Her Billionaire Santa

by Allen, Jewel

  “What other reason is there to put on a Christmas charity contest?”

  She gave him a pitying glance. He had a sinking feeling he hadn’t said the right thing. “Do I really have to answer that question, Marcus?”

  This time, when she stalked off, he didn’t try to stop her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  KATY

  Well, there went the million dollars for Conchilla. Katy couldn’t have done worse representing the people she loved. Her temper had gotten the better of her.

  She walked back to the Paredes’s home, feeling despondent. She’d failed her friends. She would take the fifteen-hour bus ride and arrive with her gifts, only to assuage their needs temporarily.

  What they really needed was a million dollars.

  But they wouldn’t get it from that misguided Marcus James.

  She nodded and took a deep breath. She might have been a bit of a brat, but Marcus had shown his true colors.

  Mama Muni met her at the door.

  Katy tried to smile, but her host mom was too sensitive.

  “Why so sad?” she asked.

  Katy hugged her, sighing. “I was kind of mean to someone.”

  “Kindomean?”

  Katy tried to explain in her broken Spanish but eventually gave up. She smiled and made a heart shape with her fingers over her chest.

  “Ah,” Mama Muni said. “Amor.”

  “Sí.” Katy nodded. “Por Conchilla.”

  A shadow passed over Mama Muni’s eyes. “The poor people of Conchilla,” she said in Spanish.

  Katy nodded.

  Even with her friend’s commiseration, however, Katy still felt guilty over dinner. Marcus James had come all the way from New York to meet the people of Conchilla to see if they deserved the help.

  Maybe she could write him an email, apologizing. Yes, that was it. She would apologize, and they could still be considered for the prize.

  She bit her lip. She’d have to look up his email online. Or she could try to find out where he was staying in Antigua.

  Better send him the email. She couldn’t imagine trying to talk to him again. He’d probably already taken a helicopter back to the States.

  That silly helicopter ride.

  She sighed.

  Thanking Mama Muni for the excellent dinner of pepian stew with rice, she got up and sat in the living room. Waking her phone, she looked up Marcus James online.

  Billionaire. CEO of Gemstone Enterprises, based in New York City, New York. Inherited the company from his father, but he grew it into what it is today. Owns shares in mines in Africa and Mongolia. Has a mining partnership with the Principality of Mondragón off the coast of Spain. Widower.

  Widower?

  That was a surprise. She’d assumed he was married with children. He seemed so young still.

  Scrolling through the articles, one headline caught her eye.

  Billionaire loses wife and unborn child to drunk driver crash Christmas Day.

  The article was dated five years ago.

  Suddenly his cynicism over the holiday, his bitterness, his unhappiness—everything—made sense.

  She read the headline again. Tears pricked her eyes. The poor, poor man.

  Someone knocked on the front door, and Mama Muni went to answer it. She returned shortly with a woman whom Katy recognized as a hotel operator near Plaza Mayor.

  Mama Muni told Katy in Spanish, “Americano needs help.”

  “Quien?” Katy asked. Who?

  “Marcus Santiago.”

  Katy frowned. Marcus? The billionaire Marcus? His last name was James.

  Duh. Which translated to Tiago in Spanish.

  “What about him?” she asked, fearing the worst.

  “He is very sick.” Mama Muni pointed to her friend. “But she no speak English. He need translator.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  MARCUS

  He was dying. Marcus was sure of it.

  Marcus lay on his lumpy mattress, willing a swift death. His stomach was on fire, as if someone had lacerated the lining and squeezed lemon juice over it.

  A hundred times that.

  He had tried to tell the hotel front desk that he needed a doctor, but the lady couldn’t understand him. He’d managed to climb the flight of steps to his room and collapse on the bed.

  He was sure he’d been lying there for a day. Two? Three? Maybe a week? Forever.

  Okay, more like two hours. But still.

  He heard footsteps. Female voices. In that infernal Spanish language that he should have learned in high school.

