by Jean Oram
Contents
Cover Page
Copyright
Books by Jean Oram
Acknowledgments
Muskoka
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Dear Santa: a letter from Tigger
Awesome Author Newsletter
The Summer Sisters
Invitation to Become a Jeanster
Book Club Discussion Guide
Blueberry Springs
About the Author
Love and Mistletoe
A Beach Reads Holiday Contemporary Romance (Book Club Edition)
The Summer Sisters Tame the Billionaires Book 5
By New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Jean Oram
One blizzard. Two opposites. A whole lot of time under the mistletoe.
Josh Carson has a secret. As a firefighter he’s comfortable being sent in to save forests and wildlife, but in his spare time he creates delicate hair ribbons that are anything but masculine. When he finds Simone snowed in on Nymph Island--and she’d rather freeze than be saved by Mr. Tough Guy--he realizes that the only way to win her over and get her to safety is to take a risk and reveal his true self.
Simone Pascal loves being independent and self-reliant--she's never needed a man to save her, and yet she keeps falling into Josh’s arms at every turn, wanting him to rescue her. The worst part? She likes it. A lot. Which is a big problem since she’s rearranged her entire life to take on a new project—a baby via a sperm donor. Her life plans most definitely do not include anything as unpredictable as falling in love with Mr. Macho Firefighter, but that seems to be exactly what she’s doing.
Will the two come to terms with their true selves in time to snag their happily ever after? Or will they be spending Christmas cold and alone?
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Love and Mistletoe
~ A Beach Reads Holiday Contemporary Romance (Book Club Edition) ~
The Summer Sisters Tame the Billionaires Book 5
By Jean Oram
Copyright 2015 Jean Oram
ISBN: 978-1-928198-24-6
First Kindle Book Club Edition
Contact Jean Oram by email at [email protected]
Thank you for downloading this ebook. Although in electronic form, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and it cannot be reproduced, modified, copied and/or distributed by any means for commercial or non-commercial purposes whether the work is attributed or not, unless written permission has been granted by the author, with the exception of brief quotations for use in a review of this work. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite online vendor where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support. Keep reading!
This is a work of fiction and all characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents appearing in this novel are products of the author’s active imagination or are used in a fictitious manner—unless stated in the book’s front matter. Any resemblance to actual people, alive or dead, as well as any resemblance to events or locales is coincidental (unless noted) and, truly, a little bit cool.
Cover created by Jean Oram
Books by Jean Oram
New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author
The Summer Sisters Tame the Billionaires
Love and Rumors (Book 1—FREE)
Love and Dreams (Book 2)
Love and Trust (Book 3)
Love and Danger (Book 4)
Love and Mistletoe (Book 5)
Blueberry Springs
Book 1: Whiskey and Gumdrops
Book 2: Rum and Raindrops
Book 3: Eggnog and Candy Canes
Book 4: Sweet Treats
Book 5: Vodka and Chocolate Drops
Also: Champagne and Lemon Drops (Also available in audio)
* * * Get the latest news from Jean Oram and Blueberry Springs, PLUS, for a limited time download this great collection of short stories FREE: www.jeanoram.com/FREEBOOK
For Kids
1,001 Boredom Busting Play Ideas
~ Full, up-to-date book list: www.jeanoram.com/books ~
Acknowledgments
Thank you to Hannah Shows for naming Josh Carson (JC). I hope you enjoy his adventures!
Thank you also goes to the women who help keep me and this story on track: Evelyn, Cali, Margaret, Emily, Erin, and Michelle. Thank you.
And one more big thank you goes to my readers. I couldn’t do this journey without you. I hope you have a wonderful, warm holiday season full of all the greatest things in life.
Happy holidays!
A Note on Muskoka
Muskoka is a real place in Ontario, Canada, however, I have taken artistic license with the area. While the issues presented in this series (such as water shed, endangered animals, heritage preservation, shoreline erosion, taxation, etc.) as well as the towns are real, to my knowledge, there is no Baby Horseshoe Island nor is there a Nymph Island, or even a company called Rubicore Developments. The people and businesses are fictional unless otherwise noted.
Muskoka is a wonderful area where movie stars, celebrities, billionaires, and regular Joes do vacation. Yet, having spent many summers in the area during my youth and adulthood (me being a regular Joe), I have yet to see a single celebrity—though a man I presume to be Kurt Browning’s (a famous Canadian figure skating Olympian) father did offer to help me when the outboard fritzed out on me once. Damn outboard.
