The Christmas Con: A Novella

by Rachel Robinson

  Table of Contents

  The Christmas Con

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Other Titles by International Bestselling Author, Rachel Robinson

  Copyright © 2020 Rachel Robinson

  All rights reserved.

  Cover by Tattered Quill Designs

  Editing by My Brother’s Editor

  Editing by J. Wells

  Formatting by CP Smith

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  The Nigerian Prince

  FOR ONCE, I didn’t want to be that basic bitch. You know the one. Everyone knows the one. The woman who comes home for the holidays single, angry, and somehow even more scorned than she was the year before. The woman who despite all her best efforts can’t seem to land a solid man. Or any man if we’re being honest. Last year, Aunt Wendy had me seriously contemplating trying out lesbianism. Maybe I was actually bi-sexual? Probably not, but at least that would give me something to hold on a silver platter next to the stuffing. Look, see, this is why I’ve been unsuccessfully dating since age twenty! I wasn’t doing it right!

  I did the unthinkable. I posted an ad to a seedy, dark web, dating site that my friend’s, cousin’s, best friend used to find a mail-order bride. This isn’t my proudest moment. No, it’s more out of desperation that I’m trying to find a boyfriend, wait, that’s too strong of a word, a date, to take home for Christmas. It’s November, so I figure I’m allotting plenty of time to meet and get to know someone before I have to pretend to love him in front of Grandma, my parents, all twelve of my cousins and their children.

  My roommate, Shay, has her chin on my shoulder as we stare blankly at my computer screen. It’s filled with replies to my ad. “I don’t know why you didn’t use Match, or one of the more reputable sites. This is scary, Lizzy.”

  “More reputable sites charge money. This was free. People, as a general rule, are lazy. They don’t want to sort through…” Squinting, I scroll through my inbox trying to estimate how many responses I have to sort. “One hundred fifty emails. Most people want immediate results.” I clear my throat. “I have time and tenacity on my side. I may be a lot of things, but I’m not lazy.”

  “You have time because you got canned. Did you tell these guys you’re a jobless, homeless, pariah, living with her best friend?”

  “You act like I won’t find another job soon. I will.” This is the real reason I can’t go home for Christmas empty-handed. I’m actually not certain I’ll be able to find a job. I’m a social media guru for luxury hotels. Those chains are less likely to hire people from outside. My options are slim if I want to stick with my current specialty. “My feelers are out and I have a lead on a job. Your couch won’t be my home for long.” I click open one who claims he’s a prince from Africa with a dick pic attached. “I’m not a pariah, either, you’re blessed to be my best friend.” I toss my hair.

  “What happens when Prince Dickpic steals you off to another country, leaving me best friend-less? Imagine what ole’ Grandma Betty will say then.” Lizzy’s bad taste in men was always going to be the death of her.

  “It’s going to be so easy to weed out the trash. Especially if you take half,” I say, turning to meet her eyes. “Go get your laptop.”

  She groans. “Fine, only because I want to compare dick sizes in relation to where they live and make a line chart.”

  “You’re so weird, but I don’t care if it means you’re going to help me.”

  She sits next to me at the dining room table where I have my computer set up and starts cursing as she logs in and tackles the bottom half of the list. She’s right though. They are mostly dicks and in locations nowhere near me. “Like, could you have been more specific if you were going to put out an ad to the entire universe? Maybe limit it to the state you live in?”

  “What if an actual prince answers my ad? Who am I to deny him the pleasure of dating me?”

  Shay groans again. “I still don’t know why you didn’t just go to the bar and pay some dude to be nice to you at Christmas at your family’s house.”

  “I’ve exhausted the bars here. This is more than a Christmas Hail Mary. A last-ditch effort to find someone to placate them for a while until I can find someone who wants the same things I do. The last man I thought wanted the same things as me, didn’t. Like, he didn’t in a big nasty way.”

  “Wow, this guy has a huge cock,” Shay says, attention waning. “And when you say a man who wants the same things you do; do you mean a house of your own and a job?”

  “You’re such a bitch. How big is this dick?” I ask.

  She spins the computer to face me.

  “Wow. Do you think a dick pic should immediately make a prospect null and void, or should I respond to that one and see if he can send a full body shot, too?”

  We both laugh, and Shay deletes the message with an exaggerated click. “You’re looking for more than a big dick. Or at least that’s what I’ve gotten from your antics. Aunt Wendy won’t be impressed with length and girth. Full package is needed.”

  I sigh and delete the next fifteen because of the filth in the room behind the dick pic. This was a foolish idea, but not my most foolish. I’ve tricked my way into jobs by pretending to have qualifications I don’t. It’s not sketchy when you realize I always perform well and can figure out exactly what I need to do. Getting my foot in the door has to be scrappy sometimes. That’s the way of the world.

  I swallow hard and rub my fingers against my clammy palms. “I might change my bio a bit,” I say.

  “You can’t lie in this situation. This isn’t a job you’ll figure out.”

  “This is literally a job,” I counter. “Who cares what I say to hook someone decent. Once they meet me, they’ll never be able to turn me away.”

