Scrooged

by Keeland, Vi

  Copyright © 2019 by Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the authors’ imaginations. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Cover designer: Sommer Stein, Perfect Pear Creative

  Proofreading by: Elaine York

  Formatter: Elaine York, Allusion Graphics, LLC

  SEXY SCROOGE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  THE MERRY MISTAKE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  KISSMAS IN NEW YORK

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Free Book

  Other Books by Vi Keeland & Penelope Ward

  About Vi Keeland

  About Penelope Ward

  Meredith

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mumbled to myself as I opened the front door to my apartment building. “Perfect. Just damn perfect.” The wind howled and blew flakes the size of Frisbees into my face. I pulled up the hood of my coat, tucked a few wayward curls behind my ears, and tugged the strings to tighten it around my face. My eyes and nose were the only things that remained exposed. Squinting, I tried to see through the thick snowfall to look for my ride. A car turned onto my street, and the brake lights illuminated as he slowed and pulled to the curb. At least my Uber arrived quickly. At least I hoped it was my Uber, because I made a run for it without bothering to check the license plate.

  My hood was still covering my face when I climbed into the back of the dark car and slammed the car door shut, which was probably why it took a few seconds to register the seat I’d just climbed into wasn’t actually a seat.

  “Umm. Excuse me,” a deep voice said. The deep voice of—a man whose lap I’d just climbed onto.

  Startled, things turned to shit after that.

  I screamed directly into his face. Then proceeded to wind up and smack him straight across it.

  “What the fuck?” the man yelled.

  Clutching my chest, I felt my heart hammering against my rib cage. “Who are you? What the hell are you doing?”

  “You just climbed into my Uber, jumped onto my lap, smacked me in the face, and you want to know who I am? Who the hell are you?”

  “I thought it was my Uber.”

  The driver I hadn’t even noticed decided to chime in. “This is a shared Uber. It’s both your damn ride.”

  “Shared Uber?” Mr. Deep Voice said. “I didn’t order any shared car.”

  He may not have, but I definitely had ordered from Uber Pool. It was cheaper, and God knows I needed to save a buck wherever I could. “I ordered a share.”

  It was then that I realized I was still sitting on the other passenger’s lap. I lifted up my ass as best I could inside the confines of the back seat. “Umm. Do you think you can slide over so I’m not impregnated if we hit a bump?”

  Mr. Deep Voice mumbled something I couldn’t make out while sliding to the other side of the car. He dug his cell phone from his pocket and started to scroll. “I don’t take shared cars. I’m sure this is some sort of mistake.”

  The driver huffed. “Well, you do today. Because that’s what you ordered. It’s either that, or you can get out and walk. Not too many other drivers are coming out in this mess today. What’s it gonna be? My wife’s got a ham cooking in the oven, and I got three-year-old twins who expect their gifts to be wrapped when they get up tomorrow morning. You’re my last pick-up of the day.”

  Settling into my seat, I untied my hood and finally looked over at my fellow passenger. Figures he had to be gorgeous. With his thick glasses, square jaw, and broad shoulders, he reminded me of Clark Kent. Of course, I couldn’t embarrass myself in front of an ugly guy. God forbid.

  “Fine,” the passenger grumbled. “Just go. I can’t be late.”

  I leaned forward in my seat as the driver pulled from the curb. “Can you just make sure you drop me off first? I can’t be late, either.”

  Clark Kent shook his head. “Sure. Jump on my lap, smack me, then make me late.”

  I’d totally forgotten that I’d hit him. “I’m sorry about smacking you. It was an impulsive reaction. But who sits inside a car on the curb side while waiting for another person to get in, anyway?”

  “A person who thinks they aren’t taking a shared Uber. I didn’t even see you walking toward the car. It’s a blizzard out there, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “Maybe next time you should be more careful when you order your Uber.”

  “There won’t be a next time. Trust me.”

  “Oh? Did I scar you for life? You know some men might think it’s their lucky day when a woman lands on their lap.”

  Clark looked up at me for the first time. His eyes did a quick sweep of my face. “I’m just having a shitty day. Shitty month, for that matter.”

  I was pretty sure that whatever shitty luck the gorgeous man next to me had as of late, it didn’t hold a candle to my last few months. So, I decided to share. “Yesterday, I was on a bus that smelled like vomit. A sweet old lady took the seat next to me and proceeded to fall asleep with her head on my shoulder. When I got off the bus, I realized she’d pick pocketed me and stolen my watch. The day before that, a drunk guy in a Santa suit ringing a Salvation Army bell grabbed my ass when I walked by. I clocked him and then gave him a piece of my mind, only to turn around and find a Brownie troop had watched the entire thing—minus him grabbing my ass—and they all started crying. All they saw was that I’d punched Santa. Couple of days before that, I told my neighbor I’d watch her cat while she and her eight-year-old daughter went out of town for the night. I came home from work and the furry thing was laying in my bed, right where I sleep—dead. The little girl cries every time I see her in the hallway now. Pretty sure she thinks I’m a cat strangler. Oh…and let’s not forget that today is Christmas Eve, and instead of heading to Rockefeller Center so that my boyfriend of four years can propose to me under the big tree—something I’d dreamed about since I was a little girl—I’m heading to court to get evicted by my money-hungry asshole of a landlord.” I took a deep breath and let out hot air. “Shouldn’t court be closed on Christmas Eve anyway?”

