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A Dangerous Widow
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Aniquílame: Volumen 2
Aniquílame: Volumen 3
Aniquílame: Volumen 4
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Annihilate Him: Holiday
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Annihilate Me, Vol. 2
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Annihilate Them: Holiday
Brucia con Me
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Brucia con Me (Volume 2)
Brucia con Me (Volume 3)
Brucia con Me (Volume 4)
Brucia con Me, Holiday Edition
Brucia con Me (Volume 6)
Brucia con Me (Volume 7)
Brucia con Me, Vol. 8
Rapita Da Te
Brucia con Me: Vendetta
Brucia con Me: Holiday Edition, 3
Captive-Moi
Captive-Moi (Vol. 1)
Captive-Moi (Vol. 2)
Captive-Moi (Vol. 3)
Captive-Moi (Vol. 4)
Captive-Moi (Vol. 5)
Captive-Moi (Vol. 6)
Captive-Moi (Vol. 7)
Captive-Moi (Vol. 8)
Captive-Moi: Noël
DESÁTAME
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DESÁTAME, Vol. 2
DESÁTAME, Vol. 3
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Enflamme-moi: Vol. 2
Enflamme-moi: Vol. 3
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Liberami
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Liberami (Volume 2)
Liberami (Volume 3)
Protège-Moi
Protège-Moi: Volume Un
Protège-Moi: Volume Deux
Protège-Moi: Volume Trois
Protège-Moi : Un Mariage
Protège-Moi: Volume Quatre
Protège-Moi: Volume Cinq
Protège-Moi: Volume Six
Série Encore une nuit
Chance - version française
The One More Night Series
Chance
Unleash Me
Unleash Me, Vol. 1
Unleash Me, Vol. 2
Unleash Me, Vol. 3
Unleash Me: Wedding
Unter Feuer
Unter Feuer: Band 1
Unter Feuer: Band 2
Unter Feuer: Band 3
Unter Feuer: Band 4
Unter Feuer: Band 5
Unter Feuer: Band 6
Unter Feuer: Band 7
Unter Feuer: Band 8
Unter Feuer: Weihnachts-Special
Standalone
Ignite Me
Perdue sans Vous
Persa Senza Te
Annihilate Them
Embrase-Moi
Faking It
Impuls
Une Veuve Dangereuse
ANNIHILATE THEM:
HOLIDAY
by
Christina Ross
For my friends and family.
And especially for my readers, who mean the world to me.
Thank you for reading Annihilate Them: Holiday.
Copyright and Legal Notice: This publication is protected under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state, and local laws, and all rights are reserved, including resale rights.
Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if we use one of these terms. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means (including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval) without permission in writing from the author.
First ebook edition © 2017.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to persons living or dead (unless explicitly noted) is merely coincidental. Copyright © 2017 Christina Ross. All rights reserved worldwide.
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue
Excerpt: A Dangerous Widow
Email List/Social Media
ANNIHILATE THEM:
HOLIDAY
by
Christina Ross
CHAPTER ONE
New York City
December
EIGHT MONTHS INTO MY pregnancy, I awoke with a swift kick to the gut followed by what had to be one of the loudest farts ever heard in human history.
It was one for the record books. It tooted out of me in a way that sounded oddly cheerful and triumphant—as if I’d just crossed a finish line after winning a grueling 5K run and some helpful individual had sounded a horn three enthusiastic times to announce my victory.
It couldn’t have been more humiliating.
Not daring to move because I was hoping that Alex had managed to sleep through it, I laid there in bed staring up at the sunlit ceiling, fearing and dreading what was about to come—the odor itself.
It’s going to escape the sheets, I thought in horror as I looked over the dome of my belly, which strained against the bedspread in ways that seemed almost cruel to the fabric. It’s only a matter of time. And what if this one smells as bad as the rest of them have been smelling lately? What then? If I’m not careful, there’s the very real possibility that I might fart Alex into oblivion...
He stirred next to me, which was just enough motion to unleash the toxins from beneath the sheets and let them loose like a plume of rancid darkness into the air. The odor was alarming—like rotten eggs sweating it out with a pile of refried beans at the bottom of a sewer—and it gave me pause as it rolled over my face and assaulted my senses.
What’s become of me? I thought. I’ve literally become the poster child for flatulence. This is supposed to be a time of celebration, and yet it feels as if I’m being tested at every turn and at every fart. How can Alex possibly want to be anywhere near me at this point? And I still have another month to go! What’s going to become of me then? I don’t even want to think about it.
