Page 1 of Christmas with the Billionaire
1
Charles
A peaceful silence fills the office, giving us a world record rate of no disruptions. No last-minute meetings. No sudden dip in stocks or visits from the marketing team. Nothing. Just peaceful silence.
A few feet behind me, snow falls gently from the sky, teasing those below with the possibility of a white holiday this year.
With Christmas around the corner, everyone is rushing on the floors below to complete their current projects so they can enjoy the holiday undisturbed. Funny enough, the work ethic is always at a high when a holiday rolls around.
Across from my desk, my personal assistant is on the same wavelength. Her fingers move in a blur as she goes through her email, stopping only momentarily to write notes in her calendar.
Just as I’m watching her impressive multitasking talent, her lips suddenly pinch together, and she lifts her gaze to meet mine. She looks worried.
“Sir, they’re still waiting for an answer regarding that Christmas gala.” Francine hums as she scrolls through her tablet. “Should I tell them that you’ll be attending alone again, or are we including a second party this time around…?”
She pauses, a hint of hope in her voice. All because, just like everyone else who enjoys picking into my life, she wants to see me settle down. To find a woman to return home to, to start a family with.
Another year, another disappointment.
“You wouldn’t want to attend with me again, would you, Miss Gales?” Putting on my best smile that wins over investors, it disappears just as quickly when a scoff leaves her lips.
“After last year? Not a chance. Do you know how long I had people asking me if I was having an affair with my boss? Doesn’t matter how we acted, HR was a nightmare.” The memory sizzles back up, and she’s got a point as she shivers at the reminder. “As beautiful as the gala will be, I’ll have to decline politely. So, what should I tell them?”
I don’t want to go at all.Is that an option?
Sighing into my hands, my groan slips through the cracks of my fingers.
“It would be easier just to send in a donation.” Dropping my hands, my brows pinch together. “I don’t know why they insist I show up every single year. It’s the same speech, word for word. Anyone could give it.”
Francine smiles, the curve telling. “By now, you must know. You’re charming, sir, when you want to be. Doesn’t hurt that you’ve helped fund their projects throughout the years. Also, you’re willing to entertain those who wish to tell you all about their daughters.”
I hate that she has a list of reasons at the ready. Why does she have to be right all the time?
“You’d think by now, they’d understand that I’m not looking to date, let alone settle down with any of them.” Sighing through my nose, my chair creaks as I lean back. “It’s exhausting, the whole thing.”
She hums, debating her next words. As someone who’s never shy, I’m not surprised when she doesn’t keep her opinion to herself. “If you don’t care for marriage, why not just rip the band-aid off and just sign a certificate? It’ll save you the headache that comes with being a bachelor. You can find someone to play the part, but not worry about love getting in the way. At that point, you won’t need to lower yourself by asking your charming assistant to ward off all the single women.”
Turning my chair, I look out toward the incredible view separated by nothing but a piece of glass. Even if I’ve never been a fan of the snow, there’s something breathtaking about watching it head toward the busy city streets.
I can’t exactly tell her the truth, not when it’s been a curse I’ve dealt with since I was a teenager. The story would take too long and end on a sour note I’ve attempted to forget on so many occasions.
An unspoken farewell. Ignored calls for a year, never looking back. To satisfy my demanding family, I sacrificed the one thing I truly desired—her.
While I could form up a contract and marry out of obligation, and make everything easier, there’ll still be a hole in my chest waiting for a certain someone that’ll never come.
The only woman I’ve ever wanted feels so out of reach now. We’re two people living in two different worlds.
How is Ellie doing, anyway? The question is a torment, haunting me once a day, at a minimum.
Reaching for my phone and scrolling through social media feels like just scratching an itch; I only realize its futility when Icheck my search history. The name glued to the top is the only one I ever click.
Ellie Dalson.
Inhaling sharply, I click the name, and my screen fills with a beauty with brown wavy hair and light-brown eyes. Each smile I find on her lips is all of the proof I need to know my heart still works, a frantic, pained thrumming against my ribs that shows I’m not some corporal machine. I’m still human.
I’m a man who hungers with a very picky palate.
Can I be blamed? The woman of my dreams, the only woman I’ve ever pictured putting a ring on her finger, is so far out of my reach that it’s laughable. Pathetic, really. I trace the line of her jaw on the cool glass of my phone. Her mouth forms a welcoming smile, tempting me even now.
