Page 1 of Merry Kissmas, My Billionaire

CHAPTER1

HOPE

“It’s a real job?”I’m skeptical. I shouldn’t be. I should be jumping up on the table in the quaint café and dropping my bountiful booty like it’s hot chocolate at the news.

Stevie smirks, his glasses briefly fogging up from the steam of his coffee. He sips, leaving meon readin real life. Just before the anticipation can break me, he speaks, “Yes, my love, it’s a real job.” He tsks me and leans forward. “I wouldnotruin your ever abundant Christmas cheer with pranks.”

Christmas cheer is one way of putting it. The holidays are always a tumultuous time for me. The Everly household knows how to party and with my twins in their last year of pre-teens, it’s likely going to be the last Christmas to impress them with Santa's Workshop magic. I want to go all out, and the extra cash would help.

I just hope I’m not too rusty.While I’ve been getting back into the scene, I hadn’t actually worked an interior design job since I was pregnant with the twins. I had no qualms about giving up my dreams for them. They are my everyday miracles. Early on I jumped from job to job while my mom watched the kids until I landed a survivable opportunity, working from home. But the kids are older now…

I don’t want to get my hopes up but if this job goes well, then I could maybe start again.

The idea paired with the divine white chocolate mocha I sip on is giving me all the warm and fuzzy feelings.

“So, you’ll take it?” Stevie presses.

I would be an idiot to turn it down, even without the details. “Yes, of course, please tell him I’ll take the job.”

Stevie squeals and dances in his chair in rhythm to the Deck the Halls that fills the cafe. I join him, wiggling my butt and giggling. Our coffee dates at the Sugar Babes Bakery & Cafe are the highlight of my week, it’s nice to talk to an adult every now and then. Wecheerswith cupcakes and finish out our best friend check–in with all the gossip he hears at his salon.

“Who knew the rich were so dramatic,” I tease.

“Hope Everly, you love every wicked word coming out of my mouth,” Stevie scolds me, draining the last of his mug. “Ugh, I must return to the world of the rich and famous.” I roll my eyes. Stevie would go insane if he didn’t know the steamy and juicy gossip of his clientele.

“Let me know if that heiress runs away with that handyman,” I add quickly, knowing I’m just as much a sucker for his gossip as he is.

He winks, pulling on his coat and scarf. “I’ll text you the job deets,” he blows me a kiss and is gone in a flash.

I linger in the cafe a little longer, singing “Last Christmas” to myself as I watch the first traces of snowfall. The kids will be out of school soon. They know I meet with Stevie and if I don’t bring them a Sugar Babes treat there’l1 be drama in my own life. Bundling back up in my coat and beanie, I return to the counter of the cafe to order some cookies to go.

Hell hath no fury like pre-teens without sugar.

* * *

I thoughtI’d be shaking in my boots. If the rest of the grand house…Is this even a house? No, it’s a mansion. If the rest of this mansion is as white and plane as the foyer is, then I really should be shaking in my boots.

I’m excited. I’m thrilled. I’m on cloud freaking nine. Yes, the white is like clouds or snow. I can use that but too much white and this place feels like an asylum.

A very rich and expensive asylum, I remind myself, eyeing the silver candelabras.

Stevie acted as the middleman, between me and one of his regulars, Trent Goldworth. Apparently, the billionaire couldn’t get his designer in town until after the holidays and Stevie had no issue throwing his best friend’s name in the ring…forgoing all details that my qualifications could easily be taken into question.

I have experience, and it isn’t as though I am brushing off cobwebs. I keep up with trends, magazines, blogs, and channels like TLC and HGTV are constantly on in the background when the kiddos aren’t begging me to let them watch something in their cartoonish genre. Taking a steel bristle brush to rust is a better suiting analogy, I’m knowledgeable but out of practice. I’ve got what it takes – just need some oil on the gears to get going. I can’t think of a better way to dive back into my dream job than by decorating a mansion for the holidays.

A gentleman takes my coat and bag and leaves me without so much a word. I watch two other employees fly by in utter silence and I wonder what kind of Ebenezer Scrooge I’ll be working with. Still, even the prospect of a grouchy old man didn’t deter my excitement. I’m picturing a grand Christmas tree where the table in the center of the foyer is. I can play off the white like snow and splash in bright colors to contrast the dullness. New furniture would have to be put in too…

I find myself waltzing around the entrance and peaking into open entrances to pass the time and prepare my creative mind. There's a dining hall, an enormous sitting room, a kitchen, a hallway that leads to the backyard, a few bedrooms, and I shit-you-not, a ballroom.

“This is a crime,” I gasp, stepping into the open room.

The wood flooring of the hallway gives way to marble tile. Both walls are decorated with golden velvet drapes, drapes for windows on one side, and drapes for pictures on the other. Only one set of drapes is tied off, displaying a life-size family portrait depicting everyone under the Goldworth name from great-grandkids to great-grandparents. There are smiles on most of the faces except for one brooding boy with his hair parted down the middle, and blue eyes that follow me around the room.

“You were supposed to wait in the foyer,” a deep voice echoes in the ballroom.

He startles me, making me jump and swear under my breath, I hadn’t heard anyone approaching despite how easily my footsteps echo.

I look at the painting and then back to the man, who stands just outside the ballroom, and refuses to enter as if the floor might be lava. The boy in the painting and the man are one and the same, sharing a serious azure stare. Seeing as he isn’t about to join me, I make my way toward him.

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