The Billionaire's Holiday Obsession

by Nadia Lee

  No, Iain hasn’t been by.

  Strange. She pulled out the set of spare keys he’d given her, in case of emergency. She didn’t feel comfortable walking in on Iain like this, but it definitely felt like an emergency.

  She let herself in.

  The place was as sterile and uninviting as usual. Iain didn’t believe in clutter, and he refused to let his previous girlfriends move in with him or vice versa. Ceinlys suspected a bigger part of the reason was his fierce need for his own space. And yet…

  There was a Christmas tree in the corner of the living room. It was even decorated. Shocking—Ceinlys was certain Iain never shopped for holiday items. It was his assistant’s job to handle that sort of thing.

  Then as she walked into the room she found him crouched behind the tree, his face buried in his hands and shaking all over. She dropped her bag and coat and rushed to him. “Iain, are you all right?” She knelt beside him and pulled him into her arms.

  He let her hold him as his hot tears wet her clothes. Despite the grief racking his body he was silent, as he had been even as a young boy. She ran her fingers through his soft hair with relief. Out of all her children, he was the one who’d made it clear how much he held her in contempt and hate. She’d borne it as her due. Shirley Pryce had often lamented to anyone who’d listen that her son had married poorly when he’d chosen Ceinlys Glazier as his wife. Salazar had confirmed that assessment by straying within weeks of their wedding ceremony. Why wouldn’t a child as sensitive as Iain notice and share the opinion of two people he adored?

  He’d changed since the bar fight, but things were always strained despite their attempts to pretend they had a normal mother-son relationship. She hadn’t been able to even suggest a suitable heiress, as she had with Mark.

  “Promise me my grandchildren will marry well, Ceinlys. That’s the least you owe me,” Shirley Pryce had said on her deathbed. And Ceinlys had promised.

  Even if Ceinlys had felt comfortable pushing Iain, there was no point. Whether he knew it or not, he was in love with that Jane girl. The Christmas tree and decorations… Nothing less than love would’ve allowed him to let her change his space.

  “What made you come over?” Iain asked, his voice cracking.

  “I wanted to make sure you were all right. Is there anything I can do?”

  He finally raised his head and looked at her. “Why are you so nice to me, Mom?”

  “You’re my son, Iain, and I love you.”

  “I never said sorry to you.”

  She blinked away sudden tears. “It doesn’t matter. You are my son. And I love you.”

  “I hurt you because I was angry. I thought you were the reason Dad had all those embarrassing affairs. I knew about your men.”

  She closed her eyes. She’d been very careful and always striven to maintain a proper public image. On the other hand, no secret lasted forever. She should know.

  “But I didn’t realize Dad started it first.”

  Her hands began to tremble, and she didn’t know what to do. This was not the sort of conversation she expected to have when she’d come over. “Do your brothers and sister know?”

  Iain hesitated, then said, “Yes. So does Dad.”

  “I see.” That explained another dimension to Iain’s old dislike of her. “I’m sorry to have…exposed you to that.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry I was such a moron. You didn’t deserve… I shouldn’t have been like that to you.”

  She swallowed a big lump in her throat. “Shhh… It’s all in the past.” She held him and, because she couldn’t think of anything else, hummed a soft melody she used to sing for her children when they were upset. Even as she wondered who would hold her and soothe her pain.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The giant omelet on Jane’s plate was possibly the best she’d ever had. It was fluffy and beautiful, every ingredient fresh and exquisitely prepped and cooked. After all, it was André’s omelet.

  She choked down another bite.

  The small apartment he owned near Éternité was cozy and stuffed with knickknacks and a few boxes he hadn’t unpacked yet. Bookshelves overflowed with tomes in French and binders stuffed with his personal recipes. The entire place smelled like burnt leaves from the hand-rolled French cigarettes he liked to puff on, and his kitchen was surprisingly simple, with basic but well-made pots and pans that showed decades of heavy use. He’d told her he’d inherited them from his mother, and he’d used one to make breakfast.

