The Billionaire's Lessons in Christmas

by Holly Rayner

  “All right. You’re murdering. Murder?”

  Mia shook her head.

  “Murder. Stab. Assault.” He passed his fingers through his dark stubble. “Kill.”

  Mia snapped her finger, alerting him that he was correct.

  “Huh,” James said, shrugging. “This is easier than I expected.”

  Mia shook her head, rolling her eyes. She lifted four fingers.

  “Oh, fourth word. I get it,” James said. His annoyance was pure act, now. He was leaning against the desk, lifting the wine to his lips, truly focused on the game.

  Mia began flapping her arms, her eyes wide.

  “Ah. You’re a bird. Two. Kill. Bird. Ah—Mia, that was too easy. To Kill a Mockingbird.”

  Mia leaped up and down in the air, bouncing on her feet. She clapped her hands excitedly. “You did it! See? Wasn’t that fun?”

  James wouldn’t give it to her. Not yet. “It was okay,” he said, sloshing the last of his wine down his throat. “I’m either really good at this, or you’re making it too easy, but maybe it isn’t the worst game in the world.”

  He filled her glass, and Mia felt herself falling into a kind of tipsy wooziness. She hadn’t eaten anything in hours; she needed to be careful. But the celebration had brought electricity and zeal to her heart. She couldn’t stop.

  James went next, pausing for a few moments before landing on a title to act out. He waved his hands maddeningly, acting out The Hunger Games. Mia had to admit that he wasn’t very good at it yet, that she really had to dig deep to figure out what he was doing. But she played along anyway.

  “That took you way longer than it took me,” James said after it was over. He walked toward her and leaned with her against the desk. Christmas music rose up behind them, tinged with nostalgia.

  “Maybe I’m better at acting than guessing?” she suggested, her eyes bright.

  “Or maybe I’m just as clever as my position in my company warrants?” he replied.

  Mia scoffed. “Don’t ruin the mood by bragging about yourself.”

  “Isn’t that what Christmas is all about?”

  “Your ideas about Christmas are truly messed up, you know that right?” she said. Her words were coming quickly, unfiltered, revved with alcohol. “If anything, it’s an excuse to celebrate being alive.”

  “Maybe I don’t often feel like celebrating,” James said, his voice suddenly dark.

  Mia allowed the silence to grow for only a moment before bursting into another charade routine, hoping to quell the pain in James’ face. He was clearly filled with hidden demons. Perhaps he used his work as a distraction, to halt the tide that was the sadness of his past.

  Of course, she couldn’t blame him. Oftentimes, she did the same.

  Mia was happy to find that she could chase James’ sadness away. Within moments of her launching into her next charade, James was bouncing around, setting his wine back on desk to clap his hands soundly as he correctly guessed what she was acting out. His face was glowing from the alcohol. None of the tyrannical maniac that generally walked through the office seemed to stick with him. Mia was glad for that.

  Darkness had begun to fall outside. Exhausted from charades and wine, the pair of them sat on the floor beneath the Christmas lights, in the half-darkness. Blues, reds and greens reflected on their faces. James removed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He belonged in a magazine for business professionals. He belonged in the bed of a super model.

  Mia swallowed, chasing away the feelings that had begun to thrust themselves through her. You’re just drunk, she told herself. She backed up against the desk and leaned her head back, heavy. It has nothing to do with him. Or his body. Or the gruffness of his voice.

  James gestured upward, toward the Christmas lights. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that,” he said.

  Mia allowed her face to fall in her hands. She’d almost forgotten. She’d fastened a single piece of mistletoe in the center of the room, tucked between the tinsel that hung from the ceiling.

  It was one of her favorite parts of Christmas. She remembered how her adoptive parents had hugged her beneath it when she was fourteen, the same year she’d been adopted: such a reassurance that they loved her, and that they also loved each other. They were meant to be together.

  “Oops! I didn’t think you’d see it.”

  James shook his head slowly. “You know I notice everything. It’s kind of my job.”

  “As a fellow journalist, I suppose I can appreciate that,” Mia whispered. She gave him a subtle grin.

  “I noticed the mistletoe, the same way I’ve noticed you all these years. Don’t think I haven’t,” James said.

  Had he really said that? Mia broke eye contact immediately, trying to process this. He’d noticed her, too? Sure, she’d always seen him. That smile. That confidence that seemed to permeate throughout the hallways. He had always been frustratingly attractive. And now, he was right there, before her.

  “I just think mistletoe’s important,” Mia whispered, changing the subject. “It’s the perfect reminder of what Christmas really means. That you should hold the people you love the closest to your heart. That you should keep them. That you shouldn’t take anyone for granted.”

  “Are you sure? Because I was always pretty sure that it just meant I was allowed to make out with whoever I wanted at the college party,” James joked.

  Mia swatted at him playfully. “All right, already. No romance for you.”

