Page 36 of Jack Frost, CEO

“This order was placed by Jack Foster. He paid us triple the going rate to ensure it was delivered and set up today. He even tipped. Can we come up?”

I buzz the guy in, then move to the door, swing it open, and wait. What in the world has Jack done now? I know Oliver wants to keep his tip. It’s rare in this part of the world.

It takes several minutes before a gentleman with a clipboard lands on my doorstep. “Miss Mitchell?”

“Yes. Oliver?”

“Yes, ma’am. Where would you like it?” He shakes my hand before stepping into the house.

“Where would I like what, exactly?” I follow behind him.

“I think that corner would be best. Bring her in, boys.” He points to the corner by the glass wall in the living room.

“Bring who in?” I stutter out before I see two more people bringing in what has to be a six-foot tall live Christmas tree.

I recognize the tag—it’s from Santa Trees Christmas Tree Farm. They’re the most popular tree farm in the area. The two men with the tree are quickly followed by at least five women pushing a trolley of boxes. I can feel the tears welling up on my lashes when the women open everything up and pull out decorations.

Jack brought Christmas to me.

One of the ladies hands me the box of candy canes, and I’m taken back to the first time I mentioned decorating the office. I’d been lamenting over the lack of candy canes, and Jack tossed me a peppermint. Which led me into a fifteen-minute rant about how peppermint candies are not the same as candy canes and are, in fact, inferior.

I unwrap a candy cane and stick it in my mouth, savoring the sweet peppermint flavor as my house is slowly transformed into a winter wonderland. The scent of pine from the garland fills the air, and the twinkling lights cast a warm, festive glow while the tiny, extremely expensive Christmas village is a sight to behold. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted for Christmas at home.

Poinsettias sit in various places, their vibrant red petals adding to the holiday cheer, and the star at the top of the tree twinkles merrily. Exhausted and exhilarated, I collapse onto the couch and stare around my freshly decorated townhome. Until the buzzer sounds yet again, and I jump, startled by the sudden noise in the otherwise quiet room.

“Hello?” I’m so overwhelmed that I don’t even want to know who it is.

“Miss Mitchell?” I don’t recognize the woman’s voice on the other side of the intercom. “My name is Angelique, and I have an order here for you?”

I buzz her up. And when she knocks on the door, I open it to see another full trolley behind her. This one includes various dishes: ham, seafood, mashed potatoes, and cornbread. I also spot pudding, a cake, and multiple red and white wine bottles when Jack only drinks Scotch. The contrast between these offerings and Jack’s preferences piques my curiosity. Though I’m well aware this is his attempt to win me over.

That said, I have no idea how he knew what to get. We never, ever talked about Christmas past his disdain and my love of it. No one in the States knew any of this except…

“Stella.” I dash back into the bedroom and snatch my phone off the charger. I have one text alert. Opening it, I see a single message.

Stella: Trust me.

Angelique sets up a Christmas feast on the table, smiling the entire time. “That is some man you have there! He called and offered me quadruple my rate if I could have something done in time. He even offered a tip if I delivered and set it up for you. He was adamant that you do not lift a finger. He had this serving set delivered as well. Isn’t it just gorgeous?” She holds up a dinner plate with delicate silver snowflakes around the outer edges.

“It really is.” I’m choking up and trying really hard not to cry.

I’m standing in my living room when there’s another knock on the door. I walk over and open it, and there he is, on my doorstep in a charcoal gray suit that makes his eyes pop. He looks so incredibly unsure that the tears I have been holding streak down my cheeks.

“I’m sorry to just come up, but I caught someone leaving and slipped through. I didn’t think you’d let me in if I buzzed again, and I had to see you. I had to make sure that everything was set up just the way you wanted it. I know you’ll probably never forgive me, but I had to do something.”

His speech is stopped short as I missile into his chest.

“Don’t cry, Princess. Please don’t cry. I can’t stand it. I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you. Please. Give me a chance?”

I cry harder, hiccupping, not able to do anything but nod. Jack exhales, his head resting on top of mine for a minute before he picks me up and sits on my couch, depositing me on his lap. He presses my face into his chest, strokes his hand through my hair, and just holds me while I cry.

It could have been minutes. It could have been hours, but when the tears finally stop, I can’t breathe through my nose, and his jacket is soaked straight through to his shirt.

“Jack, I—”

He cuts me off with a smile. “No. I’m privileged to be here for you in any way you need. It’s an honor to be the man you feel safe with. I lost sight of that. I’m sorry. However, I have one more gift in my never-ending effort to make it up to you.”

He stands, lifting me in his arms again, and heads to the en suite to gently clean my face. I sit on the vanity top and let him, enjoying being with him again.

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