Be My Christmas Treat : A BWWM Christmas Romance

by Nia Arthurs

  Be My Christmas Treat

  A Make It Marriage Holiday Romance

  Nia Arthurs

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places or events are entirely coincidental.

  BE MY CHRISTMAS TREAT

  Copyright © 2020 Nia Arthurs

  Written by Nia Arthurs

  Edited by Jalulu Editing

  Cover Design by Cormar Covers

  (V1)

  About This Book

  All I want for Christmas is my stubborn pastry chef.

  I’m rich. Hot. And stuck working undercover at a failing bakery for one month.

  The only bright spot?

  The gorgeous pastry chef heating up my heart and the kitchen.

  My personal beef with Christmas lands me on her naughty list, but I’ve got no plans to stay there. If there’s one thing a playboy like me knows, it’s that women as sweet and spunky as Clark don’t come around too often.

  But romancing Clark might be more challenging than saving the bakery.

  She thinks I’m the Grinch, and she’ll hate me even more if she finds out I’m the owner of the company.

  I’ve got to claim her heart before she stumbles on the truth.

  Time is running out.

  Clark will be mine by Christmas because she’s the only gift I want this year.

  Contents

  Become An Insider!

  Prologue

  1. Mave

  2. Clark

  3. Mave

  4. Clark

  5. Mave

  6. Clark

  7. Mave

  8. Clark

  9. Mave

  10. Clark

  11. Mave

  12. Mave

  13. Clark

  14. Mave

  15. Clark

  16. Mave

  17. Clark

  18. Mave

  19. Clark

  20. Mave

  21. Clark

  22. Mave

  23. Clark

  24. Mave

  25. Clark

  26. Mave

  27. Clark

  28. Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Be My New Year’s Dream

  Sneak Peek! Be My New Year’s Dream Chapter One

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  Prologue

  Mave

  The good ones go early.

  At least, that’s what everyone said at mom’s funeral.

  Janet Leanne DeMarco. Prettiest girl this side of the state river. Heart of pure gold. She could have been a pageant queen or the president, instead she became a philanthropist.

  Soup kitchens. Hurricane relief funds. Halfway houses.

  If a life could be touched, she was all over it.

  Always with a smile.

  Always with something sweet in her hands.

  Cookies were her favorite to bake. Grandma’s cookies. That recipe. The secret that transformed a little side-business into a bustling billion-dollar bakery franchise with more and more chains opening all over the world.

  It was a frantic collision of new money and old dreams.

  Press releases. Magazine covers. Calls for TV spots.

  Suddenly, mom was more than a random face in a sprawling city. Suddenly, she was co-owner of a wealthy company.

  The crown was heavy, but mom wore it with pride and turned it into an opportunity to change the world.

  More charities. More cookies. More smiles.

  Especially around this time of year.

  To the world, she was a saint. An angel.

  But she was just mom to me.

  She was warmth on cold days, something sweet always in the oven, a tempting fragrance heating the air and making my stomach grumble.

  She was a builder of blanket forts and a hunter of fireflies that we put in jars for a few minutes before she felt sorry and freed them.

  She was slender fingers stretched over piano keys, playing Christmas carols even in the summer because those were the only songs she knew by heart.

  She was the only one who could get dad to smile just by looking at him.

  I was ten—that awkward age where I was starting to believe I didn’t need to sleep with my parents on stormy nights, but I still dove under the blankets when I heard thunder.

  I was that age where your mom and dad seem invincible, larger than life.

  But Life set out to prove I was wrong.

  I learned how fragile hearts were the day mom’s heart betrayed her.

  One minute, she was smiling down at me, her eyes crinkling as she instructed me to wait for the cookies on the counter to cool.

  The next…

  Gone too early.

  The mourners heaped praises on her like roses.

  The same roses I dropped into the hole where they buried her body.

  Dad gripped my shoulder in a vice, like he was trying to hold on to me.

  Trying.

  Trying.

  Failing.

  I knew because, a couple weeks later, he drove his truck into a tree.

  Nothing wrong with the brakes.

  Barely any ice on the road.

  Not a skid mark in sight.

  They said mom’s favorite Christmas carol was playing on the radio when it happened.

  They said it was quick.

  They said he wanted to leave me.

  Well, that part they never said to my face.

  But I understood.

  Figured he wanted to be with mom more than he wanted to stay here.

  I never blamed him for it.

  My world shattered that Christmas.

  His probably imploded.

  Grandma said love is like that. It’s consuming to the point you can’t breathe and it makes you do crazy, stupid things no matter how many people it hurts. She said it’s like a storm that rages and blinds and when you open your eyes, everything around you is broken and scattered. And sometimes, she said, love is soft and sweet and patient and that kind of love is the one that heals.