  Maybe this was heaven.

  They spoke Spanish in heaven?

  Maybe they also had Taco Tuesday.

  Ugh, the thought of food made him even more ill. He leaned over the edge of his bed, wanting to hurl.

  Panicked voices now. Moving around. Fast and blurry. Legs and waist-long hair, something hard being pushed under his chin.

  He retched for a long time.

  Ugh. What a mess. His face. Everywhere.

  A warm washcloth touched his face. Gently. No more dribbles on his chin.

  He leaned back onto his pillow and groaned.

  “Marcus.”

  A soft female voice.

  “Marcus.”

  There it was again.

  He opened his eyes. It was the girl who wanted him to come here. Kay? Kenna? Katy? Yes, Katy.

  “What did you eat?” she asked.

  “Eat?” His voice shook. “Straw…bee……berries.”

  Her eyes widened. “Ah-ha.”

  Her hand hovered over his forehead and then pushed back his hair. Her touch was gentle.

  He closed his eyes. “Feels good,” he murmured.

  Amanda’s face floated in his mind. Her blonde hair framing her face, her hand resting on her pregnant belly. That laugh, like a bell in the crisp spring air. Her eyes, blue like the sky.

  And then the next he knew, she was lifeless on a gurney.

  He waved his arms. He wanted out of there. That wasn’t his wife. His wife was safe somewhere, and the baby too.

  “Marcus.” The voice was more insistent now. Worried.

  He opened his eyes again. His arms were thrashing in front of him, and Katy was trying to stop him.

  “You’re okay,” she soothed. “You’’re okay.”

  He stared at her, and then from nowhere, he burst into tears. Just sobbed like a baby. He hadn’t cried in…forever. Not since the funeral. And even then, he had held himself back.

  His stomach hurt still, but not as much.

  But his heart did over Amanda and the baby. They had barely decided on a name. In his records, Marcus named him Caleb, after Amanda’s grandfather.

  He cried and cried while drifting in and out of consciousness. Sometimes he saw Katy; sometimes he didn’t.

  Until he woke in semi-darkness. Out the window, the sky had turned a deep twilight blue.

  He felt stiff on one side of his body, the one he was lying on. He was still in his room in his Antigua hotel, and the bedside lamp was on. Katy sat in a chair, her face on her arm which was draped over the back, her reddish-brown hair long and silky over one shoulder.

  She woke up and blinked uncomprehendingly at him, and then she smiled.

  “You’re better,” she said.

  “I was sick?”

  She nodded. “Violently.”

  “For how long?”

  “Since earlier this afternoon.”

  “Felt like days,” he muttered. Boy, was he thirsty. “Why are you here?”

  “Why?” She scrunched her nose. “Because you needed help.”

  “But…you don’t know me.”

  “We’re not buddies, right.” Her eyes danced. “But we’’d met.”

  “Twice,” he croaked. “And I made you mad.”

  Her lips twitched as if she was trying to not laugh. “Are you thirsty?”

  “Yes.”

  She stood and crossed the room, grabbing a bottled water. She handed
it to him, and he drank greedily, even though it was room temperature.

  “First rule,” she said. “Do not eat fruits that haven’t been washed properly. You can eat the ones at the nicer restaurants.”

  He groaned and sank back on his pillow. “Those strawberries.”

  She nodded. “Don’t feel bad. I did the same thing when I first visited. Those strawberries look so good.”

  “They do,” he agreed. “How many times have you been here?”

  “Oh,” she said airily. “Five or six times.”

  He tucked his head under his arm. “You must really like Guatemala.”

  Her eyes glistened. “I love it.”

  When she smiled, her face grew even more beautiful, more animated.

  Suddenly, the oddness of his situation struck Marcus. Him, lying on the bed, alone with this lady who wasn’t really his friend, not in the traditional sense of the word. Yet it seemed as if she cared.

  Bless her heart.

  “Why?” he said.

