A Billionaire for Christmas

by Phillips, Carly

  Johnny’s gaze slams on over to Megan—who is helping herself to the dessert table like she’s never seen red and green macarons before—and he makes a face. “Did you get Emma a present?”

  “Of course! It’s the best present ever, too. The. Best.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m not telling you.”

  “Jesse. I’m not gonna blow your surprise. I’m the secret-keeper, remember? Just tell me what it is.”

  “No. You’ll steal it. Get your own brilliant Christmas present idea.”

  “You’re a dick.”

  “You’re a freak.”

  “You’re a tabloid has-been.”

  “You’re a tatted-up nobody with a dog named Jasper.” Then I point at him. “See, now that would’ve been a great present. A puppy. Everyone wants a puppy for Christmas.”

  “Megan got me Jasper. And his name is cool.”

  “Well, there you go.”

  He makes a face at me. “There I go, what?”

  “You have to one-up the puppy. That’s how this works. And that’s gonna be hard, you know? Like… puppy. Such a great present. I hope you brought your A-game.”

  I end the convo with Johnny on a high note, George Costanza-style, and mosey on over to the dessert table before Megan eats all the red and green macarons. She’s currently got eight of them on her tiny plate.

  Aside from Megan, I might be the only rich person on the planet who adores a good macaron. And if Santa Mila’s red-velvet party favor bag is any indication of her taste in macarons, they’re gonna be better than good.

  Megan is just stuffing a green one into her mouth when I come up next to her. Then she self-consciously places her hand in front of her face like this is gonna hide the fact that she’s masticating an entire macaron.

  “They’re good, huh?” Then I pop one into my mouth to form a solidarity bond and not interrupt her good time. I’m coy like that.

  She takes a moment to chew and swallow, then laughs. Not an uncomfortable laugh, or even an embarrassed laugh. Because she just nods her head and stuffs another one in. “Sorry,” she says with her mouth full. “I’m pregnant. And these are the best macarons I’ve ever had.”

  I choke on my macaron. Almost spit it out. She slaps me on the back.

  “Sorry.” I cough. “I’m… did you say… pregnant?”

  “Yup. I’m so fuckin’ hungry. Like all the time. Excuse me. I need a whole tray of mini-wieners right now or I might starve to death.”

  And then she’s off to chase down a waiter with a tray of mini-wieners.

  I glance back at Johnny. Man. That dude didn’t waste any time.

  But then… I sorta have this feeling like… who is this Megan girl?

  Not sure. But I see Emma coming towards me, jingling her jingle bells, and I just add it to my list of things that make no sense about Johnny Boston and focus on what’s important.

  Fucking Emma Dumas on her huge CFO desk. Because Huck just started to karaoke I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas.

  I take her hand and pull her towards the escalator. “Follow me. Because I’m about to rock your jingle bells.”

  Chapter Two

  ‘Tipsy’ might be the best word in the English language.

  It implies so many good things. It’s a cute word. Unlike ‘drunk,’ which just conjures up images of messy consequences.

  ‘Tipsy,’ on the other hand, is fun. It implies that you’re rosy-cheeked and happy. It’s a celebratory word. You got a promotion. You won a contest. Cake and other sweet desserts are involved. You’re not drinking out of a bottle, you’ve got special champagne flutes. And there’s music. Not ragey music, either. You’re not drowning your sorrows, you’re rejoicing.

  And if your tipsiness comes with holiday songs, it’s like winning the jackpot.

  Jesse has my hand as we ride up the escalator to the executive offices. “Come on, Miss Bossy,” he says as we reach the top and hook a sharp right to get in the next one. “I’ve got a special package for you to unwrap tonight.”

  “I’m coming.” I giggle. Because I know what’s on his mind. And I’ve got a little holiday party surprise for him as well. But as we rush over to the next escalator I look to my right and pull us to a stop.

  Because down below… well. I love Christmas. Just love it. And we go all out at Bright Berry Beach.