  “You don’t like my omelet?” André asked from the other side of the table. He’d finished already and started on a bottle of burgundy, which she’d turned down.

  “No, it’s really good.”

  “You are, ’ow do you say, picking at it.”

  “Sorry. I don’t have a lot of appetite.”

  “Women and amour.” André sighed. “Dieting solves nothing. Iain will not come for you like in La Traviata.”

  “La what?”

  “An opera. A woman got sick and wasted away, and her lover came for ’er at the end, I think. But it was too late. She died.”

  What a cheery story for a cheery Christmas. “I’m not sick.”

  “Your body, no. Your ’eart, yes. I can see.” He forked his fingers and pointed them at Jane. “I am French.”

  “I thought being French made you good at cooking.”

  “Frenchmen are masters of many things.”

  She laughed at his comically serious tone. “Well, thank you for all your help.”

  André scoffed and waved her away.

  “I mean it. If it hadn’t been for you, I would’ve spent my Christmas Eve on the streets.”

  He grunted. “Boss man would ’ave ’elped you out.”

  “He wouldn’t have.” She sighed. “Things went bad between me and Iain. I don’t think I can work at Éternité anymore.” She was sure Mark was furious. Although she hadn’t spent much time with him, she could tell he and Iain were close.

  “You still want to work in a restaurant kitchen? I can ask for you. I know other chefs, and everyone respects the opinion of André.”

  She shook her head. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, and you were right. I love cooking, but I don’t enjoy it in big kitchens where I never see anybody except other cooks.”

  “So. You want the connection between you and the diners.”

  “Well, yeah. But the only place I can do that is probably my family’s kitchen, where nobody appreciates me or my cooking.”

  “If they don’t appreciate it, then they do not deserve it.”

  “So what do I do? I have no skills.”

  “Can you really cook? Eh? You are not like those people on the singing show who think they can sing but cannot?”

  Jane choked on her water. “You mean American Idol? I think I’m a pretty decent cook. If you want, I can make something for lunch.”

  He nodded. “If you are a good cook, with good fundamentals and instincts, you can always become a private chef.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It is the same as cooking in a restaurant, but you make food for people in their ’omes or offices. Many people are too busy and tired to cook, but they want to ’ave a meal that is ’ealthy and good for them. Or maybe they ’ave a small party and need ’elp.”

  “But I don’t know how to make all the fancy sauces and stuff.” She’d seen the menu at Éternité. The main entrées required an impressive array of complicated sauces.

  André laughed. “Sauce is extra. Sometimes you use it to liven up the base ingredient. Sometimes you ’ave to use one, because the ingredient isn’t as good as it should be. A good, strong sauce can cover up many sins of old fish and meat.”

  “Oh.” Jane blinked, recalling some of the rich sauces she’d seen the saucier make. “But I thought Éternité used the best.”

  “Of course we use the best! But people in America who go to a restaurant called Éternité want fancy-sounding sauces on
their fish and meat.” André gave a Gallic shrug. “So I give them what they want, even if it is stupid. There’s no cure for bad taste.” He took a long swallow of burgundy. “Cooking is like a love affair, and ingredients are like women. Ugly ones need a lot of ’elp, but the pretty ones…ah, the pretty ones, they are pretty even when they first wake up in the morning.” André got a faraway look in his eye. “’Ave you ever eaten a fish, lightly baked with olive oil and garlic and a squeeze of lemon? If the fish is fresh, it is enough. If not, you will need some ’eavy butter and cream to disguise the taste. Maybe you ’ave to fry the fish before using all the other things. But a true chef does not need a ’undred tricks. Stick to the basics and the best ingredients, and poof! You are there.” He poured himself another glass. “Why don’t we work on lunch together? I show you some of my tricks, eh? Teach you some things you don’t know?”

