speak of the devil.

  “I asked you to stop calling,” she snapped.

  “You bitch, you think you can run and keep my money?” came Gio’s low voice. It had sounded as smooth as whipped cream when they first met, but now it reminded her of loose nails in a can.

  “It’s my money. You stole it from me.”

  “It was a fuckin’ investment! I told you that already!”

  “It was your gambling debt.”

  “You can’t hide forever, Jane. I know how to find you.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “You’re gonna be sorry!” he yelled. “You cun—”

  She hung up, shaky with anger and frustration. She had no interest in his ranting or insults. She’d heard enough when he’d realized she wasn’t going to hand him any more cash. Apparently he’d still owed money to the bookie. He stole fifty thousand bucks, she thought. How much more could he owe?

  Finally she reached the small street where she’d parked her rusty old Chevy. She’d been so certain if she’d moved out of her hometown, where everyone saw her as “that nice Connolly girl,” she’d be able to get a good-paying job and a place of her own. Instead she’d spent the last few weeks alone in her car in a hostile city eating nothing but stale crackers and processed cheese.

  She swallowed bitterness. No self-pity, girl. It wouldn’t do her any good to feel sorry for herself or wish she could go home. Going home meant admitting defeat. Unlike some of the town’s people, her family wouldn’t openly gloat, but it would be in their eyes when she returned with her tail tucked between her legs.

  Jane frowned as she got closer to her car. There was something odd about the Chevy, like it was sort of sitting too low. She hurried toward it and then she saw Gio hadn’t been kidding when he’d bragged that he knew where she was. CUNT was spray-painted across the windshield in a bright apple red, and all four of the tires had been slashed.

  Jane stared at the car, willing it to be a dream. But it wasn’t. The windshield still sported the horrible four-letter word in all caps, and her tires didn’t magically heal themselves.

  She couldn’t drive and live in a car like this, and she didn’t have the money to fix it. She had no job after months of searching. Her bank had given her a sixty-thousand-dollar line of credit, but she couldn’t take even a penny out of it. She already owed so much.

  As she stared at her car, her breath caught in her throat. A nasty tremor started in her hands, and she closed her eyes.

  Then she lost it.

  * * *

  Iain Pryce forced his hands to remain relaxed on the steering wheel of his cousin’s brand new Maserati, but twin hammers still beat against his temples. He should’ve never gone to Maryland to meet his old mixed martial arts buddies. As much as he liked them, they reminded him of the worst night of his life.

  Most of them had retired from MMA fighting and owned gyms or other businesses. They’d talked about the good ol’ days. A few had asked Iain why he’d retired and how life was treating him. Iain had smiled the entire time and made jokes but never really answered the questions.

  He should’ve stayed in L.A., but the city was making it hard to maintain his usual even keel. His parents had recently elevated their silent passive aggression to another level. They’d never had an ideal marriage, despite their high-society moniker—The Eternal Couple. But there was something new in their relationship that really set his teeth on edge…if he allowed it to.

  Then there was Mark’s engagement. Iain was glad for his younger brother, but watching him be stupidly happy with his fiancée twisted something inside, and it shamed him. He should be totally ecstatic that Mark had finally hooked up with a nice girl, but maybe he was just annoyed he’d lost a perfect wingman for clubbing.

  Iain frowned, then had to swerve sharply when another car suddenly decided to shift into his lane. Temper, temper, he admonished himself. He pulled his car to the right, breathing in and out to a slow four-count and resisting the impulse to curse.

  The exit coming up looked vaguely familiar, so he took it. Maybe he’d reached McLean already.

  He soon realized his error. There was no way these cracked streets and defaced signs belonged to his cousin Elizabeth Pryce-Reed’s swanky neighborhood. Where in the hell was he? Thanks to Elizabeth’s paranoia about stalkers—she’d had a few—she’d ripped the GPS out of the car, so he couldn’t even use the latest technology to get himself back to her place.

  He took out his phone. He’d forgotten to charge it the night before, but it probably had enough juice left for a call or two. The phone flashed LOW BATTERY as he dialed Elizabeth, then an X appeared over the battery status as it rang, and before she could answer, it died.

  “You gotta be kidding me.” Elizabeth’s phone was a different make from his, so of course the charger in her car didn’t work on his phone.

  Sighing, he drove around slowly and aimlessly, hoping to find somebody—anybody—who could help him. Half an hour later, he hadn’t seen a single soul who seemed interested in helping him. Everyone he’d seen had looked at the Maserati like they were thinking about chopping it up and selling it for parts.

  He rubbed his face at an intersection of two small streets. Okay. Calm. Need to focus. All he had to do was find the highway that would take him to the neighborhood where Elizabeth had bought her new house. He could do that, no problem.

  Just as he was about to drive past the intersection, a woman screamed. If he’d been anywhere but the crappy part of the capital, he might have driven past. He didn’t like getting involved in things. But his conscience nipped at him.

