by Becca Colton
Mr. Christmas
Becca Colton
Copyright © December 2019 Becca Colton
All rights reserved.
Cover image © Depositphotos/_italo_
Contents
Mailing List
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
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Mailing List
Copyright Notice
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Chapter 1
Krissy
“One super-jumbo Christmas Strawberry Cake Milk ready to go,” Jerry, the barista, says, sliding over the huge cup of milky goodness topped with a mountain of whipped cream.
“Yah!” I snatch up the drink and take a big sip, closing my eyes and enjoying the burst of flavor that explodes on my tongue. I open my eyes as I lick whipped cream off my lips, seeing Jerry’s cheeks turn red as he looks at my mouth. I smile shyly at him, feeling my own cheeks heat up.
“You drink that all the time, Krissy,” Jerry says. “That must be why you’re so sweet.” He leans over the counter, lowering his voice as he glances around nervously at the customers standing around. “Look, this might seem kind of sudden but I was wondering if you’d like to go —”
I hastily take another sip of my drink — more of a huge gulp really — and pull my phone out of my pocket, looking at the screen. I glance up at Jerry, offering him a big smile. “Gee. Would ya look at the time. I’m running late. Gotta go. Bye.” I offer Jerry a quick wave as I turn and all but run out of the Sweet Treats Coffee Shop. As soon as I’m outside, I take a deep breath, letting the chilly November air cool my face.
Shaking my head, I head to my dad’s store, the Christmas Shack. Jerry was going to ask me out. Crap. No offense to Jerry. I like him. He’s cute, and friendly, and sweet, and he always makes my Christmas Strawberry Cake Milk just the way I like it. But we already went out a few years back . . . and he doesn’t really do it for me. I don’t really know what “it” is, but I always see it in movies and read about it in romance books. That special thing. That moment when your eyes meet and you feel like the universe just clicked into place, that moment you touch and feel that special tingle zip through you from head to toe when you share a kiss that makes you stop and go “whoa.”
But maybe I’m expecting too much. Maybe it’s just in books and movies. Especially when you live in a town with barely a thousand people in it. If I was going to feel a tingle with anyone I’m pretty sure I would’ve felt it by now.
No. I’m only twenty-one, but I’m already pretty sure my future consists of taking over the family’s toy business and having a house filled with lots and lots of cats. Not that there’s anything wrong with cats, but it sure would be nice to find a special guy who sets off fireworks in my head when we’re together.
◆◆◆
By the time I make it to the front door of the Christmas Shack, my worries about Jerry and becoming an old cat lady are a distant memory. It’s almost impossible to stay down when you live in a town like Klause. That’s one of the reasons I usually walk to work every day unless it’s snowing too hard.
Just like almost every morning, I had waved to people on my way to work, saying hello and chitchatting every now and then, and just like almost every morning they waved back and talked with me. It’s part of my normal morning routine, and I love it. When the Christmas Shack became a big deal, basically celebrating Christmas twenty-four seven, the rest of the town followed in its footsteps, with all the stores working with a holiday theme. The tourists love it. And I do too. It’s how I imagine living at Santa’s workshop would be like.
But as soon as I enter the Shack I can tell something’s off. My coworkers — my friends — look away too quickly, making a point to look anywhere else but at me.
“Hi, Janice,” I say to the kindly woman folding Christmas sweaters on a nearby table. She’s worked for my father for years and is always warm and friendly.
Her head snaps toward me, her eyes wide, like she thought she was invisible and is surprised I can see her. “Oh. Hi, Krissy.”
“How are you doing this morning?” I ask.
Her expression pinches like she just bit into a tart lemon. “I’m . . . fine. Everything’s just fine.” She slaps on the fakest smile I’ve ever seen in my life.
“Is everything okay,” I ask. “You’re acting kind of str—”
Janice immediately turns and walks away. “Sorry, Krissy. Really busy today.” She glances back at me. “You might want to talk to your father.”
The way she says it, combined with the look on her face, sends a chill down my back. I head straight to Dad’s office in the back of the store. His door opens just as I get to it, and I can’t help but think he was waiting for me, watching for me.
“There’s my little turtledove,” he says, a big smile on his face. Thankfully, his smile actually looks real. He steps back. “Come on in. It’s been busy, busy, busy, and I have some important news to share with you.”
“What’s going on, Dad,” I ask as he closes his office door behind me. “Janice is acting weird, and it’s not just her. Everyone gave me a strange look when I came in.”
I see Dad grimace as he goes to sit on the couch along the wall instead of behind his desk. He pats the spot next to him. “That’s probably my fault, princess. I told everyone this morning about certain . . . changes that would be happening.”
I sit on the old couch, setting my drink on the end table near me. “What changes?” I ask nervously.
He sighs heavily. “I wanted to tell you last night, but I chickened out. Waiting doesn’t make it any easier though, and there’s no more time to wait.” He sighs again. “I’m selling the store.”