  “Says the single, almost thirty-year-old woman who has more ex drama than a prince asking for your account number. Did you ever think that maybe it is you? The reason why your relationships don’t work?”

  Even as she’s speaking, I fluff my bio and repost. I don’t care what she says. “Guys don’t want to commit. If I say I’m looking for a good time instead of commitment, I might get different responses from… higher quality individuals.”

  “It’s your funeral.” Shay perches her chin on her fist and continues deleting.

  More responses roll in almost immediately, and the task of sorting through them gets more daunting by the minute. Lizzy Maeson is no quitter. Shay is though. She abandoned me to go to bed after wishing me happy cock hunting. A fair assessment as most of these men still aren’t sending me photos of their faces.

  I’m about to pause for the night when I open an email titled: An Invitation. Unlike the others, which have sexual innuendos or just hi in the subject line. His photo loads slowly because Shay’s internet is shit, and it’s a high-quality image
. It’s not his dick, but after I see his face, I wish it was. “Hello Luca,” I say, raising my brows. He’s wearing a tux. I gulp when my mouth starts watering. His cell phone is aimed at an expensive-looking mirror and covering half of his perfect tan face. A smirk plays on the half of his lips I can see. His eyes are chocolate brown and the man leaks sex appeal through my computer screen. Taking a break from trying to undress him with my eyes, I read his message.

  No commitment. No strings attached. Your plane ticket is attached.

  Luca

  Under his name is his phone number. I mean, there are worse things than being invited to Bora Bora by a stranger who looks like a model when you’re unemployed and super single. Shay did say it’s my funeral. Dying in a tropical paradise might be a good life decision.

  Chapter Two

  The deal

  WALKING OUTSIDE WITH my cell phone shaking in my hand, I try to justify not waking up Shay to tell her about Luca. If that’s his real name. I did do a reverse photo search on the internet to make sure I wasn’t getting catfished. The photo wasn’t anywhere else, which means very little. People are slick these days. Someone using the dark web to solicit women for a vacation with no strings probably isn’t the most upstanding citizen. Look at me, though, I’m pretty awesome and I’m on there. Maybe he’s decent too. Maybe he’s not, my intuition rages at me.

  I tap the phone number from his email into my phone and decide to send a text instead of calling. It seems safer. “It’s Lizzy,” I type, then delete it. “It’s Elizabeth. Just received your email.” I hit send as the knot in my stomach swells and makes me nauseous. “Calm down, Lizzy. You’ve done things way worse than texting a stranger.” I chide myself.

  The gray bubbles appear as he texts back and I’m surprised that I’m shocked. Of course he’s going to reply. “What’s your last name, Elizabeth?”

  The knot in my stomach flips and a lump forms in my throat. “I’m not giving my last name to an absolute stranger. I’m not an idiot.” I send the message and sit down in a lawn chair in Shay’s back yard—the moon and a stray owl hooting my only company.

  More gray bubbles pop up and then disappear. My phone rings instead, a FaceTime call. “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.” I drop the phone like it might bite me. “I need to see if he’s real. This makes sense. He’d want to see me, too.”

  Except I’m wearing a pajama shirt and my hair is dirty, piled high on my head in a bun. This isn’t ideal. Not at all. I answer the call, though. Nerves reverberate through my entire body as the adrenaline hits. “Hello,” I say, voice shaky.

  “Elizabeth, it’s Luca,” the suave, slightly accented voice on the other end coos. The dark phone lights up when he clicks on a light. It looks like he’s in a hotel room. I humongous fucking hotel room. Lots of marble and glitzy décor. “Where are you?”

  “I’m outside,” I choke out. The man is shirtless and looks like sex wrapped in human skin. His skin is dark and his chest muscles are bulging delicious mounds. His face is take-my-breath-away-beautiful. “It’s night here in New York.”

  “While you might not be an idiot, I still need your last name for the flight if you’re joining me tomorrow.” I cough to cover a gasp. I didn’t notice the date. “Step into the light.”

  I walk up the stairs of the deck and into the low light from the outside light. Luckily it does good things for me and I don’t look quite so haggard. “Oh, yes. You’ll do quite nicely,” Luca growls, and I swear to God he licks his lips and it’s aggressively sexual. I feel it all over my body. Especially between my legs.

  “Do quite nicely for what?” I fire back, feeling tingles rise up my spine.

  He grins. Dimples. Of course. “Don’t play coy. You said you were looking for no strings and no commitments. Do I not meet those qualifications?”

  “It’s, ah, mostly that you want me to fly to another country. I don’t know anything about you.”

  “What do you need to know about me?” Luca says, then his eyes wide. “Oh, right. I forgot.” He aims his phone down to his enormous dick. It’s soft and hangs down his thigh. He wraps his hand around it and strokes softly. “I promise it will be worth your while,” he says as the damn thing grows effortlessly as I watch. “I’ve never had any complaints.”