  I didn’t know which love would come for me.

  I didn’t really care.

  All I knew was that every day after, Christmas cookies started tasting like ash in my mouth.

  And every year, when the weather got colder and those carols shrieked from the radio, my heart would splinter, my chest would tighten, and I’d wonder if maybe I should let the darkness swallow me like it swallowed my dad.

  1

  Mave

  Twenty Years Later

  I skim my eyes over the blonde reaching for the mimosa at my elbow. The steel pan version of ‘We Wish You A Merry Christmas’ chimes from the speakers hidden around the pool deck. Tropical sunlight blasts from above as I lounge in my beach chair.

  “Excuse me.” I wave aimlessly at the waiter. “You’re blocking my sun.”

  “You heard him,” the blonde says, giggling.

  As I wait for the guy to move, I rest a hand behind my head and look out over my surroundings.

  The Caribbean Sea crashes on top of white sand, foaming at the mouth to get to me, but not powerful enough to reach this far. Coconut trees splay their fronds like skinny green fingers.

  Blue skies. Puffy clouds. Perfect day.

  Except…

  I grit my teeth.

  That damn shadow stil
l hasn’t moved.

  “Excuse me.” I flick my fingers at the waiter. “You need to—”

  “What? I need to what?” The heated words are immediately followed by a bucket of ice raining over my head.

  I scramble off the beach chair and whirl around with my fists out. The blonde plops to her feet, stumbling before finding her balance again.

  I’m shivering from the ice and from anger. “What the hell…?” The words choke in my mouth when my gaze lands on a familiar woman. “Gran?”

  “So this is the ‘important business’ you had in Belize?” My grandmother glares at me, her firm blue eyes sizing up the blonde at my side. “Really, Mave? This?”

  My voice is breathless. “What are you doing here?”

  “You weren’t answering my calls.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh?”

  I grab a towel and offer it to the shivering blonde. She accepts it gratefully, her teeth chattering and a red flush stealing across her cheeks.

  Gran growls at her. “You don’t want to stick around for this, young lady.”

  The blonde scurries away without a second look at me.

  I turn to my grandmother with a smirk. “I’m guessing you’re not here to vacation.”

  “You little—”

  “It’s good to see you too, Gran.” Reaching out, I wrap her in my arms, getting my wet body all over her.

  She punches me in the chest. Which does absolutely nothing as I’m over six feet and I’ve got several hundred pounds of lean muscle over her.

  Draping an arm on Gran’s shoulders, I grin down. “You look good.”

  “Maverick DeMarco, do you think flattery will get you out of this?”

  “Of course not.” My damp feet squelch against the floor as I lead her into the resort’s back entrance. “You’re far too strict to let anything pass, Gran.”

  “Humph.”

  We keep walking. Head into the shade.

  Warm wooden panels and white walls greet me. Lots of plants add to the tropical theme of the resort. A huge painting of a jaguar fills one wall. Its spotted head peeks out of thick greenery. A hibiscus lifts its red crown toward the sun.

  Gran swats my hand off her arm and glares at the painting. “I don’t have to tell you how disappointed I am.”

  “Mr. DeMarco.” A pool attendant scurries my way and hands me a towel.

  “Thank you.” I nod at him. Rub the towel through my hair. Flash Gran a smile that’s always gotten me out of trouble. “What’s going on? It must be serious if you flew all this way.”

  She glares at me, jaw clenched. All five-foot-four of her is decked out in a filmy white shirt, cream-colored pants that flutter in the wind and a scowl that could make a thug rethink his life choices.

  “I don’t want to discuss it here.” She eyes the pool attendant who’s trying hard to be invisible. “Get dressed and meet me in the conference room.”

  “The conference room?”

  “In ten minutes, Mave.” Gran slants me another scathing look and marches off.

  I sigh deeply. The trip to Belize was supposed to be my escape. My plan was to lay low, party with the locals and pretend I’m not a DeMarco from now until New Years.

  Gran’s going to throw a giant wrench in a perfect holiday. I can feel it.

  Should I just jump on a plane and head somewhere else? The Bahamas, maybe? Jamaica?

  “Ehem.” A deep voice rumbles to my left.

  I glance at the giant man in a black jacket, crisp white shirt and black trousers. He must be sweltering in this tropical heat, but there’s not a bead of sweat anywhere on his face.

  The shopping bag in his grip crinkles as he offers it to me. “Bathroom’s that way, sir.”

  “Will,” I look him up and down, “you told?”

  “No, sir.” He stares straight ahead.

  Will’s been my grandmother’s right-hand man since my grandfather passed. He took care of me when Gran was travelling because the fifteen-year-old Mave couldn’t be trusted to not set the house on fire when he was home alone.