  His offer touched her, and she blinked away sudden tears. God, it was so stupid to get emotional like this. She was just upset about the way things had turned out with Iain. He’d probably thrown away the tree and all the gifts. And he would be on the road to regaining his zen now that she was out of his life. She’d thought she was fitting in there with him somehow, but she’d been delusional about everything. “Thank you, André. I know I’m imposing on you on your day off.”

  He gave her a long look. “Do you throw away pearls because pigs don’t understand their value?

  “Uh.” She blinked at the sudden question. “No, of course not.”

  “So don’t think so little of yourself if your family does not understand your value. You’re a good girl, Jane. You work ’ard, you don’t complain, and you don’t try to…’ow do you say…get on by. I admire that.” He finished the glass.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, as she cut another piece of omelet.

  Why couldn’t Iain have been the one to see those good qualities in her too?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Two days later, Jane went to Éternité at eleven. Mark usually showed up around that time to check on things. Jane had thought about calling, but she owed him a face-to-face thank-you for giving her a chance.

  As she walked through the narrow hall, people greeted her left and right. She responded with a forced smile, and finally reached Mark’s office. This won’t be that bad. She had a nice, short speech prepared.

  She took a breath and knocked.

  “Come in.”

  She slipped inside and closed the door. Mark looked up from his laptop in surprise. “Jane?”

  “Hi, Mark.”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Um…yeah. Sorry I left the party so suddenly. I had to go.”

  “We looked everywhere. Couldn’t find you.”

  “Oh.” This was awkward and unexpected. “I’m sorry. I really should’ve said something before I left.”

  Mark gave her a strange look, his nostrils flaring. Was he…sniffing her?

  Suddenly he said, “Please sit down.”

  She sat before he went on about how worried everyone was. Would her departure really matter? It wasn’t like she was family. She was…well, honestly, she didn’t know what she was to the Pryces.

  “Can you give me a moment to finish this report?” Mark asked.

  “Sure.”

  She waited while he typed away on his laptop. Only the soft clicks of his keyboard filled the silence. She looked around the simple space, which was no bigger than André’s office. Mark didn’t seem to believe in having an executive suite or anything like that for himself. The room held nothing except a desk, two chairs, a shelf with a few binders and the laptop.

  When Mark finally closed the laptop, she quickly said, “I just wanted to tell you that I can’t work here anymore. Hope you understand. I know I owe you two weeks’ notice, so I’ll definitely finish that out.”

  “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to,” Mark said.

  That was unexpected. “Well, if you’re sure…okay. I’ll let André know I won’t be coming in starting today.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” Mark said. “I don’t want you to be doing something you don’t like. Did you get a new job?”

  “Um. No. It’s not like that. It’s just…” She shrugged. “I think it’s better this way.”

  “Iain?”

  She nodded miserably.

  “Did he say—or do—something to you?”

  He ripped my heart out. “No. Nothing. It’s just my personal decision. And…I don’t really want to discuss it.”

  “Okay.” A long pause. “So where are you living? I’ll need to forward your pay.”

  “I can come pick it up.”

  Mark scowled. “Jane, look…” He sighed. “It’s none of my business, but I feel like I know you a little, and I also feel somewhat responsible since Iain asked you to come to L.A. and—”

  “Please don’t. I don’t want to be rude, but this really doesn’t have anything to do with you.” She mustered a smile. “You’ve been very kind to me. Thank you.”

  “It just feels wrong. Iain’s not usually a violent person—”

  “I know. It was my fault,” she said, unwilling to listen to Mark try to make excuses for Iain. “I got in the way. Disrupted his routines, upset inner calm. You don’t have to worry about it happening again.”

  Mark frowned. “Is that what he told you?”

  She shrugged. “Anyway, you have my notice. Thanks again for everything.” Before Mark could say anything else, she got up and left.

  * * *

  Mark stared at the closed door of his office then at the empty chair. What the hell.

