Millionaire Under the Mistletoe

by Stefanie London

  He stuck out his hand and she readily took it, a broad grin fanned out across her face. “I’ll enjoy watching you fail.”

  He wanted to kiss her then, to subdue those taunting lips beneath his own. Heat flared within him, sucking the moisture from his mouth. If only he didn’t know that she tasted as sweet as strawberries…

  “Good to see you inherited some of the old Jackson confidence.” He pushed up off the bed and placed a hand on her shoulder, bringing his head down so that his lips were close to her ear. Her scent enveloped him with the last remnants of expensive perfume on rain-drenched skin. It was the most delicious smell in the world. “Misguided as it might be.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  …

  Two days later Stella set herself up in the sitting room. The comforting crackle of the fireplace eased her into restfulness. With the help of a few painkillers, she’d managed to sleep through the last two nights and her ankle was doing much better than expected. It was tender, but at least she could walk on it without too much pain. Her knee was also sporting a rather nasty-looking mark that was something akin to eggplant on the bruise-spectrum. Thankfully, this wretched weather didn’t exactly encourage bare legs.

  Stella toyed with her phone. Her work emails had slowed right down. Apparently the team was coping well without her, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. On one hand, it meant she’d done a good job training them. But on the other hand, her workplace was the one area of her life where she felt needed…usually. She checked her personal email and found nothing but a few newsletter subscriptions and a spam message about miracle penis enlargements.

  Sad, sad, sad.

  The sorry state of her personal affairs didn’t often get to her, but being around Evan had dredged up a whole lot of bad memories. Her time at university both here and back home had been a mixed bag—academically she’d been fine, as always. But it hadn’t exactly been the “fresh start” she’d been looking for after high school. Inclusion was hard to come by and friendship even more so. It wasn’t until she’d been reduced to crying in the laundry room that she’d had someone show any inkling of interest toward her.

  Antonietta. The night she’d found Stella sobbing over a broken heart, she’d plied her with wine, deleted Evan’s number from her phone, and taken her out dancing until their feet gave out. They kept in touch when Stella moved back home, through emails and Skype calls. Though, in the last six months, Stella hadn’t really been up to talking to anyone. It wasn’t until she’d arranged to visit Antonietta in Trieste, where she was now living—with an Italian aristocrat, no less—en route to England that Stella remembered how much she appreciated having someone to talk to.

  Without thinking, she swiped her thumb across the screen of her phone and called Antonietta’s number.

  “Pronto?” Came the reply with a perfectly rolled ‘r.’

  “You know I love that sexy accent on you,” Stella said with a laugh. “Just don’t say anything else because I won’t understand it.”

  “Bella! So nice to hear from you.” Antonietta slipped back into her British accent with ease. “How’s everything at the estate? How are you coping? Do I need to fly over and teach that wanker, Evan, a lesson?”

  “It’s good. I’m coping okay. And no…for now.” She grinned. Antonietta had one speed when it came to talking, which made her fit in perfectly in Italy. “Did you just call him a wanker?”

  “I stand by it.” She sniffed. “Seriously though, don’t you take any shit from him. I don’t want to find you in some kind of broken heap, like last time. Okay?”

  “I promise. Trust me, I’ve learned my lesson where men are concerned.” Her mouth twisted into a grimace. Too bad she didn’t get it through her skull the first time around. If Evan had been a spectacular failure, then what did that make her ill-fated engagement to Frank the Thief? “I can’t tell the decent ones from the toxic ones, so I’m not even going to try. Maybe I’ll go celibate and become a nun.”

  “Let’s not venture into crazy town. You don’t have to give up on men all together,” Antonietta said. “Why punish your vagina for your heart’s mistakes? You never know, maybe a good shagfest might be what you need to get over the past.”

  “You mean I should screw my way through my feelings?”

  “Well, no. I mean you should try screwing without feelings. You know, like how men do it.”