  Anything could be happening. Robbery, rape, or worse. What if the woman was being killed?

  Sometimes he really hated his conscience.

  Iain pulled into the street and saw a slim woman standing under a streetlight. She was medium-height and carried a backpack, but other than that he couldn’t tell in the uncertain light. She was staring at an old car and screamed again.

  Guess she wasn’t being murdered. Now he could just drive by, no problem, nothing to weigh on his conscience as he lay down that night to sleep. He’d done the right thing.

  Then she turned, saw his car and locked gazes with him. Her large, dark eyes seethed with anger and despair. Underneath all was pain so raw, he gasped like he’d been punched in the gut. He couldn’t look away; for a moment it felt like he was suspended in the air.

  To his relief, she turned away, but not before he saw her wipe her eyes with the back of her hands.

  He seriously should just drive away. Pretend he hadn’t heard her scream or seen her cry. He didn’t do tears. But he couldn’t. His damned conscience wanted him to make sure she was really okay because apparently the fact that she wasn’t being murdered wasn’t enough.

  Against his better judgment, Iain took a deep breath, pulled over and lowered the window. “You all right?”

  “What do you think?” she shot back, gesturing at the old car. “Does this look all right to you?”
>
  He frowned as he noticed the flat tires…then the red CUNT on her windshield. It didn’t seem like random vandalism. Whoever had done this knew her and was trying for intimidation. She wasn’t wearing a jacket, and under her ill-fitting clothes her shoulders were bony. Her facial features were even and finely carved, but too angular and sharp from hunger. He’d seen that look from aspiring actresses and models dieting to look like a starving Somalian child.

  No, no, no. Don’t get involved.

  “Got a place to go?”

  “Why? You in the mood to take in a stray?” she asked, her voice sharp.

  No, he wasn’t, but he couldn’t leave her either. Something about the way she was trembling warned him she was close to breaking. He knew what he’d done the last time he’d snapped, and he didn’t want her to snap too. Unlike him, she probably didn’t have anybody she could call to bail her out. If she did, she wouldn’t be standing around screaming at her car. “Actually, I’m lost,” he said. “I need to get to McLean.”

  “Really?” Her gaze flicked over the Maserati, and she raised an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, really.” When she kept staring at him, Iain shrugged, oddly bothered by the fact that she didn’t trust him. She was just being sensible by not getting in the car with him. “Okay, look. Call 911 and report it. That way at least your stalker will go to jail.”

  She turned irresolutely under the streetlamp, then shook her head. “Wait.” She reached into her damaged car and pulled out a small duffel bag. Then she went around the front and stood by the passenger seat. “I’ll help you get to McLean if you drop me off at a church.”

  He stared at her, wondering why in the world she had a sudden desire to pray. But, whatever worked. He unlocked the door. “Get in.”

  Chapter Two

  As the man drove, Jane clutched her duffel bag tighter to her chest. Despite her best intentions, she couldn’t help but sniff back tears. She tried to be as quiet as possible, not wanting the stranger to notice her weakness.

  “So, which way?” he asked.

  “You want to get on the George Washington Memorial Parkway.”

  She had no idea what had made her climb into a car with a strange man. Maybe it was the way he’d been kind to her—in spite of himself. She could tell from his tone and pinched expression that he didn’t really want to give her a ride, but somehow felt obligated. She sneaked a quick glance at him. The man was freakishly good looking, with calm eyes and the cleanest, most beautiful profile. Of course, serial killers never looked like serial killers until they were caught.

  Did it matter? What was done was done. Besides, he really was driving toward McLean. If he was going to kill her and dump her body, McLean was the wrong place.

  Suddenly he plucked a tissue from a box between them and handed it to her. She wrapped it around a finger and dabbed her eyes. Things would have to get better. There was no way she could go any lower than this.

  Her stiff knuckles and joints thawed as the heater blasted hot air at her. She should just enjoy the warmth inside the car for now.

  “So what’s your name?” she asked.

  “Iain.”

  “I’m Jane.”

  He nodded but didn’t say anything else. He didn’t even have the radio on. The silence was awkward, but she didn’t dare touch the sleek, spotless controls. She didn’t know much about cars, but this one had money written all over it. She already owed the bank fifty thousand bucks. She didn’t want to owe Iain money for breaking his radio.

  She studied him surreptitiously instead. He had thick, powerful wrists and a watch that looked expensive. The material his clothes were made of was something she’d never seen before. The fact that nobody from her hometown wore anything like what he was wearing said it was probably high-quality stuff. His dark hair was perfectly cut, undoubtedly by a stylist who charged hundreds of dollars. She wrapped her duffel bag strap around her index finger. She’d never been inside a beauty salon. She cut her own hair since she couldn’t afford anything else.

  Everyone knew Jane Connolly had no money.

