Christmas With Cassandra: A Billionaire Holiday Tale

by Cynthia Dane

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Keep Up

  Christmas With Cassandra

  Scene 1: The Grant-Mathers

  Scene 2: The Alison-Mathers

  Scene 3: The Gaines-Warrens

  Scene 4: The Coles

  Scene 5: The Warrens

  A Note From Your Narrator

  Scene 6: The Andrews

  Scene 7: The Monroes

  Scene 8: The King-Christens

  Scene 9: The Montoya-Rogers

  Scene 10: The Nazarov-Lanes

  Another Intrusion From Your Narrator

  Scene 11: The Gala

  Scene 12: The Mitchell-Meranges

  Scene 13: The Taylor-Feldmans

  Thanks and Connect

  Also Available

  Christmas With Cassandra

  Cynthia Dane

  BARACHOU PRESS

  Christmas With Cassandra

  Copyright: Cynthia Dane

  Published: December 23rd, 2016

  Publisher: Barachou Press

  This is a work of fiction. Any and all similarities to any characters, settings, or situations are purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

  Keep up with Cynthia’s latest releases by joining her mailing list! Behind the scenes,exclusive bonus scenes, and a FREE STORY!

  Christmas With Cassandra

  Scene 1

  The Grant-Mathers

  Word of Cassandra’s arrival was assured the moment travel arrangements were made. What nobody – least of all the media, who can’t always be counted on finding things out the moment they happen – anticipated was the originator of the rumor mill coming from a woman in the midst of a Thai massage.

  Caroline Grant-Mathers hated her monthly Thai massage, but she continued to go for two reasons: it actually made her aging body feel better in the days following the excruciating pain she was put under (worse than the dentist, really,) and she thought herself a woman who was always starting the latest trends. What Caroline would always refuse to admit, however, was that she only started attending the Thai massage parlor in town because she overheard Francesca Blake at Bridge Club going on about it.

  Now some lithe Thai woman gave Caroline a complimentary bone reset, and the cricking, cracking, and popping was liable to send her to hell and back.

  “Mother cheesin’ fucker!” she yelled into her pillow. “Just rip another baby from my body because at least I got some fuckin’ drugs for that shit!”

  This was the same masseuse she had been seeing for the past five months, and by now the woman was used to Caroline’s vulgar outbursts. If she were truly bothered, she never let on, and for that Caroline always left her a hefty 50% tip at the end of her sessions. But that tip always remained up in the proverbial air when Caroline was in the middle of her session and convinced her insides were being melted into soup.

  “Kick my ass and call me a nanny!” The bun holding together her tangled hair came undone. Hair dyed a deep brown blinded her from the candlelight in the private massage room. “This is it! I’m dying! Call my son and tell him I…”

  “Ms. Grant.” The receptionist from up front interrupted the massage, much to the masseuse’s chagrin. “You have a phone call. They say it’s urgent.”

  “Who is it?” The pain had yet to subside even though the masseuse no longer touched her. Caroline attempted to roll over. It was not happening.

  “A woman, Ms. Grant.”

  “So helpful, thank you.” Caroline reached out and took the cordless phone the receptionist offered her. “Hello? Who is this? Caroline Grant-Mathers, here. State your business because I’m a busy…” Her neck popped. “…woman.”

  “Caroline!” The shrill voice of Adelaide Aimer, live from Seattle, screamed into Caroline’s ear. “There you are! Do you know how long it took me to get a hold of you? When did you change your cell number?”

  She had changed it when some dipshit hacked it and uncovered the nudes the gracefully-aging middle-aged woman liked to send her young boytoys, but Adelaide didn’t know that. Nor did Caroline need to know that changing her number wasn’t the same as clearing out her cloud once in a while, but what would be the fun in any entity – such as her oh so tech savvy son – telling her something helpful like that? (Really, the world was better off with Caroline continuing to make unfortunate decisions about her personal life.)