  “Is that how Alessandro does it?” Stella teased, knowing full well that Antonietta’s fiancé was about as smitten as humanly possible. And romantic to boot.

  “Alli is an anomaly. He can’t be used as a yardstick for men because the whole gender would fail miserably in comparison.” She laughed and the musical sound warmed Stella’s heart. “But you know what I mean.”

  “I do, but my options aren’t exactly plentiful here.” She glanced around the empty room. “And you know I’m terrible at picking up men. Maybe I need one of those dating app things.”

  “No, you bloody well don’t. Buy a short dress and go to a bar, it’s not difficult. I guarantee you the men will come flocking.”

  It was easy for Antonietta to say, she was all long legs and miles of jet-black hair. If she so much as looked at a guy, he melted to the floor at her feet. But Stella felt like she’d never quite grown out of her awkward teenage phase—her boobs had never filled in as promised by Cosmo, her hips were bony and narrow like a boy’s. And her flirting skills left much to be desired.

  “I just want you to be happy and fulfilled, Lala.”

  Stella smiled at the use of her old nickname. “I’ll be better when I get the estate off my hands. It’s a weight around my neck at the moment, and I feel like I can’t fully get through the grieving process while I still own it.”

  “Have you got many buyers lined up?”

  “A few.” Stella bit down on her lip, debating whether or not she should tell Antonietta about her bet. “Evan is interested.”

  “Did you tell him to go fuck himself?”

  “Initially.”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line. “What do you mean, ‘initially?’”

  “He’s been at me to look at his proposal and I kept shrugging him off. But then he challenged me to a bet.” She sighed and pressed her palm to her forehead. “If I lose, I’ve promised to sell to him.”

  She prepared herself for Antonietta’s judgment, but instead her friend simply sighed. “Okay. So how do you feel about him possibly owning something that belonged to your grandfather?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I’ve hated him the last four years because he broke my heart.” Admitting that aloud, even now, brought a lump to Stella’s throat.

  She hadn’t ever told Evan how she felt back then—but she’d had a crush on him all through their teen years which had morphed into something far more adult when she came back for her semester abroad. In fact, she’d specifically chosen to come to England because she knew it would mean seeing more of him. Because it would mean a chance for her to make a move.

  “We talked about that night.”

  “And?”

  “He said he didn’t feel comfortable taking my virginity.” She rolled her eyes. “He was too worried about my grandfather finding out and cutting him loose.”

  “So it was self-preservation, then? How heroic.”

  “Doesn’t mean he’s not the right person to buy the estate.” She sighed.

  “Yes, but it’s not about what’s best for the estate, Lala. It’s about what’s best for you.”

  “I don’t know what’s best for me.”

  “That’s because you’re stuck in a stalemate,” Antonietta said. “You’re staying away from men because of Evan and that dick ex-fiancé, but you’re not replacing it with anything. You know I love you, but seriously, girl, when’s the last time you did something that wasn’t work? Or settling your grandfather’s estate? Or dealing with your crazy mother?”

  Stella sank her teeth into her lower lip as she thought back o
ver the last year. Antonietta had a point—her life had been devoid of anything fun for quite some time.

  “I’ll take that silence as an admission of guilt.” She could practically see her friend shaking her head. “You’ve got to start living for yourself. Trust me, I appreciate what a loyal, selfless person you are but it’s getting beyond a joke. You’re twenty-six for crying out loud, and you live like a hermit. How long did it take me to convince you to come for a visit on your way over?”

  “I didn’t want to impose,” she said weakly.

  “I want you to impose. That’s the whole point of having friends. I want you to know that you can turn up on my doorstep and that I will always welcome you with open arms.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me,” Antonietta said. “Do something to fix this situation, okay? Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  Stella said her good-byes and hung up the phone, feeling renewed by the tough words from her friend. She could always count on Antonietta to deliver the truth without any sugar-coating, and that’s how she liked it. Unfortunately, the conversation still hadn’t cleared up Stella’s thoughts on Evan or the bet.

