The Billionaire's Lessons in Christmas

by Holly Rayner

  Finally, the doorbell rang. Mia lifted her limp body from the couch and meandered toward the door, opening it to reveal a scrawny kid with a Cubs beanie on.

  “We’re not even close to Chicago,” she said groggily, eyeing the hat.

  “My dad’s from there. Your total’s eighteen dollars.”

  Mia leafed out a twenty and thrust it toward him. She took the box and stumbled back indoors, sighing softly as the latch clicked behind her. She made a mental note not to call that pizza place for a while—they already knew too much about her.

  She collapsed on the couch, the pizza box splayed before her. She slipped a piece between her fingers and caught the edge in her mouth, closing her eyes. She remembered the “weight management” instructor that the news anchors had to see every few months, who instructed them never to overindulge on carbohydrates.

  “Not today,” she whispered to herself. She leaned heavily into the cushions, flipping the channels to a romantic comedy. Meg Ryan’s gleaming curls bounced on screen; her eyes dancing as she searched the man’s face, moments before the kiss.

  God. Mia snapped the television off and shoved the pizza box onto her coffee table. She wiped her mouth, feeling disgusting, like the least loveable character in a romantic comedy. The best friend. The one who didn’t win. The one who would never find love.

  Her hangover pounded in her skull. She slunk lower in the couch and allowed herself to drift into a nap, hopeful that all would be well and good by the time she woke up. She would shower. She wouldn’t have to remember what James’ cologne smelled like. And she wouldn’t have to remember that, in the end, he hadn’t picked her. They’d crossed paths for one night only. And that was that.

  SIX

  Throughout the weekend, Mia worked in vain to forget about her night with James. She appeared at the gym bright and early both days. She bolted through sprints on the treadmill; she lifted ten-pound weights with two shivering hands. She met up with her previous trainer to discuss her “fitness goals”, and she cleaned her entire apartment top to bottom, opting for an old toothbrush to really dig into some of the hard-to-reach kitchen areas. She thought about calling her adoptive mom to catch up, but then she remembered that her mother would call her out immediately. “You only clean when you’re upset,” her mother would say. And she’d be right. With every movement, with every sprint and every scrub, Mia couldn’t get James off her mind.

  Outside, April had come back, almost full-force, causing the snow to melt away almost as fast as it had come. The sun filtered in through her drapes as she dressed for her Monday morning call time.

  In spite of herself, Mia had James on her mind as she selected her outfit: a deep purple blazer with a low-cut blouse beneath it. Silver drop earrings, which made her eyes look bright, youthful. She made her bed and sat for a moment on the fluffed comforter, her head in her hands, wondering if he’d even attend the shoot that day. She knew he needed to get to Chicago. For all she knew, he might be there already.

  Mia scrambled to her jeep a few minutes behind schedule, knowing that Theresa would have her tail if she were late for makeup. Theresa kept a tight ship, and even the top news anchors knew to stay in line. She wished she was able to be as mentally strong as her best friend right now.

  She parked her car in her usual parking spot, darting straight to the kitchen to snag a cup of coffee before jogging back up the steps to the newsroom. She forced her eyes away from James’ office door, which was closed, and continued toward Theresa’s. She wasn’t yet sure she wanted to tell her friend about what had happened with James—at least, not yet. She might want to bury it deep within her, like those secrets you knew your grandmother kept about her youth; she didn’t want to discuss them, and maybe you didn’t really want to know, either.

  When Mia entered the makeup room, Theresa directed her toward a side chair as she completed the makeup of Mia’s consistent co-anchor, Charles, who had been on vacation for the last two weeks.

  “Charles! How was Jamaica?” Mia asked, sipping her coffee, careful to open her mouth a bit wider so as not to stain her teeth.

  “Oh, Mia. Hey! I didn’t see you come in. Theresa’s being harsh on my face today.”

  “I told you to wear sunscreen, Charles. That was the only thing I told you to do!” Theresa sighed, slapping herself on the thigh. “And you come back looking like a lobster.”

  “I’m sorry, Theresa. I couldn’t help it. Melanie kept me in the ocean far too long.”

  “You tell that wife of yours that I want to have a word with her,” Theresa said, exasperated. “There’s only so much I can do.”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much; I always look like a slob sitting next to Mia.”

