Christmas in Quincy (The Edens)

by Devney Perry

  This was his signature tactic. One he’d perfected in the boardroom and brought home to test on his children. He would wait people out because eventually, the lack of conversation would make the other party break.

  And the other party always caved. Always. Why? Because I was the other party. And I spoke up every damn time.

  “I love you, Dad, but I can’t do another crazy Christmas.” It was better this way. I’d just come clean, tell him I’d miss the festivities, and then he wouldn’t worry. I’d make it up to him with his favorite strudel when I got back to California.

  “So you left to spend it alone in Montana?”

  The nagging guilt vanished in a snap. My spine stiffened. “How do you know I am in Montana?”

  “We’ll expect you home tomorrow. Selene has a big evening planned for Christmas Eve. Then we can enjoy a quiet Christmas morning before the guests arrive in the afternoon.”

  “You didn’t answer my question. How did you know I was in Montana?” I articulated every word.

  “Tomorrow, Cleo.”

  “No.” A raging fire spread through my veins. “First, let’s pretend like you didn’t go against my wishes and betray my trust by having me followed.”

  “Cleo—”

  “Second, let me repeat this so it is inescapably clear. I will not be joining you tomorrow. I’ve arranged for my gifts to be delivered. Merry Christmas.” I ended the call before he could protest, then held the button to power it down before shoving it into my purse.

  “Grr.” I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched my fists.

  Liar. What a goddamn liar!

  Dad had promised he wouldn’t have me followed. He’d promised. So much for honesty. Had he put a tracking device on my phone? Had one of his henchmen followed me to the airport? I wouldn’t put it past him to monitor my credit card activity.

  For years, I’d put up with the bodyguards lurking around every corner. I’d humored Dad’s safety demands. After what had happened to my mother, I understood his concerns. But I wasn’t an eighteen-year-old girl heading off to college. I wasn’t twenty-one and staying out too late at night partying with her friends.

  I was twenty-eight years old and capable of taking care of myself.

  I was capable of planning my own fucking Christmas.

  Where is my champagne?

  My father and I had been so close once. He’d been my best friend. After Mom had died, it had just been the two of us. We’d clung to one another and become a team. His overprotective tendencies hadn’t bothered me then either because I’d been a child.

  But we’d drifted apart these past ten years. I’d grown up. Dad had met Selene and the entire dynamic of our home had shifted.

  She was twelve years my senior. It was a strange age gap because she wasn’t old enough to be my parent and most of the time it had felt like I’d been saddled with a big sister, not a stepmom.

  I loved my half-brother, Ray Jr., but I didn’t like him much. He was as spoiled and selfish as his mother. Last year, he’d thrown a tantrum because I hadn’t bought him a gift. Instead, I’d brought pastries and cakes for the entire household to share, doubling up on my brother’s favorite éclairs so he wouldn’t have to share his dozen.

  But who was I to call anyone selfish? Maybe it was just as selfish of me to disappear to Montana instead of spending time with my family. Maybe I was spoiled because rather than confront my father about the spectacle that the holidays had become, I’d taken the coward’s way out and disappeared.

  Except staying in California hadn’t been an option. Dad would have shown up at my doorstep and collected me himself.

  Maybe if he ever listened to me, I would have instigated that conversation.

  “Like he listened about the security detail,” I muttered to the room.

  He’d promised, to my face, and done whatever he wanted to anyway.

  Screw this. I was staying in Montana and having my own Christmas for a change.

  No bratty kids complaining because the thousands of dollars in gifts weren’t enough. No extravagant parties where I was forced into heels and a cocktail dress as I made small talk with Dad’s business associates. No vegan Christmas dinner because my stepmother was on a new diet.

  I was in Montana and I was staying.

  A knock at the door had me springing into action, salivating for my champagne. I grabbed a twenty from my purse to give as a tip, then ripped the door open. “Thank—”

  No.