  I’d apparently rendered him speechless with my tirade because he wasn’t saying anything.

  Clark Kent stared at me for a while before he finally said, “No, actually, courts never close on Christmas Eve, just Christmas Day. I’ve spent many Christmas Eves in court.”

  I arched my brow. “Oh yeah? You a criminal or something? Why is that?”

  He cracked a smile. “I’m a trial attorney.”

  I squinted my eyes. “Really…”

  “Does that surprise you?”

  “Actually, no…come to think of it, you look like the stuck-up-suit type.”

  “Stuck-up suit?”

  “Yeah, you know…pretentious, entitled, argumentative…know-it-all. That was my first impression of you, and the job fits.”

  “Know-it-all? Did you just call me smart?” He winked.

  God, he’s kind of adorable in an asshole-ish kind of way. Charming, too.

  Maybe I should try being
a little nicer.

  Rubbing my hands together, I stared out the window for a bit to gather my thoughts before turning to him again in an effort to be cordial. “So…where are you headed?”

  “I have some quick business to take care of before I head home to Cincinnati for the holidays.”

  “To your wife and kids?”

  He gave me a funny look through his glasses, like the answer to that was none of my business. “No, actually, I live here in New York. My parents are in Ohio.”

  “I see.” I offered him my hand. “I’m Meredith.”

  He took it. “Adam.” The warmth of his hand amidst this cold night felt better than a warm cup of Christmas cocoa.

  “I’m sorry for unloading everything onto you like that.” I blew a breath up into my blonde bangs. “I’ve had a major streak of bad luck lately.”

  He shook his head. “There’s no such thing, beautiful.”

  His use of the word “beautiful” made me feel flush.

  “What do you mean…no such thing?”

  “No such thing as bad luck. You’re in control of most things in your life, whether you know it or not.”

  Narrowing my eyes, I said, “How can you say that? No one is in control of everything.”

  “I said most things. The old lady who fell asleep with her head on your shoulder? You should’ve never let that happen. I mean, how can you have not known your watch was being removed? You should’ve been more vigilant. I will admit that Santa grabbing your ass and the cat dying weren’t your fault. Shit happens. But the rent issue? That probably could’ve been avoided if you think back hard enough. I bet you’re spending money you don’t have, am I right? Money that could’ve gone toward rent. That Louis Vuitton purse had to have cost two grand. If you can’t pay your rent, you shouldn’t own a two-thousand-dollar bag.”

  I clutched my Louis Vuitton Pallas bag defensively, even though he was partially right.

  This bag cost twenty-five hundred, to be exact, jerk.

  How dare he tell me what I can and cannot own.

  “You think you know everything? This was a gift from my boyfriend. I didn’t buy it.”

  He smirked. “The one who’s proposing at Rockefeller Center under the tree?”

  I swallowed. “Well…ex-boyfriend. The one who will not be proposing to me under any tree. I’d had this stupid fantasy that he was going to ask me to marry him this year. We’d kiss under the tree at Rockefeller Center…and he’d bend me back in a dramatic dip.”

  He laughed. “That sounds like a scene out of a cliché, old movie—the dramatic dip. Not sure that happens in real life, beautiful.”

  Stop calling me beautiful, gorgeous.

  “Yeah, well…none of that will be happening because he dumped me for one of my friends, actually—right around Thanksgiving. I suppose that was my fault, too?”

  His expression darkened. “Ouch. I’m sorry. No…not your fault. He’s a douche. But it wasn’t bad luck, either. Sounds like he did you a favor. I’d say that’s good luck that you dodged a bullet.”

  I kind of liked that rationale. “You’re right. I suppose that’s a good way to look at it.” I sighed and gazed out at the snow falling before I asked, “What about you? Do you have a significant other?”

  Before he could answer, the car skidded on some ice. I instinctively grabbed onto Adam. To my mortification, I realized my hand wasn’t on his leg. It was on his dick!

  Whipping my hand off of him, I cringed. “Uh…I’m sorry.”

  My hand had lingered long enough to confirm that he was definitely packing.

  “Apparently I have a magnet on my crotch, seeing as though it’s not the first time this morning you accidentally made contact with my groin area.”

  Shit.

  I cleared my throat. “That’s right…it was an accident.”

  “Sure, it was.” He chuckled then changed his tune when he got a load of my ashamed face. “I’m just kidding, Meredith. Jeez.”

  Something about hearing him utter my name in that deep voice did things to me.

  Blowing out a breath, I tried to change the subject. “Anyway…you were saying…”

  “I wasn’t saying anything. You were being nosey and wanted to know if I had a girlfriend or a wife. Then, before I could answer, you grabbed my crotch.”

  I wouldn’t even dignify that with a response.

  “I’m single,” he finally said.

