Page 11 of Her Billionaire Stocking Stuffers

Cole’s eyes are twinkling with mischief. “I already did.”

CHAPTER 6

Ivy

What was I thinking? Of course they picked me!

I was obviously drunk on the kindness of three handsome strangers, surfing a sugar rush from my cider, and acting recklessly to relieve some of the pressure induced by my spiraling life while grieving for the kitten who was never really mine.

And now here I am, on the afternoon before Christmas Eve, tucked into the back seat of the fanciest car I’ve ever ridden in. Buttery black leather upholstery cups my thighs and butt, eventually coaxing me to relax on the drive out to the country. There’s a chauffeur on the other side of a smoky partition, but he’s left me to my thoughts as we snake our way up the mountains.

Could I really be on my way to letting the whole world watch as I lose my virginity?

How mad will the pair of Santa daddies and their studly baby boy be if I back out now?

I don’t want to ruin their show, but I’m not sure I can go through with this after all.

After winding through a long, tree-lined drive, we pull up to a gorgeous stone lodge with a peaked roof and wooden beams. Noidea what exactly I was expecting, but it wasn’t this kind of over-the-top luxury. A sigh ruffles the framing layers of strawberry-blonde hair around my face.

I’ll go in and let them know I changed my mind. Do the right thing and explain myself to their faces. Apologize profusely before I flee or expire from mortification on the spot.

We signed some papers, a contract. And they deposited an advance in my bank account. But I can send that back.

Except, ack. I still need that money. It’s more than I’ve ever had, more than I dreamed possible.

Besides, I probably don’t have a job to go back to after calling in sick during peak season.

Doing something bold for the sake of my future isn’t outrageous. Is it?

It’s practically an investment. One that requires sacrificing my v-card as a cam girl to three men in Santa masks.

It’ll make for a good story someday, right?

The driver doesn’t look me in the eye as he leads me over huge flagstone pavers, through a soaring entryway, and into a home office tucked under the grand staircase that spirals upward on either side of the front door. A sea of wood and brass brings to mind old-fashioned studies and pipes and men in sports jackets.

“Your costume is in the bathroom. Feel free to use anything you need in there to get ready.” Before I can ask the guy any questions or tell him I need to speak to his bosses, he disappears. I’m alone with every one of my doubts and regrets.

My legs quiver as my curiosity gets the better of me, and I peek into the bathroom to find a minuscule green pleated skirt, a red thong, a red top that looks like it could belong to a bikini, and a pair of red and green striped thigh-high socks.

Whoever thinks this is how elves dress forgot they live at the North Pole!

The only saving grace is the elf mask that would completely obscure anyone’s identity.

The door to the study rattles—a tap, tap, tapping—as if someone’s pressing on the solid wood without turning the handle.

Who’s out there?

I cross to it, unsure of what I’m supposed to do. Are they waiting for my permission to enter in case I’m changing into their skimpy costume?

“Hello?” I call quietly.

But instead of a deep male voice—or three—the reply comes in the form of a high-pitched kitten squeak.

A baby meow.

Without hesitation, I fling the door open. In bounds a tiny white ball of fluff who heads for the cat tree I hadn’t noticed in the corner, behind the desk. How cute!

My heart stutters. The kitten looks so much like Snowflake as she trots to her palace.

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