Page 26 of Christmas With A Billionaire

I’d spent twenty years convinced I couldn’t risk our friendship for something more. But standing there with the taste of her still on my lips, I realized the real risk was letting her go.

It was time to show Autumn exactly what she meant to me. What she’d always meant to me.

And I wanted to do it before Christmas.

Chapter 10

Autumn

Iwas still absorbed in that kiss.

A week had passed, and my lips remembered the pressure of Tyson’s mouth, the heat of his breath against my neck, and the strength of his hands gripping my hips as he lifted me onto Rose’s desk. Every quiet moment brought the memories flooding back - the way he pressed between my thighs, how his fingers had tangled in my hair, the deep groan that rumbled through his chest when I kissed him back.

“Ms. Williams?”

I blinked, focusing on the intern standing in my office doorway. “Yes, Sophie?”

“Mr. Richardson is here for the meeting about Denise Jordan’s work.”

Right. The meeting. I smoothed my silk blouse and checked my reflection on my phone screen. “Please send him in.”

Marcus entered with his usual polished confidence, wearing a perfectly tailored gray suit that emphasized his broad shoulders. Under different circumstances, I might have appreciated how handsome he looked. But now all I could thinkwas that his height didn’t quite match Tyson’s, his smile didn’t make my heart race, and his presence didn’t fill the room the same way.

“Autumn.” He extended a thick folder. “I brought Denise’s portfolio and the contract details.”

“Thank you.” I gestured to the chair across from my desk. “How is she?”

“Excited. Nervous.” He sat, adjusting his tie. “She can’t quite believe her work might be featured in the Benefield.”

When I opened the portfolio, Denise’s raw talent leaped from every page. Her murals captured the South Side with unflinching honesty—children playing amid urban decay, grandmothers tending community gardens, teenagers dancing on broken concrete.

“These are extraordinary,” I said, studying a piece that showed an elderly man teaching chess to neighborhood kids. “The way she uses color...”

“Wait until you see this one.” Marcus leaned forward, flipping to a larger work. “She painted this after winning the copyright case.”

The mural showed a young girl holding a paintbrush like a sword, facing down a wall of corporate logos. Hope and defiance radiated from every brushstroke.

“This is exactly what the Benefield Project needs.” I made notes on my tablet. “Raw truth balanced with optimism.”

“About the project,” Marcus pulled out another folder, “I drafted some preliminary contracts for the student artists.”

Our fingers brushed as he handed me the papers. A week ago, that slight contact might have sparked something. Now, it just reminded me how different it felt when Tyson touched me.

“The terms look good,” I said, scanning the documents. “Very artist friendly.”

“I modeled them after agreements I’ve used for other emerging artists. Full creative control, fair compensation, future rights protection.” He shifted in his chair. “I wanted to ensure they’re protected while still meeting the Benefield’s needs.”

I nodded, making more notes. “Tyson will appreciate that. He’s adamant about treating the artists well.”

“Tyson seems adamant about a lot of things.” Marcus’s tone carried an edge. “Including how the project is managed.”

I looked up, catching his meaning. “He built this empire from nothing. He’s earned the right to have high standards.”

“Of course,” Marcus studied me. “You defend him quickly.”

“I state facts quickly. There’s a difference.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Fair enough. Though I must admit, I’m curious about something.”

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