  My stomach dropped to the fuzzy slippers on my feet.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Chapter 2

  Austin

  “Get your stuff,” I ordered Cleo. The last place I wanted to be two days before Christmas was Montana. Maybe she wanted to escape here for a white Christmas, but sunshine, palm trees and seventy-degree weather suited me just fine. “Let’s go.”

  “Why won’t anyone answer my questions?” she asked under her breath, her eyes narrowing at me. “Let’s try this again. What. Are. You. Doing. Here?”

  “Collecting you.” I pushed past her into the room and set my backpack down. Then I walked to the closet, ripping the door open and hauling out her empty suitcase before tossing it on the bed. I pointed toward it as it bounced. “Pack up.”

  “No.” Cleo crossed her arms over her chest, stepping away from the door to let it slam closed. “I’m not leaving, Austin.”

  “Yes, you are.” The sooner the better. The second to last place I wanted to be two days before Christmas was in Cleo’s hotel room, beside a bed. “Hustle up.”

  “No.” She huffed. “No, I’m not leaving.”

  “Damn, but you are difficult.”

  She jutted out her chin.

  The movement shifted the loose waves of her long, brown hair. The color always reminded me of the cocoa buttercream frosting she used on my favorite cupcakes. Her hazel eyes flared brighter, like they always did when she was angry, and the green flecks glowed.

  I sucked in a breath, willing my temper and self-control into submission, but all it got me was a deep inhale of her scent. Sweet honey infused with her favorite cinnamon gum. Fuck, I really needed to get out of this hotel room.

  There was a reason I avoided Cleo. There was a reason I made sure never to be alone with her in a confined space. Cleo Hillcrest was a beautiful, enchanting, infuriating woman and the daughter of my biggest client.

  Cleo Hillcrest was categorically off-limits.

  And she hated me to boot. Well, as close to hate as Cleo could come. She was too good, too sweet, to truly hate.

  But her brand of hatred was exactly how I preferred things between us. How I’d designed it. As soon as I hauled her home to California, we could go back to the way things had been. Me, pretending like she didn’t exist. Her, cursing the day I’d been born.

  Harmony.

  “This isn’t up for debate.” I mirrored her stance and jerked my chin to the suitcase. “Pack.”

  “Unbelievable.” She seethed. “I haven’t seen you in three months. The last time you spoke to me you criticized my work, my hair and my clothing. Now you’re here, ruining my vacation.”

  I had criticized her, and I’d do it again. I’d walked into Crumbs and she’d been behind the register. She’d given me a smile so sweet it had made my heart skip. So I’d told her that the croissant she’d given me the day before was dry, her hair was looking a little flat and that the flour covering her jeans and T-shirt was an improvement because it made them less boring.

  Not the nicest way to say hello but it had erased her sweet smile and the only thing in my heart had been guilt.

  I’d planned on apologizing the next time I saw her, but that same day, her father had called to inform me that my job duties were to change. He’d made an agreement with Cleo. No more bodyguards. No more round-the-clock security.

  It was all bullshit.

  The only deal Ray had made was with me. My team was to ensure Cleo’s safety from an unnoticeable distance.
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br />   Without Ray’s business, my own would suffer. So for the past three months, a member of my team had watched her from afar. It had only been a matter of time before she’d spotted us or caught on to her father’s deception, though I’d expected it to happen in California, not Montana.

  It was going to be a cluster when we got home. If we got home.

  “You have thirty seconds to start packing,” I said. “Either you do it yourself, or I’ll do it for you.”

  “I hate you.” Her lip curled.

  A knock at the door interrupted her snarl.

  “Pack.” I brushed past her, desperate for some outside air, and flung the door open. A kid, probably eighteen, greeted me with a smile. It dropped when he met my icy glare.

  “Oh, uh . . . sorry.” His eyes darted to a slip of paper on the tray he was carrying. “I’m looking for a Ms. Hillcrest. This says room four-ten.”

  “I’m here.” Cleo appeared at my side, jabbing me in the ribs with her elbow, muttering, “Move.”