  Jesse is determined to get up to my office, but he spins back to me like a retracting yo-yo. “What are we doing?”

  I let out a long sigh and look down at the executive lobby in all its lit-up glory. “I just want to memorize it for a moment.”

  I adore the Bright Berry Beach holiday party. I adore it so much that I’m usually sad the day after. It’s a huge event for us and we spend months planning it and making sure that everyone has a good time. Everyone will go home tonight and thank their lucky stars that they work for us. They will be tipsy too. And they will have party favors, and a bonus, and they will have spent the last several hours with people they care about.

  We’re not real family here. In a few days most of them will be with their real family. But we are a family. The kind of family you choose.

  We use the top twenty floors of our building for the company. Most of them are just floors and floors of offices, and cubicles, and the research and development labs.

  But up here—on the top five floors of the Bright Berry Beach building—it’s… kind of magical.

  Especially during the holidays.

  The Bright Berry Beach executive lobby is five stories tall and there are two massive walls of windows that showcase the city lights outside. The tree is twenty feet tall at least, and it takes a whole team of people an entire week to decorate it. The theme is pink and gold. So very, very Bright Berry Beach.

  Huck is singing I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas and when I squint my eyes, I can see that it’s actually snowing outside.

  Everyone is dressed up. Some of them are wearing costumes, like Hannah and her boyfriend—there are lots of sexy elves. And some of them are conservative, opting instead for the little black or gold dress. Most of the men are in tuxes. I glance over my shoulder at Jesse, who has his arms around my middle now, his chest pressing up against my back. He’s in a tux. But it’s not his tux I see. It’s his eyes. Such beautiful, thoughtful, sexy eyes.

  I will never get tired of gazing into them.

  “I love you,” I say.

  He kisses my cheek. “Miss Dumas, I didn’t even know what love was until I met you.”

  I turn around, my hands automatically slipping up to his shoulders and then around his neck. I play with the longer strands of brown-blond hair that almost touch the top of his collar. And when I look right into his eyes and see myself looking back, I don’t need to be tipsy to feel lightheaded and dizzy.

  He does that to me all on his own.

  “I can’t wait to marry you, Mr. Boston. I wish we could do it right now. Right here, in front of all these people and that huge tree lit up in pink and gold.”

  He reaches up for my left hand and brings it into his lips. Kisses my knuckles gently. “Emma, my life has been a celebration from the moment you bought me at a bachelor auction.” And then he turns me around, places both of my hands on the brushed metal railing, and leans forward.

  “Attention!” he yells down to the crowd. “Can I have your attention, please?”

  People look up. Huck stops singing. The music stops.

  “I just need a moment of your time. I just need to shout it out. I love this woman! I love Emma Dumas and next spring I’m going to marry her!”

  People laugh and cheer. Shout up encouragement. Some of them are yelling for more.

  But Jesse is suddenly in motion. He’s got my hand and he’s pulling me over towards the next escalator.

  But he doesn’t get on. Instead he whisks me into his arms and starts running up the escalator.

  Everyone down below knows what we’re up to now, thank you very much, Mr. Boston, because they ar
e whistling and cheering.

  And I don’t even care.

  Let them know.

  Let the whole world know.

  I am in love with this man.

  When we reach the top, he sets me back on my feet and tugs me along hurriedly towards my corner office. And then we’re rushing through the door. Huck is singing again. The low hum of conversation fills in the background.

  He turns me around and presses his body up against mine, walking me backwards until I reach the hard edge of my huge wooden desk. Then his hands reach behind my thighs and he lifts me, and the hem of my pink skirt, up and sets me on top of it.

  I’m already unbuckling his belt, my fingers desperate for access. Not even caring that the door to my office is wide open.

  He’s unbuttoning my pink chiffon blouse and halfway down he gives up and just pulls it out of my skirt. But his hands are already inside it, squeezing my breasts and then yanking my strapless bra down so he can play with my nipples.