For a few seconds, I just sit and stare at him, my brain refusing to accept the simple logic of his words.
“You can’t be serious, Dad.” I point at the calendar on the wall, like maybe he forgot it’s there. “It’s almost Christmas, Dad. You don’t sell a Christmas store right before Christmas.” I’m about to ask why when a more important question pops into my head. “Who’s buying it?”
Dad rises from the couch and starts pacing the office floor, wringing his hands. “Now, honey, you have to keep in mind that emotion has no place in business decisions.”
Dread trickles down my spine like ice water. “Who did you sell the Christmas Shack to, Dad?”
He stops in front of me and sighs. “Christmas World.”
“No!” I yell, slapping my palm down on the couch cushion. “No. Not them. What have we always said about them?”
Dad sighs and nods his head. “They’re the Christmas store that has everything except Christmas spirit.”
“And you’re selling the Shack to them. Your dream. Grandpa’s dream.” I stand up from the couch, anger building inside me, making it impossible to sit still. “This is insane.”
Dad frowns at me. “This is business, Krissy. It wasn’t an easy decision to make.”
> I head to the door, fighting the tears that want to come. “But you still made it.”
He calls my name as I grab the doorknob and I look back at him. He grimaces again. “We know, the employees know . . . but nobody else does, and I’d like to keep it that way. For the holidays.”
I glare at him. “What do you care about the holidays?” I slam the door behind me.
Ignoring the looks from coworkers and customers, I walk as fast as possible to the bathroom. I stare at myself in the mirror. I look terrible, like I’m seconds away from crying. Which I sort of am. I splash some cold water on my face and force myself to smile. It looks fake. Guess that means I’ll fit right in with everyone else. I shake my head and open the bathroom door. I want to leave. Just go home and curl up with a cup of hot chocolate and watch some cheesy Hallmark movies. But I care about this store, even if my father no longer does. For that reason, and that reason alone, I stay.
Chapter 2
Joe
I look outside the window as the company jet lands. I frown at the snow on the ground, the snow blowing in the wind. The snow that is every single place I look. It looks gloomy and cold. I shiver and turn my attention back to the tablet in my lap. I’m from Dallas. For me, cold means below fifty degrees. I take another quick peek out the tiny window. It looks a lot colder than fifty degrees out there.
“Mr. Christmas?”
I pull my attention from the frozen wasteland outside. “Yes?”
“Your rental vehicle is waiting, sir.”
“Thank you.” I stand and pull my new coat — bought specifically for this trip — out of the overhead compartment.
It’s a thick charcoal-colored coat with a hood. It’s stylish, but designed for serious winter weather. At the time, I thought it might be overkill. Now I’m glad I bought it.
The flight attendant gives a pleasant nod as I approach the exit and inhales sharply. I realize why as soon as she opens the door. A blast of cold air explodes through the tiny opening, sucking my breath away. I hastily zip up the coat and step outside on the ramp leading to the ground so the attendant can close the door again. Nobody should be exposed to these elements for long.
I make my way to the red SUV parked just a few feet away and climb in as quickly as possible. I close the door and sigh as the heat from the vents washes over me. Pulling up the directions on the pre-programmed GPS for the bed-and-breakfast I’m staying at, I frown at the name that pops up. Happy Elf B&B. I sigh and shake my head. The town is called Klause, perfect for a holiday tourist trap, so the whole trip will probably be like this.
For about the tenth time today, I curse at Christopher Snow, the owner of the Christmas Shack. The only reason I’m here is because the man acts like we’re still in the early 80s. Receive document via email? Sell a business without meeting face to face and shaking hands? Insanity.
I shake my head at the outdated way of thinking, but I suppose I should be thankful for it. The Christmas Shack used to be serious competition way back in the day, when my dad was still running Christmas World, but they started slipping even before my father retired five years ago. Now the Christmas Shack is a shadow of its former self. Still, I would’ve been happy to cut the man and his failing business lose. He needs us; I don’t need him.
Unfortunately, I need the board of directors on my side. I turned thirty-five four months ago, but the board still thinks I’m too young to be CEO. They decided I needed to handle this task personally. Just another complication to toss my way for the hell of it. Just another test they hope I fail so they can vote me out.
Hopefully, I’ll get this done, prove them wrong, and be back home before I freeze to death.
◆◆◆
Less Egg, More Nog. The names around here will be the death of me, and the name of the local bar is no exception. The B&B is nice, but it was way too quiet. After unpacking my stuff, I went through some of the promotional pamphlets left in the room. Although the cheesy names are almost painful, even I could appreciate a tagline like “drinks strong enough to roast your chestnuts.” The place has an old-world tavern feel to it. No big-screen TVs to distract. The people here actually talk with one another, playing pool, shooting darts, or just sitting at tables and talking while enjoying drinks and bar food staples like pizza and hamburgers.
I grab a stool at the bar, order a whiskey, and look around, unzipping my coat because it’s insulated so well it actually becomes a little too warm indoors.
“Nice coat.”