“I can hear you thinking,” Alex said. He was on his side, his bare back facing me, and his deep voice sounded weirdly muffled, as if he was talking into his pillow. “Stop fretting. It’s not as bad as you think it is.”
“The hell it isn’t,” I said. “You don’t have your face buried into your pillow for no reason—not that I can blame you. Actually, I can’t blame you. I’m sorry, Alex—I really am. I can’t help it. I’m so full of gas, I’ve officially become a human whoopee cushion.”
And with that, Alex turned and faced me with a smile. It was morning, sun slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the foot of the bed, and after he leaned forward and gave me kisses on the neck and mouth, he propped himself up on one arm and placed the palm of his hand on my stomach.
“What you’ve become is more beautiful than you’ve ever been, Jennifer.”
“Then allow me to make an eye appointment for you when we get to work.”
“I’m serious. It’s true.”
I could tell by his genuine smile that he was being serious, and I loved him for it. Throughout all of this, he’d been a terrific, patient, loving, and supportive husband. But as for me? As hard as I tried to rein in my emotions, my hormones were increasingly getting the best of me, and I hated myself for it. Being overly emotional just wasn’t who I was—but it nevertheless was whom I’d become.
“Beyond a strongly scented candle, do you know what I’d kill for right now?” I asked him.
“Are we talking food here?”
“How did you guess?”
“Doesn’t matter. What would you like?”
“You tell me.”
“Well, recently you’ve certainly been appreciating pickles dipped in mayonnaise, so is that it?”
“Oddly delicious, but no.”
“Doritos slathered with mustard and peanut butter?”
“A perfectly sound option for breakfast, but wrong again. What I had in mind was a real cup of coffee. A pure shot of caffeine. Something that would give me the energy I’ve sorely been missing lately.”
“I don’t think you’ve had a cup of coffee since you learned you were pregnant...”
“No, I haven’t. No coffee. No martinis. You have no idea how much I miss them both.”
“When the baby arrives, I’ll make you that first cup of coffee myself.”
“And I look forward to it. Since I’ll be nursing, I can only have caffeine in moderation, but I’ll take it anyway.”
At that moment, the baby kicked—and naturally with the kick came another blast of gas that rumbled deep beneath the sheets.
“Jesus,” Alex said, his hand still on my stomach. “That was a whopper.”
All I could do was close my eyes in shame. “The kick or the fart?”
“The kick—don’t worry about the fart.”
“Trust me—both of us will be worrying about it in about ten seconds. I’ve officially become a grotesque.”
“You have not.”
“A heifer who should be put out to pasture.”
“Come on...”
“An overblown whale who can’t see her own feet.”
“How about if I rub them for you?”
“No! If you go down there now, you might pass out from the fumes, and in my condition, I’d never be able to resuscitate you.” I shot him a look. “Alex, if our child turns out to be a boy? We are so calling him ‘Bruiser.’ Because when this kid kicks, it kicks hard.”
“Bruiser Wenn,” Alex said. “That should make for some interesting headlines.”
“We’ve made our share of them in our day,” I reminded him.
“And so we have.”
I glanced over at the clock on the bedside table. Now that I was sitting on Wenn’s board, my duties had only increased since the board voted me in six months ago along with another woman, Sherry Wasserman. Pregnant or not, there was work to be done, and I needed to get a move on.
“We should get ready,” I said. “I know it’s early, but lately, it’s taking me forever to make myself presentable.”
“How about if you shower and I’ll make you breakfast? You’ve got to eat, Jennifer.”
“That’s the problem,” I said. “When aren’t I eating? I always seem to be eating. Hell, I even eat in my dreams. A couple of nights ago, I dreamt that I was sitting alone at Per Se, I had the entire restaurant to myself, and a whole host of attentive, nonjudgmental waiters just kept bringing me dish after delicious dish, which I pretty much inhaled. And do you want to know what’s even worse than that? One of servers was either asked by me or by the management to stand at my side and wipe my mouth with a linen napkin, because apparently I was eating so quickly, I had no time to do so by myself.” I shook my head at Alex and sighed. “I’m a wreck.”
“What you are is pregnant.”
I reached for his hand, which was still resting on my belly, and interlocked my fingers with his. “And I wouldn’t change it for the world,” I said. “Not for anything.”
“Just one more month to go,” he said with a grin.
“I know—and I can’t wait. I seriously can’t. I can’t believe that the big day is almost here.”
“A little Wenn,” he said as he helped me out of bed and took me into his arms. “So, let me ask you this for the hundredth time. What do you think it will be—a boy or a girl?”