You can discover more about Muskoka online at www.discovermuskoka.ca/
CHAPTER 1
Simone Pascal fidgeted with her purse, her agitation growing as the meeting went on. She sat back, not joining in as the women built off each other’s ideas, ping-ponging them through the group, morphing each one from a kernel into something new and groundbreaking that would give them a competitive edge that always led their businesses to the top.
The Meeting of the Minds women came together every three months to discuss their world domination plans, and had a track record that just about guaranteed someone in their group snagged a million-dollar deal in the fashion industry each quarter.
Simone, despite being at least a decade or two younger than the majority of the members, had already landed at the top of her game, thanks to the group, and she knew who to turn to if she ever needed anything in her designing business or boutique. But what she needed now was something they couldn’t provide, and there was only one uncharted frontier left if she was going to have it all. She required help, but not from the MOMs.
She checked the antique watch she’d received from her good friend Melanie Summer.
Five minutes. She couldn’t wait any longer.
The watch reminded her of all that was important. Her friends, the Summers, had found exactly what she wanted for herself: Love. Family. Support. Someone to hold her during the long Canadian winter nights, especially when her world got shaky. She’d incorrectly assumed all those good things would just happen for her, even though her past kept showing her she wasn’t good girlfriend material. She was missing whatever it
was that made men stay, whatever it was that showed them that what she was doing was love.
Simone packed up her ever-present design sketchbook and meeting notes, taking a moment to watch the women who had helped her so much over the years. While she’d never once believed she’d ever hold anything back from this group, she knew they wouldn’t understand where she was at and what she needed to do to achieve her next goal. Nobody would—from her father to her friends. But these women surrounding the boardroom table were dynamos that balanced and juggled everything with ease. They just did it, and Simone wasn’t as lucky. She needed help.
She stood, excusing herself.
“Where are you going?” asked Wanda, a bridal boutique owner from the small town of Blueberry Springs. Her eyes were wide with surprise, and she kept one hand on Simone’s chair as though she planned on keeping her in the room no matter what.
“I have a flight.”
“You’ve missed flights before because we’ve run long,” she said, suspicion lacing her words.
Simone felt the prickle of sweat tear up her spine. “I have to do something.”
Around the table, eyebrows lifted, waiting for the reveal.
“What could be more important than this?” one of the women asked. Everyone made this group’s meetings a priority—that’s why it worked. That and the way they checked their egos at the door, held nothing back and ensured things didn’t become personal. Even here, on Christmas Eve, the women were hashing it out in person on the West Coast at 8:00 a.m., not a single member absent.
Simone’s mind stuttered to a stop.
It was 8:00 a.m. Pacific time. That meant it was 11:00 a.m. eastern.
She shoved her chair back, clutching her belongings to her chest. “I’m sorry.” Simone knew she was jumpy, sweat clinging to her brow. She was acting like the poster girl for I Have Something to Hide, but she had to go, couldn’t explain.
The women watched, mouths hanging open, as Simone exited the room. She rifled through her purse until her hand closed around salvation. Just a few more moments.
She rushed into the bathroom down the hall, her fingers trembling as she latched the stall’s lock. She flipped down the toilet seat and plunked herself on top of it, her sketchpad and notes tumbling to the floor in her haste. She adjusted the syringe’s plunger over the flesh near her hip, her heart racing with anticipation. She closed her eyes and bit her lip. This was always the worst part.
She sucked in a slow breath. Don’t think. Just do it.
The needle hovered above her skin and the tiny walls swam, pressing closer.
Do it, Simone.
After inhaling a quick, sharp breath, she jabbed the needle into her flesh, letting out a cry as she shoved the plunger down, then ripped the syringe out as quickly as possible. Relief flowed through her and she let out a shuddery breath. She was good for another twenty-four hours.
She hung her head, collecting herself, before realizing she’d dropped the syringe in her haste. It had rolled under the door and was nestled, spent, between a pair of cherry-red Louboutins.
“Simone?” It was Wanda, her voice demanding, unyielding.
Simone scrambled to collect the syringe, banging her head on the closed stall door, her neck contorting as she fell short of her goal, forced to watch, powerless, as a hand with heavily lacquered nails closed around her secret.
“Open up!” Wanda demanded from the other side of the door. “We need to talk. Now.”
Simone eased back onto the toilet seat, not ready for a confrontation with a woman she respected so greatly.
Wanda banged on the stall door with enough force that it sprang open, clanging against the wall. “Explain the meaning of this.” The syringe lay on her open palm, the woman towering over her.
More members of MOM poured into the washroom, surrounding Wanda, trapping Simone. They gasped when they saw the needle, one woman having the foresight to ask, “Are you diabetic?”
Simone shook her head and the looks of disappointment ran so deep that she had to turn her gaze away.