I turn to the source of the voice and suck in a sharp breath. The woman sitting three barstools down is looking at me with the lightest, bluest eyes I’ve ever seen in my life. My gaze follows her long blonde hair down past her waist, and for just a second I wonder what it would be like to run my hands through that golden mane. Her pink cupid bow lips are lifted in a smirk, her eyes flashing humor and mischief. She raises a questioning eyebrow and I remember she said I had a nice coat.
I give her a friendly nod. “Thanks.”
To my surprise, she slides down off her stool and moves to the one next to me. She reaches out and snags something off my sleeve. I feel a slight tug and she holds something up for me to see.
“Looks even nicer without the price tag dangling from the sleeve.” A giggle escapes that pretty mouth, her eyes sparkling.
I take the price tag from her and we both jump as my hand brushes hers. She giggles again. “Static electricity. Causes quite a . . . tingle.”
She licks her lips and my cock stirs. I hold back a groan, once again imagining my hands in her long blonde hair, only this time she’s on her hands and knees in front me and we’re both naked.
“I’m Krissy.” She offers me another smile that makes my pants feel two sizes too small. “Krissy Snow.”
All thoughts of exploring this woman’s beautiful body disappear in the blink of an eye. Krissy Snow. Fuck my luck.
For a second I wonder if she recognizes me. As the new head of Christmas World, as well as being one of Dallas’s most eligible bachelors, my picture has appeared in various magazines and websites, but that was during my clean-shaven days. I decided just a few months ago to change my look and grow a beard. The paparazzi have grabbed a few photos of me since then, but not many. After a few seconds, I decide the beautiful blonde is just being friendly. There’s no hint of recognition on her face.
But I know her. I was studying her family on the flight here. Krissy Snow, daughter of Christopher Snow, the owner of the Christmas Shack.
The intel didn’t say shit about how incredibly gorgeous Krissy Snow is, but sleeping with her while finalizing the deal to buy her father’s business would be the absolute worst thing I could possibly do. Hell, just thinking about it is one of the worst things I could possibly do.
She taps the bar with her palm. “Another round, Stan.”
The bartender looks at her with concern. “You really sure you need another one, Krissy?”
I see fire spark to life in those ice-blue eyes as she glares at him. “Yes, Stan. I’m really sure.” She jabs a thumb in my direction. “And give Sexy Santa here another round.”
I chuckle. “Sexy Santa?”
Her cheeks flush bright red. “Did I say that out loud?” She laughs at herself and something in my chest is flooded with warmth. I want to hear that laugh again. Desperately. She shrugs and gestures at me, her hand coming close to my face. I’m a little disappointed when she seems to realize what she’s doing and pulls her hand away at the last second.
“Well, look at you,” she says. “Add some silver to that hair and beard” — her eyes drop down to my chest — “Maybe add a few pounds for that whole ‘bowl full of jelly’ belly look.” She licks her lips. “Not that there’s anything wrong with how you look right now.” Her eyes flash up to mine. “It’s a small town but I’ve never seen you around before. You just move here?”
I shake my head. “No. Just visiting.” For just a second, I consider telling her who I am, but I stop myself. I’m not ready for h
er to view me as the enemy just yet.
She nods. “Perfect time to visit since Christmas is right around the corner.” The smile drops from her face for a second, and then she shakes her head and looks up at me, the smile back in place. Is it my imagination or does it seem less bright somehow, maybe a little pinched in the corners?
I don’t like it. Her genuine smile is a thing of beauty. I don’t like the forced one. It doesn’t look right on her angelic face. Before I can stop myself, before I can tell myself what a colossally stupid idea this is, I lean forward and claim her lips with mine. She tenses up for just a second, and then sighs, her lips parting for me. I accept her invitation, teasing her tongue with mine. Her lips are cool at first but it doesn’t take long for them to heat up. She tastes like strawberry and peppermint and I lose myself in her, forgetting where we are and reaching for her, wrapping my hand around the back of her head and pulling her closer. She moans, leaning into me.
“Hey, pal! Knock it off. This is a family place.”
I pull away, my cock begging for release as I watch Krissy run her tongue along her lips. “Whoa,” she whispers breathlessly.
The bartender shifts his glare from me to her. “What would your parents think, Krissy?”
Those icy eyes flash with anger. “I’m not a child, Stan. I don’t care what my parents would think.” She slides off the stool. “After all, it’s not like they care what I think about anything.” She looks at me. “Want to get out of here?
Kissing her was a bad idea. Leaving with her is an even worse idea. But my cock doesn’t care. She seemed all innocent and pure when she first approached me, but there’s a fire raging in her, hidden just below the surface. If I’m not careful, I know I’ll get burned. My eyes roam down her body as she grabs a puffy red coat from the stool she was sitting at and pulls it on. She’s wearing a form-fitting red sweater that hugs her breasts and black leggings that leave little to the imagination, clinging to her curvy hips and round ass. I couldn’t tell her no if I wanted to.
