Page 3 of A Baby for My Billionaire Stepbrother

As I grabbed my bags out of the trunk, I heard my Dad and Nancy calling to me from the porch. "Who’s that New York girl and what has she done with my daughter?"

I closed the trunk, grinning at my dad’s corny and unoriginal joke. He came down from the porch, looking me over. "Seriously, where is my daughter?" He grabbed me and gave me a big hug and a wet kiss on the cheek.

"She was booked. They sent me in her place," I said, hugging him back. He took my bag off my shoulder and we climbed up the steps to where my stepmom, Nancy, stopped me for a hug. I kissed her on the cheek, too.

"Allie, wow! You really do look incredible. I just love that coat on you, and your hair! It’s gorgeous." I tried not to blush, feeling a little ashamed because this was the reaction I was hoping to get. At college, my roommate Nicole taught me about makeup, clothes and shoes and with her help—and a little help from the extension of my dad’s credit card—I had managed to transform myself from the mousy girl that drove off to college in the fall into a New York woman.

My transformation in New York was more than clothes and makeup, though. It was like I got to start my life all over. For the first time ever, I got to be the person I thought I was, rather than the person everyone else wanted me to be. It was intoxicating, meeting so many new people on campus and in the city, seeing how they looked at me so much differently than the people back home. I finally found some confidence. With my new clothes and style, some of the girls from out of state even thought I was a native New Yorker, which was pretty much the ultimate compliment.

But as I walked into the house, things immediately began to feel more familiar and I could sense the old me everywhere. She was floating around like a ghost, waiting for a chance to take my life over again.

But I wouldn’t let her.

I felt Nancy’s warm hand on my arm. "I’m so happy for you, Allie. I knew New York was going to be just what you needed."

I wasn’t really sure how to answer her. I couldn’t help but feel a little defensive, as the comment implied that I was in need of fixing. But I reigned myself in. That was the old me, the grumpy, angry, misfit. "Yeah, well, I’m happy for me too, Nancy."

"Do you want to eat something? I can make you a sandwich," my dad said. "Or I can heat up some chili. Nancy made some last night and it’s delicious."

I shook my head. "No, thanks. I think I just want to unpack and maybe take a nap. It was a long drive."

Nancy and my dad exchanged a knowing and obvious look between each other.

What was that about?

My dad shouldered my bags again and started up the stairs. "Here, I’ll take them upstairs for you."

Once we were inside my room, he set the bags down and gave me a serious look. "I know you’re not crazy about all this Christmas stuff and the family dinners, but Nancy has organized a small cocktail party tonight for James. I really need you to try and be nice to him. He has done some remarkable things this year and earned our congratulations, even you have to see that."

The ghost of the old me was raging around the room. I needed to be nice to him? It sometimes amazed me how much parents could miss when it came to the relationships between their own children. But I ignored the bitching ghost. That wasn't me anymore. She was in the past.

"Of course, Daddy," I promised.

He gave me a suspicious look. "It’s just for tonight. We’re going to keep it simple for the rest of the holiday."

"Daddy, it’s fine. If I built a business worth a billion dollars, I’d want you to throw me a party, too."

He smiled, obvious relieved. "New York really has changed you," he said. "Okay, go and get some rest." He kissed my forehead and left. When he was gone, I finished the conversation in my head.

Actually, Dad, I’m the same person I always was. New York just let me be that person. Oh, and not having an asshole stepbrother actively trying to make my life a living hell helped, too!

I sat down heavily on the bed and let out a grumpy huff of air. I reminded myself once more of everything I was going to have to go through this vacation. But it would only be a week, and knowing James, he would probably be gone at the first polite opportunity. I could handle being around him for a few days. I wouldn’t let him turn me back into the high school girl he tortured. And as for the other baggage... I’d find a way to deal with it. I’d dealt with it for the last few years. Two days was nothing next to years, right?

And anyway, this Christmas would be different than the others. This Christmas he would have to deal with the new Allison. The sexy, sophisticated Allison.

A light bulb went off in my head as I remembered I had something to wear for the party. I sat up and dug into my luggage, carefully unpacking my clothes onto the top of my dresser until I found it. A sexy little black dress that Nicole made me bring. I told her it would be a waste of space, that it wouldn’t fit in where I was going, but she had insisted. "There’s always an occasion for a little black dress. And girl, you never dress down to fit in with slobs. That’s not even fashion 101. It’s, like, high school fashion!"

I lifted up the dress and ran my hand over the plastic film enveloping it. She was right. I hung it up on the corner of my bureau mirror and hunted in the bag for my heels, lifting the black straps and heels in front of me to admire them. Nicole had picked these out, too. Four inches that would change my legs and ass into those of a porn star, she had promised. I laughed as I set them aside and caught myself smiling. Was I actually looking forward to the party?

No. But I was looking forward to seeing James’s reaction. To me. To this dress.

I felt my stomach twist and a little wave of nausea.

Yes. I was sick. I knew it.

And not just because he was my stepbrother, though that alone was enough to make me want to die of embarrassment. I could almost get past that. He wasn’t my real brother after all, and you’d have to be blind not to see he was a handsome man. Every girl had wanted him in high school—and if you believed the rumors, if they were even just a little bit cute they probably did get with him—so I could almost forgive myself a casual physical attraction.

What was more disturbing than the step thing was that he was a jerk. The few nice things he had done for me were far outweighed by the millions of hours of suffering he inflicted, knowingly or not. He wasn’t a nice guy, not even a decent guy. He was handsome, sure. But also vain, cruel when he wanted, and uncaring. I didn’t understand how I could want someone like that, especially when we w

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