  “And with James in town, no less,” Theresa said, shaking her head.

  Mia felt her throat close. Her eyes danced between them, but it was clear that her colleagues weren’t discussing James because of her. Word hadn’t gotten out.

  “Oh, James is around? I heard he’d already left for Chicago,” Charles said. He got up from his chair, sufficiently done up, and gave Mia a broad smile. His face was perfectly symmetrical, like a brunette Ken doll. He and his wife, Melanie, had only recently got married; Jamaica had been their honeymoon.

  “He couldn’t make it,” Mia found herself saying, her voice tentative. “I mean. The flight was canceled.”

  Theresa and Charles shared a brief glance. “Oh. So you were still around the office? I thought you’d left,” Theresa said. She busied herself with her brushes, tossing powder through the air in great puffs. “Go ahead, darling. Sit down.”

  Mia dropped onto the makeup chair, digging her nails into her palms. “So. He didn’t leave this weekend, then?” she asked tentatively.

  Theresa gave her a curious expression. “Nope. He’s been in his office all morning, but I did see him when he came in. Seemed stressed, as usual, but didn’t give me any sass. He wouldn’t have been able to take my reply, anyway. I just can’t handle that sarcasm anymore. Not from him, or anyone.” She shrugged.

  “Makes sense. You’re a strong woman,” Charles said, somewhere behind Mia. She felt cool foundation being brushed on her cheeks as Theresa got to work.

  “Darn right, I’m strong,” Theresa teased. “Lift your chin, girlie.”

  Mia did as she was told, allowing herself to fall into thought. James was merely yards away, potentially standing on the precise spot on which they’d made love.

  She swallowed. “Do you ever wonder why he cares so much about this station, anyway? I mean, so many of the others under Chance Media are much bigger, with bigger audiences.”

  “Yeah, but you know, this was his first,” Charles said, shrugging his shoulders. “He started this channel when he was 22 years old, and it’s like his baby. He puts as much time and energy into this place as he does anywhere else across the nation. It’s nuts, isn’t it? But also kind of sweet.” Charles winked at them both.

  Theresa rolled her eyes. “Sure. Sweet. But I think we’d all like it if he’d leave us alone sometimes,” she affirmed. “Right, Mia? Like the other day; I ran out of there when I was sure he was about to talk to us. Did you get trapped?”

  “He just had a few notes on my report,” Mia said, her voice soft. She tried to shake from her reverie, then. “And in fact, I think we’re running a bit late. Am I nearly done?”

  “Almost,” Theresa said. She stenciled perfect eyeliner across Mia’s eyelids before sweeping mascara up her lashes. “Okay. Good to go.”

  Mia lifted herself up from the seat, tapping lightly on her heels and following Charles out onto set. She felt confident and strong as she searched the crowd of cameramen. As far as she could tell, James was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he would sit this one out. Perhaps he meant to give her space.

  Charles and Mia sat in their respective chairs, each donning their microphones.

  “How’s the face. One last check?” Charles asked her, tipping his head.

  “You look beautiful, Charles,
” Mia laughed. “And me?”

  “A bit soggy as always, my darling,” he said, grinning at her.

  “You’re horrible.”

  “And we’ll go into the next segment now,” Jeff, the head cameraman called out. “Ready? Five, four, three, two—” he shot his finger toward them, alerting them that the camera was rolling and they were live. Beneath the heat of the lights, Mia started sweating.

  “Hello, and welcome to SNO News daily weather. I’m Charles Bannon.”

  “And I’m Mia Daniels,” Mia said brightly. She felt herself fall into the ease of her news anchor voice. “Charles, what does the forecast tell us today?”

  Charles launched into his well-practiced lines. “As you all probably saw, we reached record snowfalls for April here in Portland. Eight inches fell on Friday, but nearly none of that stuck. Mia, can we expect further snowfall as we move toward May?”

  “Actually, Charles, it seems that will be the last of our late-late winter weather as this weekend finds highs of nearly 60 degrees. I think it’s time to exchange those snow boots to your spring hiking boots and get out there and smell the roses.” She gave her best winning smile, then.