“You don’t understand,” she began, her voice wobbling. “You make it all look so easy and I just want…” Her voice grew thick and she had to swipe at her eyes, not caring if she sent streaks of mascara across her cheeks.
“I do understand, but this?” Wanda shook the empty syringe at her.
“I can’t…I…”
“We know the pressure can be tough, but it’s not worth it. Take a break. You’re at the top of your game. Delegate. I’ll send you my best virtual assistants. Anything is better than this.”
“I know of a good rehab,” another woman offered.
“Rehab?” Simone felt the room spin. They thought she was on drugs. That she was shooting up to maintain the energy she needed to get ahead. But she was already at the top of her game—there was nowhere left to go. No more mountains to climb.
All but one and it had nothing to do with fashion or design.
The women closed in. “Simone, don’t make excuses,” someone murmured.
“Don’t deny this,” Wanda prompted gently. “We can help.”
Tears sprang to Simone’s eyes. The MOMs meant the world to her, but this was the one thing they couldn’t help her with. Nobody could, and she was running out of time.
“This explains why you were so fidgety in the meeting. You needed a fix!” a fellow member accused.
“No!” Simone scrunched her eyes closed, the room feeling too small, her voice too quiet, too weak. “It’s not that.”
They all began talking at once, so Simone stood, raising her voice to be heard as she let her secret out of the bag. “They’re fertility drugs. I’m trying to have a baby.”
All eyes shot to her left hand, checking for a ring.
“Alone.”
* * *
Simone hightailed it out of the Toronto International Airport and into the blustery December weather badgering the lakeside city. The MOM confrontation hours ago, back on the rainy West Coast, had not been her idea of fun. They, at least, had implicitly understood how difficult it was to find a man who was not only confident enough in his manhood to be with someone who earned oodles more than he did, but also didn’t take her level of business commitment personally. That had been enough for them to get behind her having a baby on her own, without having to discuss cysts, ovaries, and operations that would soon leave her barren.
Either way, she was definitely off her game. Not just for revealing her secret, but for messing up the time zones and, as a result, falling three hours behind on her hormone injection schedule. When she’d accidentally forgotten an injection last month it had meant no baby. How was she supposed to be a good mother if she couldn’t even keep to a simple once-a-day, make-a-baby commitment? What if she forgot to feed her baby or left it somewhere? She negotiated million-dollar deals with ease and had designs in Milan, London, and New York, and yet couldn’t seem to stay on the stupid schedule.
She needed to pull herself together. She couldn’t keep messing up and she couldn’t wait for Mr. Right, either. She had to do this and she had to do it now, in case the cysts decided to take more than just her ovaries. The doctors had said she could freeze her eggs and use a surrogate, but there was no way a control freak like herself could get behind the idea of entrusting someone else with such an important job as carrying her baby.
“Simone!”
She startled, not expecting to bump into anyone she knew. And that voice brought back a torrent of unwelcome childhood memories that, in her current mood, left her wondering if she should ignore the call and run.
She turned, facing her father, Thomas Pascal.
“Dad, Merry Christmas. I’m sorry, I’m catching a flight to Muskoka and don’t have a lot of time.”
Behind her dad, her “stepmother,” Tricia—who was nearly the same age as Simone—shifted from foot to foot, a tentative smile playing on her lips.
Her father ushered Simone toward his black sedan, parked at the curb. “We
’ll give you a lift.”
“It’s okay, I’ve booked a shuttle.”
He opened the rear passenger door and she bristled. If she wanted to get in, she could open the door herself, but him doing so became unwanted pressure. Simone felt as though he’d already made the decision for her, completely dismissing her thoughts on the matter.
“We’ll give you a lift,” he repeated.
“What’s wrong?” Simone asked. She pressed one hand against the cold metal of the car’s roof. Not only was it unusual for her dad to know where she was, but the fact that they had both taken the forty-five minute trip to the airport to shuttle her to a charter flight meant something was not right on planet earth. Thomas was not that kind of father. Never had been and never would be.
“We have a little Christmas gift,” he said with a grin, nudging her into the sedan, closing the door behind her.
A gift?
The car’s heat enveloped her, a welcome change from the bitter weather outdoors, and Simone wondered what the gift could be. She gave a reluctant sigh, then pulled the seat belt across her hips, wincing as it pressed against her sore injection site. She needed to either get over her queasiness with needles so she stopped bruising, or conceive. Preferably the latter. And the sooner, the better.
Her father helped Tricia into the front passenger seat with uncharacteristic care. Was she unwell? What was going on? Simone leaned forward, hoping to catch a hint of what was coming.