  “Why what?” She blinked.

  “Why did you help me?”

  “You asked me that earlier.”

  “I know…you said I was sick, but why did you take the time to help me?”

  She hesitated. “I was mad at you yesterday, I will admit. So I looked up your name to see…I can’t even remember why.” She paused. “Then I read about…about the accident.”

  His smile froze and then died. “I see.”

  “And so I thought…well, I felt sorry for you. I understand now, you see.”

  “Oh, you do?” His voice was icy.

  Naive girl. Silly girl. She kept on going, oblivious.

  “Yes. I understand why you don’t like Christmas. Why it’s such a hard time.”

  “Get out.”

  She stared at him. “Pardon me?”

  “Get out!” he bellowed.

  When she did, upturning a chair in her haste, he banged his head on his pillow, spent and hating himself.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  KATY

  Katy scrambled out of the hotel, his words reverberating in her head.

  Get out, get out, get out…

  Into the twilight, she fled a little ways away from the hotel façade, away from the vendors selling their street foods and strawberries that made new American arrivals ill.

  Katy stopped when she reached the corner of the street. Just a couple of streets over, she’d find refuge at the Paredes’s house.

  She’d never felt so wretchedly vilified in her life.

  Yet peace washed over her. She’d been doing the right thing, serving her fellow human being in the Savior’s stead, and she could turn the other cheek.

  “Katy!”

  A man’s voice, shouting after her.

  Marcus.

  Her first instinct was to hide. She didn’t want him to inflict any more hurt on her. First, his rejection of her bus ride idea, and then his anger. At her nosiness, she supposed.

  “Katy!”

  She saw him shuffling on the sidewalk, haggard, chasing after her. Tuk-tuks and cars illuminated him with their headlights. He was going to collapse if he wasn’t careful.

  He spotted her and stopped, his eyes wild and his brows relaxing.

  “I am so sorry,” he called out for all of that Antigua street to hear.

  Katy wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t.

  And she didn’t.

  She came over and stood a few feet from him. “It’s okay,” she said. ““Let’s…get you inside. You probably feel horrible.”

  He turned, and they walked side by side, back to his hotel. In his white shirt and pajama bottoms, he looked like a college kid.

  With a manly beard.

  “I feel tons better.” His voice lowered. “Thanks to you.”

  She didn’t need the credit. Wouldn’t someone else in her position do what she did? “You’’re welcome.”

  “And then I had to yell at you. I am such a jerk.”

  She bit her lip. No, he had no excuse. “Was it so very bad for me to mention…”

  He closed his eyes and pointed at the bench outside the hotel. “Sit here for a minute?”

  They sat facing the street. Tuk-tuks zipped up and down happily, like little bumper cars. Or tiny clown cars transporting regular people. Pedestrians chattered under the deepening darkness. Someone was roasting something that smelled good.

  His stomach grumbled loudly, and Katy laughed.

  “Want more Guatemalan food?” she teased.

  “Eventually.” He grinned and then turned serious. “I need to explain my outburst. My inexcusable rudeness. I…I guess I felt like you were prying off layers of privacy from my life.”

  “That wasn’t my intention,” she said. “I remember now why I wanted to find you. I was going to write you a letter of apology, so I needed your address.”

  “Ah.” He winced. “I’ll accept your apology if you accept mine.”

  “An equal trade? Hardly.”

  His head swiveled her direction.

  “Just kidding,” she said, smirking.

  He smiled, his features softening. In the flickering light at the hotel entrance, he looked almost approachable. Rumpled and cuddly.

  Did she just think cuddly?

  Marcus James was no teddy bear; that was for sure. He could be a gruff bear. She knew that now, with a heart still tender from his loss.

  How could someone survive that tragedy? In all her life, Katy had only lost a grandmother, and she had been of an age where her passing was a blessing. But to have lost your wife and baby?

  “Apology accepted,” she said.

  He studied her. “You’re something else.”

