Page 2 of Merry Kissmas, My Billionaire

“Hello. I’m Hope Everly.” When I’m close enough, I extend my hand to him.

He’s abandoned the middle part, dark auburn hair clipped short and pushed back by mousse to maintain a feathering look while not moving too much out of place. His beard is a few days of growth, with neat lines that only accentuate his jawline and lips. An effortless style that needs trimming often, which no doubt leads to him seeing Stevie often.

It is no wonder then he took Stevie’s referral to hire me. Let a man take a razor to you that often and you’ll trust him with not only your life but your feng shui.

CHAPTER2

TRENT

No one is supposedto be in the ballroom. How did she even get in there? One of the housekeepers must have left the doors open when cleaning. Unacceptable behavior that I’ll have to remind the Household Manager to correct. I need him to meet the Interior Designer anyway.

“Trent Goldworth,” I accept the hand Hope offers me. I look down on her, literally, the woman is petite, all of her height apparently diverted to her other generous assets.

Those assets are hardly hidden from me in her sweater dress. Her hair is candy cane red, which makes the crystal blue of her eyes pop just as colorfully. Her smile is bright and wide, her cheeks pink. Stevie failed to mention how easy on the eyes Hope would be.

Not that that should matter, she’s staff from this point on.Despite the thought, it takes me too long to release her hand.

“Please, the ballroom is off-limits.” I step aside to let her through, despite being petite her hip brushes against my thigh. I slam the doors shut tightly behind her, the heat of her mere graze charging me with an energy I don’t anticipate. “That’s better.”

I can tell she’s inquisitive, but her question isn’t awhyabout the ballroom, thankfully. “Do you have a particular direction you’re wanting for the decorations?”

Good, straight to business, just how I like it.

As we walk and talk, I steer us towards my study on the second floor. “I have family coming into town for the holidays. It’s a rare occasion so I was unprepared. Emily, my designer is trapped in Paris, so I am in your hands, Ms. Everly. Stevie held you in high regard,” I add.

I enjoy the way the pressure gives her more spirit rather than crippling her. Her smile is warm, contagious even, as it tugs on the corners of my lips to mirror her sweet sentiment.

“It’s going to be a nice change then to have family in town for Christmas? I can’t imagine Christmas without my kiddos,” she hums.

“My family is spread out all over the world, I’ve long since stopped expecting to spend a holiday with them.” It comes out harsher than I intend and sympathy flickers in her eyes. I steer us back to design and off my family history. “I don’t have a preference for decor or colors, but I’m not a fan of excess clutter. There is no cost limit, though I hope you’ll not rob me either.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. In school, my projects were often with the middle-class budget in mind,” Hope eases my worry about draining my bank account. “Minimalist Christmas?” She inquires.

I grit my teeth, a modern edge would be a disappointment to the old bones and stylings of the household and my family. “No, not minimal…just don’t put furniture everywhere please.”

Hope breathes a sigh of relief, and the way my heart pitter-patters in my chest at her pleasure is a symptom I’ll have to discuss with my cardiologist.

After discussing purchasing and receipts, I hand over my bank card. She stares at it blankly, wide eyes giving her an elfish guise. “Do you have everything you need?”

Her composure snaps back into place quickly and she paperclips the card to her notebook. “Do you want updates? Anywhere I shouldn’t decorate…”

“Ah, the ballroom… No, decorate it too, but not too much.” The pen in my hand creaks in agony at my tight grip. I set it down before it breaks and I draw too much attention to my discomfort.

Perceptive though, I suppose for an eye in decor you have to be, Hope addresses it head-on. “May I ask why the ballroom bothers you?”

“You may not.” I bite my tongue the second the words slip out. She’s a contractor, not someone to spill my heart out to even if she’s easy to talk to.

Hope’s shoulders slump and my heart hammers in my chest, and I clench my fists with no pen to punish. I don’t think a cardiologist is what I need when it comes to Hope Everly’s effect on me. She leaves the topic be, giving me no room to make up for my snappy response. She scribbles something in the notebook I can’t see. “Very well, I’m going to take care of everything. How often do you want updates? And the deadline?”

How involved do I want to be? “I shouldn’t need to hold your hand through the process,” I glower.

Her brow knits together. “I’m happy to be working with—”

“For,” I interrupt, trying to control the clip in my voice.

“What?”

“You workforme, notwithme.” My heart beats fast. I’m an asshole.Why am I being such a dick?

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