  Gran called Will my ‘valet’.

  I called him my babysitter.

  Will didn’t care what I called him as long as I didn’t do anything stupid which, sadly for him, was a talent of mine.

  Still is, if you ask anyone.

  “Liar,” I grumble, marching to the bathroom.

  In under ten minutes, I’m dressed in a polo and khakis. When I emerge, Will silently leads me up a flight of stairs.

  I stick a hand into my pocket, my stride long and sloping. “How pissed is she this time?”

  Will grunts. The man has never been one to engage in conversation beyond the scope of a Neanderthal grunt or two.

  I shrug. “Doesn’t matter. Nothing I can’t wiggle out of.”

  He flashes me a dark look but keeps his mouth shut.

  I smirk at him, familiar with his disappointed stares.

  Will leads me to the conference room. I take in everything in one sweep. Black chairs. Gleaming table. Big screen on the wall for presentations. The place is professional, even if it is a bit sparse.

  My grandmother claims the desk at the end of the table, one leg crossed over the other and her back ramrod straight. She stares at me with firm blue eyes. My mother's eyes.

  Tapping her fingers on the desk, she speaks in low measured tones. “Sit, Mave.”

  The chair creaks as I drag it out and plop into it. The tension in the air makes me itch. A bunch of wisecracks come to mind, but something in her demeanor keeps my mouth shut.

  Gran leans over. Gathers her breath. Looks me straight in the eyes. “It's time you take over the company.”

  Shock staggers my pulse. For the past thirty years, she's allowed me to do what I want.

  In the back of my head, I knew Gran’s patience would wear out.

  Still, I didn’t expect this so suddenly…

  “Come back.” She passes a hand over her silver hair and tucks a lock behind her ear. Her dangling earring twinkles in the sunlight. A gift from mom. So many pieces of the past on display today.

  “Come home, Mave.”

  I search her eyes. “All of a sudden?”

  “Don’t you think it’s time?” Her lips strain to form a smile. “I’m not getting younger, you know.”

  “You’ll outlive me,” I say, but my stomach twinges.

  I can’t lose Gran.

  That’s not a reality I want to face. Ever.

  “No one lives forever.” Her eyes slip away from mine and she digs into her purse, producing a glossy black folder with our franchise’s symbol on it.

  Aunt Lee’s Bakery

  Running her fingers over the embossed lettering, she hands it over. “Take your place.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  “Mave—”

  “You know how I feel about the company, Gran.”

  “Your mother wanted you to have it.”

  Guilt spears my chest. Mentioning mom is a low blow and so is using my love for her against me.

  “I told you from the start. That company was mom’s thing. Not mine.”

  “And what exactly is your thing, Mave? Traveling the world, playing around and sleeping with anyone in a skirt?”

  “When you put it like that,” I lean back in my chair and rub my chin, “yeah. That is my thing.”

  She takes my hands. “I’ve given you enough time.”

  I stare at her slender fingers. It’s funny. Despite the fact that Gran doesn’t really look her age, her hands can’t lie. Veins swim beneath the pale surface. Dark spots shade the skin that’s beginning to sag.

  “Gran…”

  “Don’t say no. You’d break my heart.”

  I grit my teeth.

  Gran’s the only family I have left. I would jump off a cliff for her and she knows it.

  Snatching the document from the desk, I flip through it. “Fine. But I don’t want to take the CEO position. That’s yours as far as I’m concerned.” I
set the folder back down. “I’ll fly over next week.”

  “Not next week. Now.”

  “Now?”

  “And you’re not starting at the office.” She checks her watch. Pushes herself up. “Our plane is leaving soon.”

  “What do you mean I’m not starting at the office?” I stare at her, refusing to budge.

  Her eyes soften. “Mave, you know how much I love you, right?”

  I grimace. Whenever Gran prefaces news with that phrase, I know I’m in for it.

  “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  “You’ll be starting at a local branch.”

  “A branch?” My eyes widen.

  Gran smiles at me. “Yes.”

  I laugh. “Are you serious?”

  “What do you think running a food company entails, Mave?”

  “I have a business degree. I think I can figure out the important stuff.”

  “You barely scraped by in your classes.”

  “But the point is I’m qualified.”

  She glances away. “Here’s the truth. The board doesn’t trust you. You don’t stay in one place long and with all the stunts you’ve pulled in the past, you don’t exactly have a track record of reliability.”

  I scowl. “Who cares about the board? We’re the major shareholders.”

  “United, the board has the power to boost you from your seat. If they so choose—” She lifts a finger when I start to interrupt her—"they can cut you out of the company.”

  “Completely?”