Page 79 of Christmas with the Denton Billionaires

“I am,” she said, looking up at him. For a moment, whatever barrier she’d erected between them had dissolved. He dug his fingertips into the softness of her waist, suddenly desperate for a kiss.

“I want to ruin your lipstick right now,” he confessed.

“Mitch—”

Her response was interrupted by the booming voice of his father, strolling toward them with his hands outstretched.

“Son!” His laughter almost hurt the ears if you stood too close. Because his father, as a veteran hotelier, knew exactly how to turn on the charm and gregariousness for public events. He pulled Mitch into a quick hug. “Look at this damn place. I told you to go big, and you did.”

“Of course, Dad.” He laughed, clapping his father on the shoulder. “We owe it all to this lady.” He stepped back, gesturing toward Jules. “Jules, meet my father, Mitchell Denton, Senior. He’s clearly impressed with your work.”

“Impressed? I’m bowled over.” He surged forward to offer his hand, which Jules shook firmly. “Mitch, you found the best damn event planner on the planet. Now, let’s go mingle. I saw Sara Osterman over there. I was happy to hear you secured the deal.”

His father stopped when he realized Mitch wasn’t following him. Panic streaked through Mitch’s limbs. He felt torn between two worlds. The sweet, tender world that he’d been creating with Jules…and now the harsh reality of being his father’s son.

It was easy to forget it, up there in the penthouse. Their lofty dreamworld, safe from judgment or prying eyes or his father’s narrow-eyed inquisition.

“Mitch?”

“Hang on, Dad.” He turned to Jules, looking for some sort of answer there. His mouth parted, but no words came out.

“What’s the matter?” Jules asked.

It felt like cement had filled his throat. He couldn’t find words, much less force them out.

“Mitch, let’s go,” his dad barked, looking at his watch.

“I’m here with Jules,” Mitch finally said, turning toward his dad. That was simple. That was enough. Even though saying the words made him feel like he might puke a little.

His father’s brows formed a dark line. “What do you mean?”

“She’s my date.” Mitch forced a bright smile, slipping his hand over the small of Jules’s back.

His father blinked. “The event planner.” It wasn’t a statement as much as a veiled question. Only Mitch could hear theare you fucking serious?buried beneath his words.

“Yes.” Mitch hadn’t planned on outing them like this, much less immediately. But for some reason, it felt necessary.

“It’s been a dream to work with your son,” Jules spoke up, her voice light and sonorous. Her smile strained at the edges. “And your flagship hotel is just…marvelous. I’ve never held an event in such an elegant space before.”

Mitchell Senior nodded slowly, still looking Jules up and down.

“And if it helps, I’m notjustan event planner,” Jules went on, her words becoming rushed.

“Did you meet my son at Boston University?” his father asked.

“No, actually, I went to Barnard.”

“And what did you study?” his father asked.

“Business, with a minor in fashion design.”

His father gave a humorless laugh and nodded, looking around. Mitch knew the sign well. He was done with this conversation.

“Anyway, spending the holidays with Mitch and Noelle has been a blessing,” Jules went on. Mitchell Senior blinked dully at her, his hands propped on his hips.

“Sorry?”

“Noelle.” Jules cast Mitch an uncertain glance. “Didn’t Mitch tell you about—”

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