  “How did you even find me?” Caroline looked up into the masseuse’s scowl. “Just give me a regular massage for now, please.”

  The woman bent down and hissed in Caroline’s ear, “You didn’t pay for a regular massage. You get what you pay for.”

  “Please, not right now…”

  Heavy hands clamped down on Caroline’s shoulders and rubbed the shit out of them. “No pain, no gain!”

  “But what am I gaining?”

  “Hello? Caroline?” Adelaide was the last person to give a fuck about what Caroline was up to when there was gossip to curate. “I found you because I called Sally, who called Rhonda, who called Mya and she said that you go to some Taiwanese massage parlor on this day.”

  “Thai. It’s a Thai massage.”

  “Oh, ew, why would you do that?”

  “Never mind that. Why are you going out of your way to call me?”

  “Because I know something that you’re never going to believe!”

  Caroline highly doubted that. “Try me.”

  “Do you remember Cassandra Welsh?”

  “Do I remember… of course I remember her!” Who would ever forget a serial heartbreaker like Cassandra Welsh? Before she moved to the west coast, she was a notorious vixen who seduced the darling sons of the local gentry, taking on one after another, sometimes making them fall in love with her, and other times dumping them the moment she rolled out of their beds in the morning. Some particularly gossipy wench had figured that every eligible rich bachelor in the area were sexually connected to one another thanks to Cassandra’s seductions. No wonder they all went to bed with her, too! She was the only child of the Welsh Estate, an old, vast fortune that spanned the Atlantic enough times to extend around the world. Nobody could remember how the Welshes accrued their riches now. Some speculated that it was through means that society no longer looked kindly upon. After all, they had been in the country since the Revolutionary days.

  But why the hell was Adelaide calling Caroline about someone like the sole heiress to a ridiculous sum and enough estates to house a small country? Cassandra had moved to Seattle over two years ago, citing a need to get away from the anxiety-inducing east coast that was about to cause her a nervous breakdown. Such a fragile little waif she was! Caroline often wondered how she managed to take on so many virile men in the area. Were they sucking her dry of her youth and vitality? Goodness knew Caroline had been trying that herself for years…

  “You know my daughter interns for Cassandra’s assistant, right?”

  “No, but do go on.”

  “Well! She just came home and let slip – but don’t say that, because she had to sign that NDA, you know – that Cassandra is heading back out your way for the big Christmas Gala!”

  Now wasn’t that a gleaming nugget that Caroline could pluck from the rocky beaches and make a fortune off of? Not that she needed to. The alimony she still received from her billionaire ex-husband made sure she got to do whatever
the hell she wanted for the rest of her life.

  But Caroline didn’t care about the money. She cared about the gossip, the social prestige knowing something as scandalous as Cassandra reappearing in that neck of the woods would bring her. As it was, Adelaide had not told another soul, choosing to oh-so-graciously share it with only Caroline, her darling friend from days past.

  Once she kicked Adelaide off the phone, Caroline began to ponder what to do with this information. Her thoughts were sorely interrupted, however, when the masseuse took this as her opportunity to attack Caroline’s lower back with what felt like a Muay Thai move. As it so happened, her masseuse once lived a former life competing in underground fights, and now took out her simmering rage on rich twits like Caroline.

  The rage very likely passed into the older woman’s muscles and later prompted her to start a series of phone calls that were akin to shouting in the wind.

  Because Cassandra the Slut was back for Christmas, and that was the delicious present even the most prudish matrons couldn’t turn down.

  Scene 2

  The Alison-Mathers

  Kathryn had barely stepped out of her bathrobe when her phone rang in its pocket.

  She took one look at the name and then glanced at the tub full of hot, relaxing water. Bubbles glistened in the candlelight set out to create a mood. Half a glass of red wine awaited her on the small tray on the nearby windowsill. All was tranquil in the bathroom, aside from the ringing phone that accompanied the name CAROLINE.

