Page 6 of Christmas Kisses

A man behind her cuts her off. “No beggars. It says so on the sign outside.”

“Actually,” I correct, twisting to face him, “it says if you require food or water, please enter. No one is discriminated here.”

When he can’t deny my claim—because it’s true—I guide the brunette to the side of the crowd lining up to get in before gesturing for her to continue.

She waits a beat to get over the snobby patron’s assumption she’s a haggler before announcing, “My purse and phone were stolen, and since I got a little generous with my nips while organizing new cards, I forgot I had no access to funds until I traveled halfway across Ravenshoe.”

“You need money?” I query, reading between the lines.

Even with her nose screwed up like a rabbit, her face is without a single imperfection. She truly is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. “Yes.” She freezes my movements when I dig my wallet out of my pocket by curling her hand over mine. “Notyourmoney, as such. I’ll transfer money into your account, and then you can withdraw it for me.” Her dazzling chocolate eyes scan the street outside. “I’m sure there’s an automatic teller here somewhere.”

After recalling my sister’s numerous gripes about how often her payment terminals go down and the lack of ATMs in the area, I say, “You won’t find a teller within four blocks.” When she sighs, I give a reason for an upswing in her mood. “But I don’t mind lending you money. You can pay me back tomorrow…” I stop just before I say, “When you join me for dinner.” I don’t date. I haven’t in years, though I’m sure my clients would disagree with me. “How much do you need?”

“The ad said prices start at two fifty.” When I grimace along with her, she adds, “But it’s okay. I’ll find another way to fund my revenge fu...” Her eyes shoot away as her words trail off.

Her reply piques my interest in more ways than I can comprehend, but I start at the lesser of my confusion. “Two hundred and fifty dollars?” When she nods, I cough out a wheezy laugh. “Anyone would swear you’re eating here for that.”

My joke is lost on her since she doesn’t know my sister owns the restaurant, but she still replies, “I’m not the one eating.” Her brows pull together. “I hope.” She shakes off her confusion. “I’m not exactly sure how it works. I’ve never done this before.” She throws her hands in the air and soundlessly screams out her frustration before returning her eyes to me. “Don’t worry about it. It’s stupid. I acted in haste, and that never ends well. I just wanted to prove that I’m not the problem, and even when it comes to sex, there’s no I in team.”

She snaps her mouth shut like her honesty mortifies her.

I fucking love it.

“I shouldn’t have bothered you. I hope you have a pleasant evening, and Merry Christmas.”

“I’ll lend you the money.” I shout my words to ensure she hears them before she exits the restaurant. My reply gains her a lot of sympathetic looks I’m confident she doesn’t want. Her rapidly shrinking shoulders announce this, not to mention the dulling of the spark mesmerizing me.

With her embarrassment high, I can guide her without protest into the underbelly of the hub my sister built from the ground up.

Once we’re far from prying eyes, I say, “But it’ll have to be a check. Scrooge McDuck over there siphoned the last of my cash.” I nudge my head to Santa, who’s once again tapping his nose. “Do you know if they accept checks?”

“I truly don’t know,” the brunette replies as we enter my sister’s office, which is hidden at the back of the kitchen. “I could ask.” I seem to be getting her over the fence, but she is uneased by my generosity. “But why do you want to lend me money? You don’t know me. I could be halfway to Mexico with your money by tomorrow morning.”

I laugh. “If you have the means to pull that off, please take me with you. The chilaquiles on my last room service charge almost cost that much.”

That gets a smile out of her. It is a sexily wicked grin that summons up all sorts of naughty thoughts. “That’s what you get for taking the cheat’s way out. You don’t go to Mexico to eat in your room.”

She has a point, but things are different in my industry. The more time I spend indoors, the faster I can move on to my next client.

“How about we fill in a check and see how it goes? If it’s meant to be?—”

“It’s meant to be,” we say at the same time.

Needing something to cover how hard her smile makes me, I walk around my sister's desk before plopping my ass into her massive leather chair. Her desk is a mess, but after a quick cleanup, I find the checkbook I’m seeking and enough space to fill it in.

“You own this restaurant?” asks the brunette, her tone high in shock.

“Not exactly.” I open the checkbook at the next available check before securing a pen. “I’m a silent investor.” I wave the pen around the mess that doesn’t reflect the luxury of the menu. “This is my sister’s brainchild.” I’m not usually so open with women I’ve just met, so after a somewhat shy smile for how quickly she’s disarmed me, I ask, “What’s the name of the business you want this made out to?”

Now it’s her turn to be shy. Her smile slips as she whispers, “Valentino’s.”

I reach the T in Valentino’s before the entirety of her reply smacks into me. Then, just as dramatically, my pen falls onto the checkbook and my back slouches against the worn leather of my sister’s chair.

“Valentino’s?” I double-check, certain I’ve heard her wrong. There are a lot of famous Italian restaurants in Ravenshoe that sound similar to Valentino’s, but none with that exact title.

“Yes,” she replies, her tone lowering. “Have you heard of it before?”

“You could say that. Ah…” I cough to clear my throat from whatever the fuck is going on with it before asking, “Why do you need to attend Valentino’s?” The hue creeping up her neck answers my question on her behalf, not to mention her earlier comment. “Revenge.”

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