Page 22 of The Billionaire's Christmas Wish

What do you gift a man who seems to have it all? The search consumes me, but time's slipping through my fingers.

I try Abel again but can’t reach him. I can't stall any longer. As I weave through the maze-like hallways toward the set, I nearly trip over Abel, Abel sprawled on a crate, decked out in his ridiculous Santa Suit costume.

His pinched features make him look like a cartoon character. The deeply etched scowl tops off the look. The sight turns my stomach.

Abel smirks, his eyes narrowing with self-satisfaction. “What's up, gorgeous? Ready to make me look even more irresistible?”

I stifle a gag as a vile stench wafts from him, forcing me to inhale shallow breaths.

“Let's get this over with,” I say, unzipping my makeup kit more forcefully than necessary.

“Ah, playing hard to get, I see,” he drawls, his scowl morphing into a sleazy grin.

I bite the inside of my cheek, focusing instead on applying saline to his bloodshot eyes.

“Keep your eyes open. This will help with the redness.”

“Or you could say I've got that natural smolder, huh?” He winks, making my skin crawl.

The temptation to roll my eyes is overwhelming, but I resist. “Sure, let's go with that,” I reply, screwing the cap back onto the bottle.

As Abel stumbles away, a knot of worry forms in my stomach. If Abel derails the shoot further, it could jeopardize the entire project. I dial Luca immediately and give him an update.

Luca's gaze finds mine as I enter the set. Our eyes lock, and for a fleeting moment, the world falls away. Then I see him take a deep, steadying breath—bracing himself, gathering the strength for whatever challenge lies ahead.

Abel cuts past me and struts on set. Cocky and arrogant, he mutters a disparaging comment under his breath. My hackles rise.

I fumble, dropping a can of hairspray onto the epoxy floor. I race behind the pressurized missile, swearing under my breath.

Abel sits beside Laura. When she catches a whiff, her pretty face turns green. Luca and the cameraman put their heads together.

Although they’re speaking in hushed tones, they’re discussing Abel—specifically, his ability or inability to work if the sour look on Laura's face is anything to go by.

I can't walk off a live set, but I’d better grab a wastepaper basket. She might need it.

Luca pulls Abel aside for a discreet one-on-one. Abel nods enthusiastically, reminding me of a bobblehead toy before moving to his mark. Luca strides to his place beside a bank of portable monitors, his jaw tight and fists clenched.

Members of the crew exchange pointed looks. I'm not the only one who notices how his body language tells the real story.

I move closer, settling beside Kaiden, hovering in the wings. Kaiden looks concerned, but Laura’s more relaxed when he’s around.

Across the set, Luca’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, they flicker with something dark, something intense. It’s as if he’s wrestling with some inner demon. But as quickly as it came, it vanished.

“Lock it up,” Luca says, giving the crew the signal to start rolling—the director of photography nods before peering into the camera gate.

“Roll sound,” he calls.

Abel graces us with a ridiculously loud burp when the sound operator confirms he's recording.

People groan, but Luca doesn't bat an eyelid. Impatiently tapping his foot, he folds his arms over his chest.

“Go again!” he commands.

The crew repeats the process, but this time, we get as far as the camera rolling, and Luca calls, “Action!”

Laura delivers her lines perfectly, and I breathe a sigh of relief. But when it’s Abel's turn, he blows his cue.

Poor Luca. A muscle in his jaw ticks, but he has the patience of a saint.

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