  The bath water rippled from the slight movements within. For Kathryn was far from the only one intending to take a relaxing bath that night. Her naughty boyfriend Ian was already naked and wet in the tub, one hairy leg poking through the surface as he sank back against the slant. He always made such a big deal about how Kathryn was his excuse for taking a bath instead of shower. (The man was, as usual, a liar. He simply didn’t want to admit that once a month he soaked sore muscles in his tub while his cat made valiant attempts to drink his dirty bathwater, as if she were never given water in her feline life.)

  Kathryn was torn. Should she send her boyfriend’s mother straight to voicemail, or should she answer Caroline’s call and probably regret it?

  If you know Caroline, which you probably do, then you know the answer is very obvious: clearly, the call must be answered.

  “Hello?” Kathryn attempted to maintain a sweet voice when addressing the woman who would more than likely be her mother-in-law one day. Always awkward when one was naked and the boyfriend was equally naked in the tub. Thankfully, nobody in the Alison-Mathers network was shy about sex and nudity. Something everyone had to think about when Caroline Grant-Mathers was once again in the scandal rags making out with a guy half her age.

  “You are never going to believe this!” Caroline’s shrill voice was always a wake-up call. “Wait, what are you doing? I don’t want to tell you until I know what you’re doing.”

  As it so happened, Kathryn was leaning against the bathroom counter, naked. Her boyfriend only had languid eyes for her.

  “Just about to get into the bath,” Kathryn said. She rarely lied to Caroline unless it was in her best interest to do so. It was not, at the moment. “Is that sufficient for what you need to tell me?”

  “You laugh, but I didn’t want to interrupt something important for what gossip I have to share with you.” When Kathryn didn’t immediately respond, Caroline launched into what she kept pent up inside. “Cassandra Welsh is coming back to town for Christmas!”

  Kathryn pushed herself off the counter and approached the tub. One raise of her eyebrows had Ian spread his legs open so she could join him in the hot bath. Kathryn gingerly submerged one leg between his, face cringing in that all-too familiar recognition of hot, hot, very hot, probably going to melt my skin off, but whatever before suddenly accepting her fate. Then the other leg followed, and all she could wish was that she didn’t drop her phone. (She was not going to drop her phone, but nobody needed to tell her that.)

  “Who?”

  Soft, big hands eased up her back as she lowered her ass into the hot water. Ian wrapped his arms around her and planted a lazy kiss on her shoulder. His lips then diverted to her ear, where he casually whispered, “Who are you talking to? It can’t be that important.”

  “Come on!” Caroline continued. “You can’t seriously tell me that you don’t know Cassandra Welsh.”

  “You mistake how much of a socialite I have been in my life.” What Kathryn didn’t like people to know was that she was quite the socialite when she was younger. For a few years, there wasn’t a party or function the richest heiress in the region didn’t attend. She saw it her mission to eat every delicacy and blow every handsome heir (and pool boy) she fancied. These days she called only one man her handsome heir (and occasional pool boy, when that mood struck them) but her feminine philandering of ten years ago meant she crossed paths with Cassandra Welsh many, many times.

  Because Cassandra Welsh was quite possibly the second biggest slut in the region. After Kathryn, of course.

  When Kathryn thought about it, she realized that they had shared about three dicks. (In actuality, as she was about to find out, it was four.) Cassandra’s legacy was largely wrapped up in the upper echelon of rich-ass cock, whereas Kathryn preferred her men down and dirty, of every class. It was simply a happy mistake she ended up with a billionaire heir like Ian Mathers. Happy accident, yes.

  Just so happened that man was going to wrap every limb he had around her and take his time distracting her with kisses and muttered promises of raunchy sex as soon as they got clean. The more he muttered, the more something poked into Kathryn’s back. Typical. Always Captain Hard-On. Well, she knew how to take care of that.

  “I’m on the phone with your mother,” she muttered to him.

  Ah, yes, deflated boner.