  “Never,” James said. “I wouldn’t be caught dead falling in love. Let alone under the mistletoe.”

  Mia felt her heart jump in her chest, then. She felt her body moving toward James’. Impulsively, she pressed her lips onto his, eliminating any distance between them.

  The kiss stretched out for many moments before Mia pulled away, unsure of herself.

  James grinned at her. “What was that for?” he whispered.

  “You said you’d noticed me,” she whispered back, blushing slightly. “This was my affirmation that I noticed you, too. Besides, it’s mistletoe. It wouldn’t be right if no one kissed beneath it this Christmas.”

  James’ laughter was like music. “You remember it’s April 10, don’t you, Mia?”

  “It’s December 25,” Mia corrected with a wink, returning that cocky look.

  He smiled and leaned toward her, pressing his lips against hers and kissing her deeper, more passionately than before. She felt her stomach clench with need and desire for him. Around them, the Christmas lights twinkled. James wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. Her breasts pressed up against his chest. She wrapped her legs around his waist and breathed in the scent of him.

  “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he whispered in her ear.

  She dove into more kisses, swiping her fingers beneath his shirt and feeling his rippling muscles. He ripped her blazer from her shoulders, inhaling the perfume on her neck, before dipping his fingers to her buttons and unbuttoning them one by one. Mia let out a sigh as he unhooked her bra and pressed his naked chest against hers.

  “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Mia Daniels,” he said, and she allowed herself to believe him.

  They kissed as the moon rose high in the sky outside the window, illuminating the room with beams of silver light. They drew their bodies together with certainty and lust and made passionate love right there on the floor, beneath the mistletoe, surrounded by their tossed-away clothing and twinkling tinsel.

  When it was over, James wrapped drunken arms around Mia, exhaling in satisfaction. Sweat dripped from their necks, their backs. A fine line of moisture made its way down James’ sternum, and Mia gazed as it glittered in the Christmas lights. She watched as his tired, drunken eyes drifted into slumber, and then she allowed herself to fall, as well.

  She nestled her head onto his shoulder and moved onto her side, joining them together, just two bodies. She willed her heart to stop beating so quickly; she willed her brain to stop its g
reat chorus of exclamation and excitement. She joined him in the dream world. And she hoped, beyond anything else, that everything could go on just like this, into eternity.

  FIVE

  Mia awoke the next morning, still wrapped in James’ arms. She put her fingers to her temples, feeling waves of hangover wash over her. She felt sticky and hot. The Christmas decorations looked rather sad in the light of the morning. April 11, she reminded herself. Not the day after Christmas. She was just as loony as Christopher Parsons.

  As she eased herself into reality, James woke up as well. He jerked up, his arm still caught behind Mia’s head. He tugged her hair slightly. “Oh…sorry.” He halted his rapid motion and removed his arm carefully. He brought his hands to his head and dabbed at his sweating brow. “Man. I am so hungover.”

  “Join the club,” Mia offered. Her voice was tentative, carrying none of the confident tones of her news anchor voice. She lifted herself just high enough to see the window. “It’s not snowing anymore, at least,” she said.

  “What a miracle. Maybe I can actually get to Chicago today,” James said. He raised himself up on his feet, standing naked before her.

  Mia tried not to look, to give him privacy. She couldn’t get a sense for his feelings. Clearly, there was a wall between them now; had they built it by sleeping together?

  “Maybe I can actually get home,” she said quietly.

  James had begun to swing his legs into boxer shorts, and she followed suit, stringing her thong up her legs and lifting her bra from the ground.

  James dressed in a moment, looking smart as usual, despite having slept on an office floor. He brushed his fingers across his tie, gazing down at it, unable to quite meet Mia’s eyes. “You really know how to do Christmas. Yesterday, when I approached you about that guy—”

  “Christopher Parsons.”

  “Right. The old loony. When I approached you about him, I just thought you’d brush it off. I didn’t know I was looking to start a fight with the number one Christmas advocate in the United States.”

  “Just continental. There’s someone more obsessed in Hawaii. But we keep in touch.”

  “Good to hear it,” James said, stifling a smile. “I did have a swell time. I’d say it was one of the better Christmas celebrations I’ve ever had.”

  “The cookies weren’t exactly up to par,” Mia explained, pushing a stray curl of hair behind her ear. “I make a mean plate of Christmas cookies, generally. It’s a shame I couldn’t go all out.”

  “Well. You couldn’t have known what the night would bring…” James shrugged his shoulders. “But anyway.” He gestured to his desk. “I was thinking I might need to make a few calls. It’s nearly eight, which means it’s already too late in the Chicago office.”

  “Right,” Mia said, nodding abruptly. Her heart felt strained. “I’ll take down the decorations—”

  But James just shook his head. “I’ll have one of the cleaners put this stuff away. You go home and take a nap. I’m sure sleeping on the floor all night did nothing good for your back; it sure didn’t for mine,” he sighed.