  My jaw dropped open. “Really? Why? You’re attractive…successful…what’s wrong with you?”

  He bent his head back. “God, you sound like my mother.”

  I smiled. “Well, we both have a very good reason to wonder.”

  He looked contemplative, then shocked me when he said, “Actually, I was in a long-term relationship in my twenties, and she died of cancer. I haven’t really wanted anything serious since. So…”

  That left me speechless…absolutely gutted. How heartbreaking. “I’m so sorry.”

  He just stared at me for a bit. “Thank you.”

  “Goes to show…you never know what people have been through. I guess there are way worse things in life than getting kicked out of an apartment.”

  Adam nodded in understanding, and things fell quiet. The snow was falling so hard that you could barely see out of the windows.

  I sighed. “I’m not sure either one of us is going to make it out of town tonight.”

  “Where did you say you’re headed after court?” he asked.

  “I didn’t…say where I was going. But I’m scheduled to take a quick flight to Boston. My mother lives there. I’m spending Christmas with her.”

  “Will she be grilling you why you’re still single, like mine does?”

  “Umm…probably not.”

  “See. Your luck isn’t so bad after all. Your mom will at least let you have a peaceful holiday.”

  I was a little embarrassed to admit the truth, but, hey, what’s there to be embarrassed about after you’ve grabbed a man’s junk? I turned to face Adam and swallowed my pride before speaking. “My mom won’t be bugging me about being single because she thinks I’m still dating Tucker.”

  Adam quirked a brow. “Tucker? I figured he was a douche for dumping you after four years and dating your friend. But now I know he’s a douche—one with a bad, frat-boy name.” He chuckled. “Tucker. What the hell are you doing still pretending to date that tool anyway?”

  I sighed. “I don’t know. I haven’t told anyone at work, either. Our framed picture is still on my desk. I guess at first I didn’t want to say it out loud because it hurt too much. But now…” I looked down at my lap. “I’m not sure why I’ve kept it to myself. I suppose I’m embarrassed.”

  “Embarrassed? What the hell do you have to be embarrassed about? You didn’t do anything wrong. You need to put that shit behind you. Get rid of doucheface’s picture on your desk. You never know, there might be a whole slew of bachelors waiting for you to finally cut ties with that dick so they can ask you out.”

  I scoffed. “Yeah. I’m sure the line is out the door.”

  I felt Adam looking at me, but kept my eyes from meeting his. Eventually, he sighed. “Where do you work?”

  “On 68th and Lexington, why?”

  He looked at his watch. “Is your office closed today for Christmas Eve?”

  “No. It’s open. But not many people are in. Basically a skeleton crew. I took a vacation day.”

  Adam leaned forward and spoke to our driver. “Change of plans. Need to head back uptown and stop at 68th and Lex. We’re making a quick stop. Keep the car running and wait for us, and I’ll make it worth your while.”

  The driver looked in the rearview mirror. “A hundred dollars extra for the stop.”

  “A hundred bucks? Where’s your Christmas spirit? I was thinking more like fifty.”

  The driver shook his head. “My kids sucked the Christmas spirit right out of me, along with the cash in my pockets. A hundred bucks. Am I turning around and Mr. Franklin is going to
buy me a nice bottle of twelve-year-old Christmas spirit, or am I heading to drop you both off?”

  Adam glanced over at me and our gazes caught. He considered his options while looking into my eyes, then spoke to the driver. “Fine. A hundred bucks. But I’m going to be late, so you need to step on it.”

  Our driver suddenly yanked the steering wheel to the left and the car started to fishtail. I grabbed onto the oh-shit bar above the door and held my breath until he regained control. The crazy man had just swung an illegal U-turn in the middle of New York traffic in a snowstorm. My heart was hammering inside my chest. “What the hell? Why is this lunatic taking us to my office?”

  “Because you need help taking the first step. We’re getting rid of the picture on your desk.”

  “Is that…supposed to be a moustache?” Adam lifted his glasses for a better inspection of the photo of Tucker and me. We were standing in front of the dancing fountains at the Bellagio hotel in Vegas on Valentine’s Day earlier this year. I’d thought he might propose on that trip. When he didn’t, I convinced myself it was because he wanted to wait for Christmas so he could fulfill my childhood dream of a proposal and romantic kiss in front of the big tree. I was really fooling myself with him.

  I sighed. “Tucker went through a phase after watching some Channing Tatum movie where he played a cop.” Even though I saw the photo on my desk every day, it had been a long time since I really looked at it. His moustache was pretty bad. He’d shaved the bottom of it so that it was oddly positioned too high above his top lip. And it never fully filled in, so it was pretty ratty looking, too.

  Adam opened the back of the frame and slipped out the photo. “Even if you liked the bad moustache, a dude trying to look like Channing Tatum should have clued you in that he was an idiot, beautiful.”

  I smiled. “I guess you’re right.”

  He set the empty frame back on my desk and held up the photo. “Of course, I’m right. I’m always right. Now…would you like to do the honors, or should I?”

  “I guess I should do it.”

  I took the photo from Adam’s hand and stared at it for a moment. He really did look like an idiot with that moustache.