  “You know what?” Caroline said with a huff, “I know for a fact that you know who Cassandra is. Don’t play like that with me, child. I have it on wonderful authority that she’s back in town and about to break some more hearts.”

  “Good. I’m sure there are some men around here who need to have their hearts broken.”

  “Don’t be so cavalier about this! Don’t you know about her and Ian?”

  Now that was bound to get Kathryn’s attention. “Uh, no,” she admitted. One curious eye glanced back at her boyfriend, still lazy against the back of his tub. Even if he had the power to eavesdrop on both sides of the conversation, he wasn’t going to bother. To his benefit. “Do tell. Or don’t. Perhaps I don’t want to know.”

  “Oh, they dated for a while a few years ago! You didn’t know? He never mentioned her?”

  “Nope. He sure didn’t.”

  “You’re talking about me, aren’t you?” Ian sighed.

  Kathryn leaned back against his bare, wet chest. “Maybe.”

  “You better make him tell you the details, because I don’t know if I can bear to.” Caroline would keep sniffing until it went against her best interests to continue. “All you need to know is that when Cassandra’s around, bad blood is going to boil.”

  Typical Caroline. If she wasn’t using hyperbole to stir drama between ladies at the country club, then she was dropping hints in Kathryn’s direction that things were not all that they seemed with Ian. Honestly, Caroline would shoot herself in the dominant hand if she became the reason her son broke up with the best woman to possibly become his wife. But the thing about wielding a firearm is that the stupid don’t often realize which one is the trigger finger.

  “So, anyway,” Kathryn said with a diplomatic change of subject, “are both you and Dominic coming to Christmas dinner at my father’s? Or should we schedule you for brunch and him for dinner?”

  “Are you kidding? Like I get anything but dinner…”

  Kathryn was glad for the topic change, although bringing up Caroline’s ex-husband (and Ian’s father) could either send the woman on a tirade or make her wistfully remember the days in which she w
as married to the only man she truly loved (but divorced on their twentieth anniversary so she could walk away with more money than she would ever make on her own.)

  Kathryn managed to hang up without Cassandra being brought up again. “So,” she said once her phone was off and tossed onto the bathroom floor, “your mother called me specifically to talk about Cassandra Welsh.”

  The masculine body behind her stiffened. “Why in the world would she call you about her?”

  “Apparently, she’s coming back into town, and your mother thought it pertinent to warn me that you and her used to have a thing. Also, did I know that Cassandra is a loose cannon?”

  “We may have dated for a few weeks. Nothing serious.” Ian scoffed. “Does it matter? I don’t recall you ever being upset with me having dated someone.”

  “I don’t care.” Kathryn meant it, too. Why would she be jealous that her hot, sexual stud of a boyfriend had bedded many other women in his youth? Not like she had any room to talk. If Kathryn and Ian added up their previous sexual partners together, well, then… that was quite the nervous STD test, now wasn’t it? This was the couple that often joked about being the reason there was only one or two degrees of sexual separation between everyone they knew. “What you did with her was your business back then. I’m just wondering why she, out of all the women in the world, is the reason Caroline called me to talk gossip about your old dating life. She doesn’t really do that.”

  “Ah, because…” Was Ian chuckling? Or was her nervously breathing down Kathryn’s neck? Sheesh. So much for their supposedly relaxing bath together. The whole point of this bath was to spend some intimate time together (outside of sex, anyway) after a few days of stressful business dealings. Kathryn didn’t often help her boyfriend with his work these days, but when she did, it was nothing but deals falling through and hustling to banks and racing to call this lawyer or that advisor. Kathryn hated that life. There was a reason she had rejected that part of her inheritance and instead put her money to work passively building (by the millions) in investments. Yet the day she and Ian married would be the day the banks had to shut down for a holiday in order to deal with the newly combined assets. “She and I didn’t end on the best of notes. I may or may not have been a bit messed up for a few weeks afterward.”