  I don’t love Jesse Boston just for his sexual prowess, but his skill certainly doesn’t hurt.

  Especially when, just as my hands have his pants open and are reaching inside to wrap around his cock, he presses forward, forcing me to lie back on the desk.

  And then my legs are bending at the knees with the urging of his hands, and he’s opening them up. His fingers slip between them, right past my carefully coordinated pink-lace panties, and penetrate me.

  I close my eyes with a moan, but then open them again immediately. I want to see him. I want to see every moment with him. The tipsy inside me is suddenly gone. There is no alcohol or edible-induced lightheadedness.

  Just a dizzying moment of passion and happiness. Totally organic.

  But there’s also a moment of vulnerability here.

  I am spread out before him and his gaze wanders over my body as he continues to finger my pussy, and I feel… exposed.

  But not in a bad way.

  No. In the best way.

  I want him to see me. All of me. The way I want to see all of him.

  I bite my lip as he backs off just enough to close my legs, pull my panties down, and then open them right back up. A moment later he’s bending down, his mouth open. And then…

  “Ahhhhh, God.” I grip his hair as he licks me.

  It’s a moment of pure bliss. Every time. I don’t care how often he eats me out like this, every single time his tongue flicks against my sweet spot, I die a little with ecstasy.

  I don’t need to guide his head or give him pointers, but my fingers play with his hair and move his head around anyway. My hips begin to squirm as he pushes my legs up to my breasts, spreading me open.

  I will not come like this.

  I will not come like this.

  I say it like a mantra. I want to save all the glory of my release up for when he enters me for real. When his hard, thick cock is fully inside me. Filling me up like nothing else in the world can.

  But every time, I lose. His mouth is just that good. His lips are just that soft. His tongue is just that talented.

  He laughs when my back bucks up off the desk. And then he’s encouraging me with words as he slips his fingers inside me.

  I can’t help it.

  I come.

  But before I’m done, he’s inside me for real. Leaning over my body as he thrusts forward. I laugh and hug him tight against my body.

  Then… a surprise. He lifts me up, grabs my ass and presses me to his hips, and carries me around the desk. I wrap my legs around his waist to keep him inside me, and then he sits on my large, soft, executive leather chair. The momentum sends the chair rolling backwards until it hits the wall of windows behind my desk. My knees settle on either side of his thighs and I begin to rock up and down as we press our foreheads into each other.

  It’s the most perfect moment ever.

  We fuck slowly. It’s a tender I-love-you lovemaking. Bathed in the glow of city lights and a soundtrack of happiness floating through my open office door from the party down below.

  A duet of Baby, It’s Cold Outside.

  But it’s not cold up here.

  Up here… it’s nothing but hot.

  I don’t fix my hair when we’re done and pulling ourselves back together. And neither does he. We are a tousled mess of afterglow.

  It’s like we want them all to know what we did. Not that there’s any doubt in anyone’s mind at the party. They know.

  I just want to make sure.

  I want to show this man off to the entire fucking world and say, He’s mine!

  Jesse is standing at the top of the escalator. He squeezes my hand as he looks down at the people below. Then he side-eyes me in that coy, I’m-Jesse-Boston way he has, and says, “You’re mine.”

  Ha.

  We don’t rush back down the escalator. We stand there like the king and queen of Bright Berry Beach. People notice us return. They notice with sly glances and whispered giggles behind hands over their mouths. But it’s a good-natured kind of attention.

  There is no doubt in anyone’s mind that we are in love.

  We separate then. Jesse heads off towards his brothers and their dates and I mingle a little, smiling and wishing our employees a happy holiday as I make my way over to my girls.

  Hannah and Darrel are doing one of those corny, intertwined-arm champagne toasts. You know, the one where you loop your arm around his and then drink your bubbly as a team. They are sorta cute in their own nerdy way.