  He rubbed his face, hoping that Iain got his email soon. Because from the way Jane’s face had paled at the mention of his name, his idiot brother was going to need divine intervention to get her back.

  * * *

  Jane exited the restaurant and started down the sidewalk. She passed a couple strolling with linked hands. They looked so happy and in love, while she…

  She swallowed the rest of the thought. What those people had didn’t matter. She needed to stop comparing herself to everyone. Right now, the important thing was to pick herself back up and give herself a new direction…one that didn’t involve Iain or his family in any way.

  A familiar car skidded to a stop next to her, and Iain jumped out. “Jane!”

  Nothing was going the way she expected this morning. First the conversation with Mark had taken a lot longer than she’d thought, and now Iain happened to show—

  Mark, she thought. That rat bastard.

  She turned away and started to pick up the pace toward the bus stop. She had nothing to say to Iain.

  “Jane, wait!” Iain’s hand closed around her arm.

  She tried to shake it off, but he held firm. “Let go!”

  He didn’t let go. “I’m sorry.”

  He sounded sincere. But then he was living in L.A. surrounded by talented actors. Maybe he’d picked up pointers from some of his exes. “I don’t believe you.”

  “I mean it. I’m sorry. Please come back.”

  She glared at him. Even though his hair resembled a rat’s nest and he had dark circles under his eyes, it was disgusting how gorgeous he still was, how her heart pitter-pattered at the sight of him. Right now she was angrier with herself than with him. “Do you even know why you should be sorry?”

  He nodded. “I was out of line. I shouldn’t have said those things to you.”

  “Why not?”

  He flinched. “Because, well… they were mean.”

  “No, Iain. You’ve got it wrong. I won’t be made to feel small, and I don’t want to be with a guy who can’t control himself and lashes out at me for trying to help.”

  “I know, I know. Look, I won’t lose it like that again. I promise.”

  “How can you promise something like that? By cutting yourself off more? What you’ve done is close yourself off from everyone, shut them out. That’s not being in control, it’s being…disconnect
ed. You’re breathing, but you’re not really alive.” When she pulled away this time, he let go. “I can’t be with a guy like you.”

  Then she ran as fast as she could, while the wound in her heart reopened and bled.

  * * *

  Iain stared at Jane’s disappearing back and stood rooted, unable to move. Her indictment of him was so precise, it felt like he’d been stabbed in the chest.

  He shoved his hands into his pants pocket and felt the locket. It was warm and smooth to the touch, and he clenched it.

  “Damn. The girl can run.”

  He turned around. “What are you doing here?”

  “Came out to see where she was going, in case you didn’t get my message in time,” Mark said.

  “I was in the neighborhood.”

  “Really?”

  Iain turned away. He’d been driving by all the places Jane might be, while feeling like a stupid stalker.

  “Wanna come in and get something to eat before you go?” Mark said.

  “No appetite.”

  “Eat anyway. You’ll need your strength if you want to win her back.” A short pause. “You do want her back, don’t you?”

  Iain nodded. Hell yeah, he wanted her back. He wanted her back so bad it hurt.

  Mark dragged Iain into Éternité, and they sat at the bar counter together. He ordered the special for both of them and some German import beer.

  “Did she say what she’s going to do?” Iain asked.

  “No. But I’m pretty sure she’s not leaving town. That wasn’t the vibe I got.”

  Iain let out a shuddering breath. That was something at least.

  “But she quit. Won’t be coming back here anymore. I tried to get her forwarding address, but she refused to say. Has she made friends in town she can stay with?”

  “Not that I know of. Not that she would’ve told me anyway.”

  “Why not?”

  Iain looked down at the bar. “I didn’t want to know.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Didn’t want to get too attached.” Iain sighed. “You care too much, you lose control. Not that any of it mattered in the end anyway.”

  “Dane’s perfectly fine. I don’t think you really lost control.”