Page 39 of Christmas with Her Millionaire Boss

If they weren’t trapped in a line of tourists, Noelle would have kissed him then and there.

The crowd herded itself downstairs and into the gift shop. “I see they’ve got the traffic flow issue managed,” she remarked, hoping shop talk would distract the fluttering in her stomach. It didn’t help that James’s hair was windblown. The bonded strands around his stitches stuck out at an angle. “Considering all their years of practice, I’d be disappointed if they didn’t,” he replied.

Noelle only half listened. She was too distracted by those errant strands. Her fingers itched to run through them. Because those mussed-up strands looked all wrong, she argued. If she were him, she’d want someone to adjust his appearance, right?

“Hold on a second.” Grabbing his arm, she stopped him from heading toward the doorway. “Let me...” As gently as possible, she combed his hair smooth, making sure her fingers barely grazed the bump on the back of his head. “Much better.”

Did she just purr? Wouldn’t surprise her. Stroking his hair was nearly as soothing as being petted herself.

“You realize the wind is going to mess up my hair again the second we step outside.”

“Then I’ll simply have to fix it again.” She smoothed a patch around his ear, which was really an excuse to continue touching him.

Her reward was a smile, and a brush of his fingers against her temple. “Well, if that isn’t incentive to spend the day stepping in and out of the wind, I don’t know what is. Now, what do you say? Should we continue exploring?”

Noelle shivered. Explore could mean so many things. Whatever the meaning, she had the same answer. “Absolutely,” she said. “Lead the way.”

* * *

They were walking out of Radio City Music Hall when James’s phone buzzed. “Maybe you should answer,” Noelle said. “That’s what? The fourth call today?”

While she was flattered he considered her to be the higher priority, she knew from experience that not all calls could be ignored. “Generally speaking, people only bother the boss on weekends if there’s an emergency.”

“And what makes you so sure these calls are from the office?” he asked. “How do you know I don’t have an expansive social life?”

Like a girlfriend back in Boston? The thought passed as quickly as it popped into her head. James wasn’t the type to play around. He was, however, the type to work all hours. “Okay, Mr. Social Life,” she challenged, “what would you be doing right now if you hadn’t been stuck with me all weekend?”

“A person can be dedicated to his job and have a social life, I’ll have you know. And I’m not stuck with you.”

Still, her point had been made and he pulled out his phone. “I was right. Nothing that can’t wait,” he said. He rejected the call. Not, however, before Noelle caught the name on the call screen—Jackson Hammond—and the frown that accompanied it.

Curiosity got the best of her. “You don’t want to talk to your father?”

“Not particularly,” he replied. “I’m sure all he’s looking for is a trip update. I can fill him in when I get home.”

Ignoring the unexpected pang that accompanied the words get home, Noelle instead focused on the rest of his comment. “I’m sure he wants to hear how you’re feeling as much as he cares about the trip.”

The sideways glance he sent her said otherwise. She thought about what he said yesterday, about his father and he doing their own thing. “He does know about your accident, doesn’t he?” she asked.

James shrugged. “Word’s gotten to him by now, I’m sure. I left a message with his ‘protégé’ that I was detained by a drone attack. She makes sure he’s kept abreast of things.”

“So you haven’t spoken to him at all since your accident?”

“No.” He stepped aside to let her exit the building first. “I told you,” he continued, once he joined her, “my father and I aren’t close. We don’t do the family thing. In fact, I think I’ve made it pretty clear that the Hammonds are the anti-Frybergs.”

Selling the world a clichéd myth. So he’d told her. Ad nauseum. “Still, your father is trying to reach you. You don’t know it’s all about business.”

“I know my father, Noelle. When I was a kid and broke my leg, he didn’t come home for two days because he was in Los Angeles meeting with a distributor.”

Poor James. “How old were you?” Not that it mattered. A child would feel second best at any age.

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