  Mila and her husband, Diego, slow-dance like the married couple they are. They’ve been together for almost a dozen years now, so their secret office-desk trysts at the holiday party are probably behind them. But I remember when they used to sneak away for secret sexy times.

  Natalie and her two dates. I don’t remember their names. She might not even have told me their names. Natalie is a woman who likes to keep her options open. But I’m sure, if she hasn’t fucked them both in some out-of-the-way empty office, she will before the night is over.

  I linger at the punch bowl and just… enjoy our success.

  Because that’s what this holiday party was always about. A way to bask in the glory of how we did it. We made it. We pulled ourselves up, and changed the future of our families. And yeah, there was a lot of hard work involved. But one night of every year we stop to say thanks and to celebrate with the people who decided to take this ride with us.

  Then it’s late. After midnight. Mila steps up to the microphone to make her annual holiday speech. It’s filled with gratitude. She can be humble when she wants to, and this is her humble speech.

  All faces go solemn as she begins to express our collective thanks. Then everyone is smiling and clapping when she calls people out by name, expressly thanking them for their Bright Berry Beach contributions.

  And then Hannah takes over and invites everyone to visit the Santa Machine on their way out.

  Everyone gets a cash bonus that will be automatically deposited into their bank accounts once they scan their lanyard. But everyone gets a personal present too. Sometimes they are just earrings, if that employee is an earring lover. Or a nice pair of cashmere gloves. But sometimes they are scholarships to the college their kid wants to go to next year. Or a new car, if theirs came to a sudden demise recently and they are now forced to take the bus to work.

  When everyone gets back from the holiday break in the new year a new page on the employee website will pop up and there will be a form you can fill out. A form asking for a gift for a friend. You’re not allowed to ask for your own gift. Someone has to do that for you. And if you’re crazy and say, ‘I’d like Bright Berry Beach to pay off my co-worker’s house,’ we look very closely at the reason why before we do something that extravagant.

  But we don’t ever say no outright to anything. Not if someone needs help.

  Do we buy their loyalty? Or do we earn it?

  It’s actually not that hard to know. If someone is here just to get the gift from the Santa Machine, they are in fo
r a sad reality check. All gifts are based on need.

  Some years you get earrings or gloves, but when you need it—when you really, really need it—we’re there to send that kid to college or pay that mortgage off.

  The party begins to wind down as people pass their lanyards under the Santa Machine laser and say their goodbyes and well-wishes.

  Mila, Hannah, Natalie, and I always meet in the executive conference room while this is all happening so we can take a moment to appreciate each other and revel in the success of the past year.

  Sometimes there are more failures than successes, but we always try to concentrate on the positives. Some years we pay for this extravagant party out of our own pockets.

  But not this year. This was a great year.

  “Whew!” Hanna practically slides into one of the oversized leather conference table chairs, scooting backwards so she can kick her alien-elf feet up onto the brushed metal table. “Those edibles were the best idea ever!”

  “They so were,” Mila exclaims, slumping down into her own chair. “I had three.” She wobbles a little and the chair rocks backwards a little too far, so she has to lean forward and catch herself. But she’s smiling like a Cheshire cat in a Santa suit. Her beard is gone and so is the stuffing that made her look like a plump apple, so her suit is loose and the belt is missing. She toes off her black boots and puts her candy-cane-socked feet up on the table too.

  Natalie is still drinking, a full flute of bubbly Dom in her hand as she leans against the wall with a sigh. “Well,” she says, looking at me. “Tell us, Ems. How did we do this year?”

  I’m in charge of our bonuses. That’s why we meet after the party.

  “Exceptionally.” I beam. “I’m not sure what was so different about this year, but… ladies. We killed it.”

  “What’s the number?” Hannah asks. “I need to hear it out loud!”

  I take a breath. Because it’s a big number. “Twenty-four point three million.”

  There’s silence as that number sinks in. It’s almost double the bonus of our best year ever.

  “Wow,” Mila exclaims. “Just… like… wow. I had no idea.”

  “Me either,” Natalie says.