  I swallowed a grunt. Damn, she had sharp elbows.

  “Can you send up another bottle?” Cleo asked the kid, taking the ice bucket and champagne off the tray. “I’m going to need two.”

  “And another glass, ma’am?”

  “No.” She snatched the single flute he’d brought and shot me a glare. “He’s leaving.”

  The kid’s gaze lifted to my face and I nodded at the hallway for him to get lost.

  He followed orders, even the nonverbal kind, much better than the stubborn woman who marched back inside the room.

  “I’m not leaving,” she declared, setting the champagne on the closest nightstand. “I came here for a vacation and to celebrate Christmas on my own terms. I’m not spending another inane, material, superficial holiday with my family.”

  Cleo hauled the green bottle from the bucket, peeling off the foil and yanking away the muselet. Then she pressed her thumbs against the cork, bracing for the pop. Except the cork didn’t budge. Her cheeks reddened and her lips pursed as she gripped the bottle in one hand and attempted to shimmy and wiggle out the cork with the other. Still, it didn’t budge.

  I growled and stepped close, ripping the bottle from her hands.

  “Hey. Give that back.” She swiped for it, but I spun and blocked her with my shoulder.

  With a twist and a tug, the cork popped free. “Here.”

  She took the bottle back and stomped—as well as a person could stomp in a pair of fluffy white slippers—to the flute, pouring it until the fizz reached the brim. “My father promised me there’d be no more security. He promised.”

  “That’s between the two of you.”

  She gulped the entire glass of champagne and immediately refilled it. “How long? Tell me the truth. How long have you been following me?”

  Ray had asked me not to tell Cleo about our agreement. But the look in her eyes, the desperation for someone to be honest with her, broke my resolve. “We never stopped.”

  Her shoulders fell.

  I hated being the one to put the sad look on her face. Just like I hated being the one to erase her smiles. But I was on the clock here and things would be easier once she was home and far, far away from me.

  This entire trip was so out of character for her. Cleo loved routine more than any person I knew. It made it ridiculously easy to protect her. Up at four. To the bakery by five. Work until close, then she drove home, lights out by eight.

  Ray hadn’t believed me when I’d called him this morning and told him that his daughter had just boarded a plane, final destination Montana.

  He’d cussed me up one side and down the other, but we hadn’t been monitoring her credit cards. He’d told us to stop three months ago, wanting to give her at least that much autonomy. So much for her independence. As of today, every movement Cleo made, every purchase, was to be tracked by my team. Anything suspicious was to be reported to him immediately.

  Like a trip to Montana for Christmas.

  Three hours after he’d hung up on me, I’d been sent instructions to get my ass to the airport, board his private plane and retrieve his daughter.

  The jet was parked and waiting at the Quincy airport to take us home.

  “Drink your champagne. Then we’ll go.”

  “No.” Her voice was calm and flat. Resolute, but polite. “I’m sorry you came all this way for no reason, Austin, but I’m not leaving.”

  Shit. Cleo rarely dug her heels in, but when she did, she planted them hard and deep.

  If she didn’t leave, there was a good chance I’d get fired. Ray was normally a fair man to work for, but where his daughter was concerned, the man wouldn’t see reason.

  Which was probably why Cleo hadn’t told him about this vacation in the first place.

  Ray owned a cybersecurity company that had boomed over the past thirty years. Mirror Networks was valued at over fifteen billion dollars, and as the founder and CEO, Ray had a level of wealth that was impossible for me to comprehend.

  He’d had a physical security company on his payroll for over twenty years. The company before mine had been his long-time provider, but when one of the bodyguards had hit on Cleo and made her uncomfortable, he’d terminated the contract immediately, as any father should.

  I would have done the same.

  That was four years ago and since, he’d been with my company, Garrison. I’d been a startup at the time and busted my ass to prove myself to the man. It had been the hardest four years of my damn life—and not because of Ray.

  Because of Cleo.

