Page 9 of Her Billionaire Stocking Stuffers

And a single paragraph-sized box to say why they should consider you.

This probably isn’t the time to try to be clever, but writing my application as if it were a letter to Santa seems appropriate.

If nothing else, it’s less horrifying than listing my credentials:

Zero experience in bed.

Never been on camera.

Afraid of talking to guys, never mind sleeping with them.

I imagine I’m the sort of woman who’s bold and daring. A temptress. Then I start to type.

Dear Sexy Santas,

I’ve been a naughty girl. Tonight, I watched your show and couldn’t help but put my hands down my pajamas. I’m asking for you to make my holiday wish come true, and let me be your elf for Christmas. I might not have the most experience of any of your applicants, but I’m a quick learner and very eager to sit on your laps.

Ivy

Before I can doubt my rash decision, I snap a photo of myself exactly as I am—lit by the glow of my laptop screen, wrecked from watching them rail each other while imagining myself in the mix. My shirt is unbuttoned, my hair in disarray, my cheeks and lips pink enough that it’s obvious what I’ve been doing. And in case it’s not, I slip one hand back into the waistband of my jammies right before I click the shutter button.

Without allowing myself time to chicken out, I attach the photo I took and click send.

As I lie huddled beneath the covers and my arousal recedes, my mind threatens to spin out over what I’ve done.

Until I remind myself, over and over, there were dozens—nohundreds—of people begging for the chance to be their little elf.

They’re never going to pick an unassuming newb like me.

Never.

CHAPTER 5

Gabriel

What the hell am I doing?

I spent the night fucking my boyfriends and business partners for the whole world to see, exhausted them, and wrung myself inside out in the process. Yet here I am in the early hours of the morning, assembling a three-story cat castle for our princess, Snowflake.

She woke me up with an insistent meow that sounded more like it came from the abominable snowman than one teeny tiny, apparently starving kitten.

I only meant to order her a couple of cans of cat food, a litterbox, and some essentials to hold her over until Pax finds a shelter that can take her, but found myself loading the virtual cart for one-hour expedited delivery with enough stuff to suit a human toddler.

Maybe because I wish I could provide for Ivy instead.

It had damn near killed me to watch her be scolded by her doughy, balding overlord, then leave her alone to find her way home.

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