“I don’t care. I just want it to be healthy—and to have your dimples.”
“My dimples?”
“Oh, yes,” I said. “Your dimples. The ones that took my breath away when we first met. And there’s one other thing I hope our baby has.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?” I said as I placed my palm against his chest. “Your heart.”
CHAPTER TWO
WHEN WE LEFT OUR APARTMENT, it was seven-thirty, the early December air was brisk, and Alex took hold of my hand as we crossed the busy sidewalk to the double-parked limousine waiting for us on Fifth.
Standing beside the rear passenger door was our head of security, Mitch McCollister—otherwise known as Tank—whom I thought looked especially handsome in his charcoal-gray suit and black overcoat. He greeted us with a smile as he opened the door for us.
“Morning, Tank,” Alex said.
“Morning, Alex. Jennifer, how are you today?”
“Feeling like a champ, my friend.”
“Good to hear. How about if you let me take your other hand before you step off the curb?”
While I was perfectly fine on my feet, I knew that helping me was important to Tank, especially since he knew that I’d lost our first child to a miscarriage and that it had taken Alex and me forever to get pregnant again. And so I gave him my other hand as I stepped off the curb, and then I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before I got into the back of the car. Because my belly was so big, this was no small feat, but with Alex and Tank’s help, I managed to scoot over so Alex could sit next to me.
“Look at me,” I said to Alex. “Already huffing and puffing.”
He furrowed his brow at me as Tank got into the driver’s seat, looked in the side mirror, and then eased into traffic. “How long are you planning to work?” Alex asked me. “You know you can stay home, Jennifer. In fact, I wish you would.”
“And pull my hair out over the next month? No way! You know how I am—I’d die of boredom if I left work now. And my doctor says that going to work is fine as long as I don’t overdo it.” I put my hand on his knee and squeezed it. “But I know that you’re concerned, so here’s my promise to you—the moment I feel that work is becoming too much, I’m out. Because I’m not about to put our child at risk. All I ask is that you remember that I’m pregnant, not sick.”
“I know, I know—I just worry.”
“Here’s how I see the next month playing out,” I said in an effort to calm his nerves. “I plan on sitting behind my desk at Wenn and doing paperwork. I’ve already asked Ann to cut way back on my meetings—as in none, unless you need me somewhere. When I feel like taking a breather, I’ll either stop in and visit you, Blackwell, Ann, or Madison. What’s even better is that Lisa and Kate have offered to come by my office and have lunch with me on those days that you’re unavailable. So, y
ou know, I’ll get a solid dose of girl talk and we’ll order in. What all of this means is that I’m pretty much not leaving my office until you and I decide to go home for the day.” I patted his knee. “I just want to keep busy, Alex. I’m so anxious when it comes to going into labor that I want to keep my mind off it as much as I can until the big day comes. Working will help. And besides, you’re as type-A as I am. You get it. I need to work.”
“I know that you do,” he said. “And if that’s your plan, I have to admit that it’s a pretty reasonable one.”
“I can sit on my ass at home, or I can sit on it at work and be productive.”
“I’m going to hold you to sitting on your ass, you know?”
“I expect you to. And trust me on this—the moment this future mama is feeling too tired to haul her fat ass around, she plans on staying home, turning on Netflix and binge-watching Sex and the City.”
“You don’t have a fat ass.”
“And you are a terrible liar, but I love you for it,” I said, wanting to change the subject. “We’ve yet to discuss the holidays, which are just three weeks away. Obviously we can’t go anywhere this year, so I was wondering what you had in mind? Since I’m due seven days after Christmas, I think it’s safe to have our extended family and friends around us, which I’d enjoy.”
“But are you sure that you’re even up for that? You’ll be thirty-nine weeks pregnant. Jennifer, how you feel now is not how you’re going to feel in three weeks.”
“I know that, but with help I can do it. You know how much I love the holidays. Being with you and our friends is important to me.”
“Christmas eve or Christmas day?”
“Both.”
“OK, now you’re overdoing it.”
“Not if we have everything catered, I’m not. All I want to do is to decorate the tree with you, which we can have delivered a few days beforehand. And then everything else can be hired out. I won’t have to do a thing but to sit back and enjoy you and our friends before the baby arrives. So what do you say?”
“That I’m worried you’ll want to do more.”
“Not seven days out, I won’t. With the right planning, we can make this as stress-free as we want.” I leaned toward Tank. “Tank, do Lisa and you have plans for Christmas this year?”
Holiday: Annihilate Them, #2 Page 1