  Mia bit her lip, sensing that he wanted her to be gone. She was a stranger in his office now, when the previous day, she’d been a welcomed guest. It was strange how swiftly things changed.

  She swallowed dryly, avoiding his gaze. “Well. Thanks for keeping me company in the snowstorm,” she said as she backed up to the door and wrapped her fingers around the handle. “I’ll see you around, I suppose.”

  James was looking down at the papers on his desk, sifting through them, unaware that Mia was still at the door.

  Mia’s eyes were lost in the beginnings of tears. With a small, sharp intake of breath, she spoke again. “Hey, James?”

  “What is it?” he asked her. He hardly looked up from his work. He reminded her, in that moment, of Ebenezer Scrooge.

  “I was wondering if you feel any differently about Christmas. Now that we had this little party.”

  James exhaled out his nose in a kind of laugh. He gave her a playful smile; his beard had grown rough around his mouth, making him appear even more handsome and gruff. Mia felt her insides squeeze together.

  Sensing she wouldn’t hear the answer she wanted, Mia watched as James snuck his head back to his notes. She took three tentative steps toward the center of the room, her eyes on him the entire time, before lifting her arm upwards, toward the ceiling. She nabbed the mistletoe, which hung naked in the morning light. She felt she couldn’t part with such an essential memento of her evening. She tucked it into her blazer’s pocket before darting from the room and into the hallway. She pushed the door closed behind her and exhaled, leaning heavily against it.

  Thankfully, no one appeared in the hallway on either side of her. If someone had seen, she knew the rumor mill would begin, and that would negate her entire plan. She hadn’t wanted to sleep her way up the ranks; she hadn’t wanted to use anything but her smarts and know-how to elevate her career.

  She felt sweat gleaming at her brow and frustration growing in her heart. Suppressing tears, she pinched herself to ensure she was focused enough to drive.

  Mia shuffled toward the stairway. She glanced out the window as she walked, noting that the snow had melted a great deal since the night before. The ground had been too warm to allow much sticking, and so they would bounce back to spring, as if nothing had happened.

  She leafed through her purse and grabbed her keys, jangling them slightly. As she tapped down the steps, she yearned to hear James’ voice at the top of the steps—calling out to her, forcing her to stop. She yearned for him to say he wanted to talk. That he really did appreciate Christmas now, especially because it was linked to her. That the night had been as meaningful to him as it had been for her. But she knew these were crazy things to ask for. She needed to buck up, to concentrate on her position at the company, and forget this had ever happened.

  Plus, it wasn’t like she hadn’t had to pretend before. As she sat behind the wheel of her jeep, easing it from the parking lot, she remembered her first fourteen years of life. Throughout every year at the children’s home, she’d had to push bad memories far back in her mind. She’d grown accustomed to pretending that everything was all right. She could do it again if she had to.

  But as she drove back to her Portland apartment, she felt an aching in her heart. In the previous few years, she hadn’t dated much. She’d told her adoptive mother that she just wanted to focus on herself, and that boys her age were too immature, too unfocused. Especially in Portland, where hipsters walked down the streets, taking lazy, long strides in their skinny jeans, focusing only on which pint of craft beer they would drink next. It wasn’t exactly overflowing with personable, yet successful and professionally minded men.

  Mia parked her car in front of her apartment block, yanking her briefcase from the backseat and thrusting herself toward the door. Her back ached from the night’s sleep on the floor, and her thoughts felt out-of-tune, slippery with the hangover. She was reminded of college, when hangovers had caused her to spend days in bed, ordering pizzas with her roommates and keeping the lights dimmed low.

  She opened the door to her apartment with a shaky, tired hand and entered, tossing her bag to the floor and throwing her shoes, one after another, into the corner. She tapped the power button on the TV remote, allowing SNO News to blare on the screen. She liked to see the upper crust perform the news when possible. She liked to practice her articulation while she collapsed on her couch at home.

  Mia found herself dialing the local pizza place, following the same, sad route she so often had as a university student. The boy on the other end, surely only seventeen years old, asked her what her order was, his tone bored. Surely, he had better things to do. Surely, she did, too.

  “Just a large pepperoni pizza,” she whispered into the phone, surprised at how friendly her voice sounded. It was like the escapades of the previous 24 hours had literally knocked the wind out of her. She no longer recognized herself.
“For delivery.”

  “We have your address in the system, ma’am,” the kid told her. “Your total is eighteen dollars. It’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

  “So fast,” she said into the phone.

  “That’s because it’s only 10:30 in the morning, ma’am. People don’t normally order pizza so early.”

  “Oh.”

  She ended the call, feeling her heart drop into her stomach. She found herself canceling out the news anchor’s voice, closing her eyes. Her skin still smelt of James Chance, assuring her that it had all really happened. That he had kissed her so passionately. That he had moved over her, breathed soft words into her ear. The night hadn’t been imagined. For a mere moment, she had been worthy of him.