  Not that it matters. There’s no way he’ll legitimately be able to convince me to pack my bags and move here.

  She ignored the fact that she could sell to him, even if she won the bet. But Antonietta was right, her decision had to be about what was best for her. After years of trying too hard to keep everyone else happy, she needed some down and out “me” time.

  Stella pushed up off the couch and wandered gingerly through the house. She was moving slowly, thanks to her ankle. There was not a sound to be heard, not a footstep hitting the ground, nor a voice echoing against the walls. The place was like a tomb.

  “Stella?” Ethel poked her head out of one of the rooms off the main entrance, seeming to appear out of nowhere. “Can I get you something? Do you need more painkillers?”

  “I’m restless.” She managed a guilty smile. “Normally I have so much work to keep me occupied…well, I need something to do before I go stir crazy. Is there any way I can help around here?”

  “You’re certainly not helping out with the housework.” Ethel looked her up and down as if to say that’s my job. “But there might be something you can do. Follow me.”

  The older woman led her down the hallway, past the formal dining room to a door at the other end of the house. It looked like a regular door, but it opened into a room filled with boxes and piles of folders.

  “This is the archive room,” Ethel said. “Nicholas had been meaning to sort it all out before he…”

  Stella swallowed, digging her nails into her palms to keep herself steady. Dust particles danced in the beams of light that filtered through the window’s blinds. Time stood still here.

  “There are a few boxes of Christmas ornaments somewhere.” Ethel took a few tentative steps into the room and looked from left to right. “Maybe you can find them? Evan will be bringing the tree in soon. Nicholas liked to get the decorations up as soon after December first as possible.”

  “We’re only a few days late.” She ran her finger along one of the boxes closest to her. Dust parted beneath her touch to reveal a recess in the years that had settled on the cardboard like a furry shell. She brushed her hands together.

  “I don’t know how many boxes there are, but don’t stay in here too long. This muck isn’t good for your lungs.” With that, Ethel left her alone in the room.

  Stella took a moment to take everything in. It was as though someone had built a maze out of the archive boxes. What treasures lay in wait among the forgotten papers? Perhaps she would find something secret of her grandfather’s—a journal, old love letters.

  Her mind automatically fixated on the task of locating the ornaments. Tasks were good, they kept her thoughts focused. Because right now, the last thing she needed was more time to let her mind wander.

  Chapter Six

  Although the room had appeared to be a complete mess, Stella soon figured out her grandfather’s system. She located the ornaments quickly and was about to leave the room victorious, spoils in hand, when she noticed a box stacked up near eye-level that had “for my little star” written on the side.

  A fresh wave of grief washed over her—taking her from fragile acceptance to the dark depths of loss in an instant. Stella propped the ornaments by the door and reached for the small box. It wasn’t as dusty as the ones beneath it; the cardboard looked fresher and words scrawled with red marker still held their vibrancy. Carefully lifting the lid, she peered inside.

  A simple note sat on top of the box’s contents.

  You know why you’re here, thank you for being the shining star in my life.

  Hot tears pooled in Stella’s eyes and she instinctively bit down on her cheek, the metallic taste of blood making her lips pucker. She wanted so desperately to rifle through the box, to see what he’d left her. But she couldn’t even get past the note.

  Knowing that he’d written those words after he’d accepted the end was coming made her heart ache. She sat there, her finger tracing the scrawl of his handwriting over and over. A longer letter was folded beneath, but she couldn’t bear to open it. Not when her talk with Antonietta had only just lifted her spirits.

  She forced herself up, drew a calming breath and then squared her shoulders. The box and its content could wait. She had a whole month to deal with her emotions, so it didn’t need to happen today. Gathering the ornaments, she made her way into the sitting room. The scent of pine filled the room, tingling Stella’s nostrils.