  “That is not what I meant,” I finally choke out. “What’s your last name? What do you do? Are you going to kill me after you ravage me with that thing? I said no strings, yes, but I kind of meant dating in New York. Not in Bora Bora. That’s a huge leap for me.” He lifts the camera back to his face and his eyes are narrowed and his cheeks are flushed. Not from embarrassment, because he’s turned-on. It’s so fucking hot. I haven’t had sex in a long time. Like that’s something I’m embarrassed of. I wouldn’t know what to do with a man like this without lessons.

  The camera shakes as he walks onto a balcony and turns so I can see the stunning blue water and the stark white sand. It’s a private beach, and I realize it’s not a hotel room, it’s a massive house. “It’s yours for the taking, Elizabeth.”

  My mind spins. “You are gorgeous and you could have any woman you wanted. Why are you trolling online for women when you could probably go to the front desk and ask for one? Forgive me for not falling onto an airplane.”

  He turns his phone to aim it back to his face. Now that I know he’s naked, it’s all I can think about. I sit down on the step in front of her back door. Luca bites his bottom lip. “It’s complicated. I’m really not concerned with you falling onto an airplane. I need you to fall on my dick. It’s easier this way. With strangers like you, for me. That’s what I can say.”

  “Are you famous or something?” I nearly screech. While I’m obsessed with social media, I don’t really keep up with Hollywood or tabloids or anything like that.

  He smiles. “Depends on who you ask. It’s just hard for me to meet women.”

  “How?” I scoff.

  “I should be asking you the same question, Elizabeth. Why are you searching a place typically reserved for criminals to find a date?”

  I think of my grandma’s face when I tell her I’m single on Christmas… again. “It’s sort of complicated on my end, too.”

  He shakes his head and a lock of brown hair falls into his one eye. He brushes it away. “See? No strings attached. What’s your last name, Elizabeth? Let’s make this official.”

  This is quickly snowballing into the craziest thing I’ve ever done. “Where do you live when you’re not in Bora Bora?” I ask.

  “All over,” he says. “Depends on what’s going on for work.”

  “What do you do for work?”

  “A little of this and a little of that.”

  “Something that affords you a pretty lavish lifestyle. You could probably make a body disappear, too, couldn’t you?”

  “I’ll make your body disappear into a cloud of orgasms and pleasure.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” I push my lips to the side. “If I agree to go there, to fly to you, I need you to do something for me. A small something in comparison to this, I think.”

  Luca’s smile fades. “I’m not in the business of negotiations.”

  “I guess I would be a dime a dozen, wouldn’t I? A million more women like me willing to take that flight?”

  “What’s your request?” His voice is low, and I think it’s an Italian accent, rolls off the last word.

  It sounds petulant and childish when I realize what I’m about to ask of this creature built for sex. I can’t even imagine my family’s reaction when they see Luca. I’m not even sure it would be positive. His look is that devilishly intimidating. “I was hoping to meet someone I could take home for Christmas.”

  Luca’s frown turns to a smile, then a rich laugh. “You want to take me home?” He palms his chest. “To meet your family?”

  I surge on, trying to present a solid case. “Still no strings. You just have to make them think you… love me. Or like me… even.” I shake my head, embarrassed. I close my eyes
so I don’t have to see his reaction.

  “You’ve offered me something I’ve never been asked before. Not quite like this anyway. I’ll pretend to be your lover.” Opening my eyes to look at him, I realize his face is serious, almost scary. “You have a deal if you get on the plane tomorrow and fuck me non-stop for a week.” He licks his lips and I lose my breath. “I won’t even have to pretend to be your lover at Christmas. I’ll have familiarized myself with every square inch of your body by then.”

  I smile but it looks like a cringe. “It’s a deal.”

  “Your last name now.”

  “Maeson,” I hiss. Making sure to spell it since no one ever gets it right the first time.

  “Pack your bags, Elizabeth Maeson. You won’t need clothing.”

  Chapter Three

  The meeting

  SHAY CANNOT BE my real friend. Or she’s been contacted by Luca in some sleuth communication to help me make this crazy decision. She let me go to Bora Bora. In fact, she encouraged it after I showed her the photo and told her about the conversation I had with him in her back yard. She said she had my information and that she’d come after me if need be. Yeah, like if he had nefarious plans to traffic me, she’d really be a help. Not. This will be the dumbest, most adventurous thing I’ve ever done in my entire life. The headline will read, Dumb American Woman Latest Victim in Bora Bora Trafficking Ring. Lured by Hot Sex and a Christmas Date!

  For what it’s worth, I did research as much as I could. I have a can of mace in my suitcase, enough money to buy a ticket home, and my own hotel if things go sideways. When I was thirteen, I took karate classes for a month. I could also kick the neighborhood boy’s ass when they made fun of my friend Margaret’s Coke-bottle glasses. Timmy had a black eye for weeks after he took my right hook. Luca isn’t a ten-year-old boy, Lizzy.

  No, actually it looks like he’s a fucking middle-aged man that looks like a barrel riding on two corks. He’s holding a sign with my name on it. Keeping my sunglasses on, I pull my suitcase behind me and sigh when I stand in front of him. My heart is pounding. In warning, in shock. This feeling is wild. Like I’m floating and sinking at the same time. “Ms. Maeson,” he says, Italian accent thick. “I’m your driver.”