  She squirmed under his gaze. “Just doing what the Savior would want me to.”

  “I’ve given up trying to figure out what He wants me to do,” he murmured.

  “Sometimes, we need to be ready to hear.”

  He sighed. “Anyway. Thanks for not running off on me. I wouldn’t have blamed you had you gone off and never returned.”

  She took a deep breath, willing herself to be brave. “Dare I ask if Conchilla is still in the running for your prize, then?”

  “Conchilla?” he echoed. “Oh, right.” A ridge formed between his brows. “Is that why you did…all this?”

  She took in a quick intake of breath. “Why I took care of you? Of course not.”

  His forehead relaxed. “Sorry. I’m sure you can see why I might think…” He shook his head. “Never mind.”

  “That hadn’t even occurred to me.”

  He gazed deep into her eyes. Her chest tightened with an unfamiliar, warm feeling.

  “I believe you,” he murmured. “Anyway, you asked about Conchilla.”

  Her breath stilled. “Yes?”

  “The answer is, it’s still in the running.” He smiled, and her heart skipped a beat. He was so handsome with his sexy scruff and his mouth lifted to one side.

  She smiled back. “So, is a bus ride okay?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  KATY

  December 14

  The next morning, a cautious sense of anticipation filled Katy as she got ready to go out. She’d arranged to meet Marcus for breakfast near Plaza Mayor. As she approached him on the street, he hadn’t noticed her yet. He looked like a fish out of water, with his tall frame and American clothes.

  Handsome. Definitely handsome. Especially when he smiled, as he was doing now.

  “Good morning,” he said. “I hope you didn’t have the same karaoke singer singing eighties’ music to you last night.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Lucky you.”

  Cesar’s was a hole-in-the-wall, crowded to the rafters with patrons. The Spanish chatter in the small building was deafening.

  “They must need their energy to keep up with their posadas,” Marcus shouted over the din.

  “Precisely.” She bobbed her head in approval. “You’re catching on.”

  Marcus picked up
the menu. “So what’s good around here?”

  “Pretty much your choices are black beans, fried plantain slices, fresh cheese, and eggs.”

  “Wow, that sounds like a meal-meal, not breakfast.”

  “I know,” Katy said. “Isn’t it great?”

  In the end, Marcus ate cheese and eggs, and more cheese. “This is good,” he said, plowing through his third plate.

  Katy watched him, amused. “Don’t forget you’ve got the beans too.”

  “I’ll pass. I’m not a big fan.” He took another bite of cheese. “Tell me about our adventure today.”

  Katy took a bite of beans. They were warm and slightly on the salty side. “Pacaya is a short drive from here and then about an hour and a half hike. We’ll want to bring our own water. No drinking from the tap or springs.”

  “Learned my lesson. Yes’m.”

  “I suggest you eat an early dinner so we can trek out at sunset.”

  “Would you like to join me?” he asked casually, as if he were asking for the time, or for her to pass the salt and pepper.

  Her eyes widened. “For dinner?”

  He arched an eyebrow. “I believe that’s what I said.”

  “I’ll have to check my schedule.” She hid behind her mug of hot chocolate to hide her smile.

  “Do I have to go through your scheduling secretary?”

  She pretended to dial a number. “Katy Stevens’s schedule,” she said in a nasal voice.

  He snorted. “I need you to work for me. Maybe people will leave me alone.”

  “You want to be left alone?”

  Marcus nodded. “All day, solicitations. Gets old real fast.”

  “Your secretary should screen your calls better.”

  “She tries. Sometimes people get through.” He gazed at her pointedly. “Like women who have a cause they want you to consider for a million dollars.”

  “Oh,” she said, making a face. “Those women.”

  “Yes. Those.”

  “Thanks for not calling security on me,” she said.

  “Anytime.”

  ***

  MARCUS

  Marcus didn’t understand why he kept flirting with Katy, despite his resolve to not get involved with her.