  The good thing was, Ray didn’t seem to care that Cleo hated me. As long as I kept her safe, I stayed in his good graces and his monthly payment hit my bank account on the first.

  But if I went home alone, he’d terminate our contract.

  The guys who worked for me had families. They needed a steady paycheck and if I lost Ray, it would take me years to replace that income, especially if he spread word around LA that I’d left his daughter in an unsafe situation.

  So Cleo had to come home, whether she wanted to or not.

  “The jet is waiting at the airport,” I told her.

  “Great.” She threw out a hand toward the door. “Don’t miss your ride. I’ll be back after Christmas.”

  “Cleo—”

  “And think, you won’t have to hide out anymore. The jig is up. When I get home, you can come into the bakery and tell me all about how much you hate my food.”

  Son of a bitch. There was hurt in her voice, and it was like a knife to the heart. I’d done that. I’d wounded her with my muttered critiques and blatant dismissal of anything she created.

  But it was for the best. We came from different worlds.

  Eventually, this feeling would go away and she’d be just another client.

  “Why are you so stuck on staying?” I asked. “Is this really what you want? Christmas alone in a hotel room?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Why?” Christmas was one of my favorite holidays. Spending a day with my family was something I looked forward to all year long, and it was the one day of the year that I made sure I had off.

  “The entire day is just one big show.”

  “And you’re too spoiled and selfish to put up with it for a day.” It was overly harsh, but maybe if I pissed her off, she’d be less likely to stay.

  “Get out.” The snarl returned. “Get. Out. Now.”

  “Pack your things. We’re going home.”

  “No! I’m not leaving!” Her voice shook. “I’m an adult. I’m a grown woman. If I want to take a vacation for Christmas, I have every right. I don’t have to explain myself to my father. Or to you.”

  “You’re right.” I nodded. “But I’m still taking you home.”

  “How much is my father paying you to babysit me?”

  “We’re not babysitting you.” I scowled. “We’re doing our best to keep you safe.”

  She knew just how much I hated the word babysitter. She threw it in my f
ace when she was particularly angry. I was here to protect her. I’d put my life on the line to keep hers safe. To compare me to a teenage babysitter was the ultimate insult.

  “Pack.” I pointed to the suitcase.

  Cleo rolled her eyes and drained the champagne flute dry. Then she turned, filling it once more. At this rate, the bottle would be empty within ten minutes. Maybe if she was drunk, she’d be easier to convince.

  “Protecting me from what?” she asked. “I’m not in danger. Especially here. Unless you think the bellboy might try and smile me to death.”

  “There are evil people in this world, Cleo. Your father is doing what he thinks is best.”

  “He’s unilaterally making decisions for my life. And I’m well aware there are evil people in this world, so please save me the lecture.”

  Christ. Why had I thought this would be an easy day? The minute I’d been told Cleo was en route to the airport, I should have expected this showdown.

  I rubbed the back of my neck as she gulped more champagne. Just as her glass emptied, a knock sounded at the door. I took a step to answer it, but she shot me a glare and tried to beat me to the knob. She wasn’t fast enough. I checked the peephole, seeing the kid from earlier, and opened the door.

  “Hi.” She sidestepped me, smiling at the kid. Then she slipped a twenty-dollar bill from her pocket, trading him the cash for the fresh bottle. “Thank you.”

  “Have a good night, Ms. Hillcrest.” He bowed, refusing to look my way, then closed the door.

  Cleo turned and shoved the champagne into my gut. “Make yourself useful.”

  Fuck, this woman made me crazy.

  I opened her bottle as she marched to the chest of drawers and flung one open.

  Finally. She was packing.

  A pair of crimson silk pajama shorts and a matching top floated through the air as she tossed them over her shoulder and onto the bed. I expected more to follow, but she stood, snatched them up, cast a sneer at the suitcase and yanked the fresh bottle of champagne from my grip. Then she marched to the bathroom, kicking the door closed and flipping the lock.

  “Oh for fuck’s sake,” I muttered. “Seriously?”