  Evan stood by the fresh tree, chatting to another man who appeared to be a business acquaintance. Gone were Evan’s suit pants and collared shirt, and in place he wore a plain white T-shirt. She was able to get a closer look at the true outline of his body now that it wasn’t hidden by thick outer layers. Clearly his job had served his body well, if the muscles straining against his T-shirt were anything to go on. He’d always been lean and athletic, but not this…rock-hard. Her mouth went dry.

  “Good timing.” Evan inclined his head to the guy standing next to him. “This is Matt. He’s my project manager.”

  Stella set the boxes down to accept Matt’s handshake. “It’s a pleasure.”

  “The pleasure is all mine,” he replied. He had smooth, olive skin and a dark shadow along his jaw. His hair was curly and long, making him look a little wild and untamed next to Evan. Stella recalled Antonietta’s advice. But despite the handsome face and what appeared to be a buff body beneath Matt’s cargo pants and black T-shirt, she felt nothing. “Evan tells me you’re from Australia.”

  “That’s right. But no kangaroo jokes, please.” She held up a hand and laughed. “I promise you, I’ve heard them all.”

  “What about a surfing joke? That’s very Australian, isn’t it?”

  She grinned. “Do you surf?”

  Matt laughed. “Don’t get too excited. I’ve surfed once or twice, but I’m no pro. I wouldn’t say no to a personal lesson, though.”

  Stella flushed at Matt’s flirty tone. Maybe she should give him a chance? The hermit life needed to come to an end. “Maybe we could arrange something while I’m here?”

  In her peripherals, Evan watched her closely. There was a tightening in his mouth that probably would have gone unnoticed by most people, but she knew where to look. He stepped forward, slinging an arm around Matt’s shoulders in a way that could have appeared friendly…if there wasn’t a twitch in his jaw that said otherwise. “Matt was just leaving.”

  “That’s right.” Matt slapped Evan on the back good-naturedly. “This guy works me to the bone.”

  Stella caught an undercurrent of communication between the two men, but she wasn’t exactly sure what it meant. Matt bid them both good-bye and walked out of the room with a slight swagger. It’d almost seemed like Evan was jealous.

  Jealous? Yeah right. Why don’t you look out the window and see if any pigs are flying?


  “I managed to dig these boxes out of the archive room.” She moved the time capsule out of the way so it didn’t get mixed up with the ornaments.

  That was for her private viewing only. The last thing she wanted was Evan digging around any of her personal stuff. She tipped the lid on the first box of ornaments and found a tangle of Christmas lights inside. Picking up the bundle of wires, she looked helplessly at Evan.

  “Don’t tell me,” he said, laughing. “You only do the fancy bits.”

  “How did you know?”

  Managing the wretched knot of Christmas lights was always left to her grandfather. Her strength was in the decoration and aesthetics, and lights were more of a foundational activity. She thrust the bundle toward Evan and he sighed, setting about turning the knot into a long, tangle-free strand.

  Stella began her process of sorting the ornaments into piles—one for silver, one for gold, and another for white.

  “You’re a bit particular, aren’t you?” he said.

  “I like a systematic approach,” she replied without looking up from her task. “Besides, there’s an art to decorating a Christmas tree. You can’t just slap the ornaments on in any old order.”

  “You can’t?”

  “Of course not!” She looked at him, horrified. “You have to start with the basic stuff like the lights, then you move onto the bigger ornaments like the baubles or bows. Then once you have those evenly spaced out, you fill the gaps with the smaller ornaments. Simple.”

  He stared at her blankly.

  “There’s a process.” She frowned at him. “I bet you have one of those trees where the ornaments don’t even match.”

  “I also don’t match my underwear to my socks,” he said drily. “Sometimes, I wear socks that aren’t even from the same pair.”

  Rolling her eyes, she continued sorting the ornaments into size categories within their groups. At work, she had a notorious sense of attention to detail when it came to decorating events. But she also had a reputation as being an “if you want something done right, do it yourself” kind of person.