  “About the church,” Iain began, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “What are you going to do there? Pray for help?”

  She choked back a laugh. Definitely rich. “A lot of them have shelters.”

  “Oh. Well, I doubt the churches in McLean do. The area isn’t exactly teeming with poor people.”

  “But you promised.”

  “No, I didn’t. I said get in.”

  She glared at him.

  Seemingly unaware of her annoyance, he frowned, while studying the smaller streets and houses around them. “Since you have nowhere to go, maybe you can spend the night where I’m staying at.”

  “Uh…”

  “Don’t worry. It’s a big house, and you can have your own room.”

  “That’s not the point. You can just drop me off wherever. I’m not going to impose on anyone.” And there was no way she was spending the night with him alone, no matter how big he claimed his house was. She wasn’t stupid.

  His frown deepened. “One night won’t be an imposition. Besides, if you lurk around this kind of neighborhood at night, you’ll probably get arrested for loitering or vagrancy. Then what are you going to do?” He made a turn. “If you don’t like the house, I can arrange for a hotel once I find my phone charger. It’s out of juice.”

  Jane bit her lower lip and pulled her legs in closer. A sense of defeat weighed on her. No amount of pride would help improve her situation. She hated taking charity, but right now, she had no choice. Getting arrested would be the final nail in the coffin to ruin her life.

  Iain parked the car in front of a three-story mansion. It didn’t look like mansions she’d seen on TV, but “house” was too humble a word to use for something like this. She stared at the pristine round columns and the heavy, ornately carved wooden door standing between them. The exterior walls were smooth ivory, and the garden was winter-austere. He went around as she untangled the strap, and opened the door. She blinked at the unexpected gesture. It was something she’d seen in romantic movies, but she’d never met a man who actually did it in real life. “Your bags,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I’ll carry your bags.”

  She flexed her hands around them. They contained her wallet and clothes…everything she had left, really. “It’s okay. They aren’t that heavy.”

  He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  Jane slowly followed him to the front door. He rapped twice, then unlocked it. Iain pressed a few keys on the security pad, and the light turned green.

  She could see him so much better under the porch lights. She’d thought maybe her mind had exaggerated his handsomeness in the uncertain freeway illumination. But that hadn’t been the case. It was more like the darkness had hidden his perfection. He seemed almost unnatural, like he was a work of a master sculpture rather than a living human being. He didn’t look at her, but she could still feel the calm darkness of his gaze. Compared to him, she felt like a drab, cheaply clothed mouse with her boring brown hair pulled back into a simple ponytail, ratty black canvas shoes and two faded bags.

  A beautiful blonde with friendly eyes and a bright smile appeared at the door. She was probably around Jane’s age, but she looked so much more sophisticated and worldly. She wore a pink silk robe that swirled around her legs as she walked. Was she Iain’s girlfriend or something? It wouldn’t be a surprise, given how gorgeous they looked together.

  “You made it back. I thought you might decide to spend the night with your friends,” the woman said to Iain, giving him a hug. “Who is this?”

  “Jane.” He gestured at the blonde. “This is Elizabeth.”

  “Hi,” Jane said. Another woman staying in the place changed things a bit.

  Elizabeth extended her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  They shook hands. Elizabeth’s hand was incredibly soft. Jane hadn’t had hands that soft
since she was five.

  “Is there a guest suite Jane can use?” Iain asked.

  “Sure.” Elizabeth didn’t seem surprised by his request. How often does he bring random women over? “Why don’t you come in?” she said to Jane.

  Jane stepped onto an inlaid white stone floor and glanced around. A chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling, and crystal vases with fresh flowers occupied little niches.

  “Is Rebecca here?” Iain asked.

  “Nope. She’s off. Won’t be back until Saturday.”

  He mumbled something under his breath as Elizabeth gestured at Jane to come with her. They climbed the stairs together. “I’m sorry I forgot to ask, but do you need help with your bags?”

  “No, it’s all right.” Jane cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

  “I wish Rebecca were here. She knows where everything is. But still, the suite should have the basics.” She laughed. “I hope.”

  The hallway was all gleaming hardwood that smelled of fresh wax. Watercolors hung on the walls, and Jane had a feeling all of them were priceless. Elizabeth opened the third door to their left. “Here we are.”

  Jane blinked. The suite was huge—at least four times her bedroom in her family home. The pale rugs were thick and plush, and not even a speck of dust showed on the cherry furniture. Pale blue and yellow paper covered the walls.

  Elizabeth showed her into a full bathroom with a double vanity. “Oh, great. Everything looks like it’s here. If you need anything else, just let me or Iain know. But I think it should be all right.”

  “Uh…I think I’ll be okay.” The bathroom was fully stocked with shampoo, conditioner and soap. It even had a bottle of body lotion that had come from a fancy boutique in “Paris, France.”

  “You should try that.” Elizabeth gestured at the lotion. “It’s divine.”