  As Charles swept on into a bit about how schools had canceled classes the previous Friday, something caught Mia’s eye behind the cameras. She squinted slightly, realizing that James had appeared in the half-darkness behind the production crew. His eyes were intent and entirely upon her. She felt heat in her cheeks—she wanted to clear her throat—but she was on camera, meant to speak in only a few moments.

  Charles finished his section on the teleprompter and Mia glanced toward hers, urging herself to concentrate. After a few too many moments passed, Charles swept his eyes toward her, completing the broadcast for her as she sat wordlessly.

  “And have a wonderful sunny week here in Portland. Put those boots away!”

  “I know I will,” Mia said, finally finding her voice.

  “CUT,” came Jeff’s voice once more. The cameras were off; the broadcast was over. He gestured angrily toward Mia. “What was that about?”

  “I’m sorry,” Mia scrambled. “I couldn’t find the words.”

  Jeff scoffed. “What does that even mean? That better be the first and last time, Mia.”

  “It will be.” She felt meek, tired. She turned her attention back behind the production crew, certain she would see James’ face peering back at her, but he was nowhere to be found.

  “All right. All right. Let’s regroup during commercial. The next segment’s about the ballet recital on the west side. It’s all you, Mia, so I don’t want any of this ‘I can’t read’ B.S. Can we get Theresa up here with makeup?”

  Mia felt like crawling up into a ball under the counter. The fact that James had stood there, had watched her flub up—it was nearly too much to bear. She felt naked in front of him all over again. But this time, it felt like he had rejected her.

  Theresa rushed toward her as Charles stepped away from the front news desk. She brought her brush to Mia’s cheeks and touched up her makeup tenderly, with light strokes. “What’s gotten into you, honey? Do you feel okay?” she whispered. Behind her, the production crew had begun twittering, falling into commercial break laughter. “That didn’t seem like a mistake you would make. You’re a professional, Mia.”

  “I know,” Mia grumbled. She felt her stomach flip over. “Don’t remind me.”

  Theresa looked at her with stern eyes. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

  “Nothing’s really going on,” Mia whispered. “I just got nervous because I saw James watching me. You know. It was too much pressure or something.”

  Theresa nodded, her left eyebrow rising high. “I see. Well, you don’t have to worry about him anymore. He bailed, left set. They said he’s on his way to Chicago for the meeting he missed the other day. We probably won’t see him for weeks now; guess that means you won’t have to worry about messing up again anytime soon.”

  “I hope so,” Mia whispered.

  Inwardly, she felt like she’d been slapped. James had simply skipped town without saying anything to her, without acknowledging the time they’d spent together. She remembered how joyous she’d felt when he’d gotten into her charade game. She felt he’d revealed a very special, very intimate part of himself. And now, he’d negated their entire day. She felt robbed. And, beyond anything, she knew there wouldn’t be a “next time” for them. He had probably swatted the memory away like a fly.

  “Thirty seconds till we’re back on the air, Mia,” Jeff called out. His robust cheeks jiggled as he spoke.

  “Good luck up there,” Theresa said, lightly touching up her nose. “And remember: Sir James isn’t watching you anymore. You’re totally fine. Just keep your head up.”

  “Thanks, Theresa,” Mia whispered. Her stomach stirred, and tears swelled in her eyes. At this rate, she would be a mess on the air.

  As Jeff did the countdown, however, and her words were drawn up on the teleprompter, Mia found herself rising to the occasion, just as she normally did. She felt her vocal chords revving into each word as she spoke about the ballet recital. And she delivered the send-off before commercial with certainty, without pause, almost as if she weren’t a 25-year-old woman nursing a broken heart.

  Jeff applauded her as the cameras clicked off, and she rose from her seat, giving him a slight nod.

  “Thanks, Jeff. And sorry about earlier. It won’t happen again.”

  “I know it won’t. Because you’re my champ,” Jeff said, snapping his fingers toward her. “We need you. The people of Portland need you. And those ballerinas—they need you most of all.”

  Mia gave him a false smile, her gaze fixed on his awful teeth, cinched there between bulbous cheeks. She held herself back from rising to the bait.

  She swept her hair off the back of her neck and headed to her office, where she could hide until lunchtime. Maybe then, she’d drive herself back to her tiny apartment and cry into that box of leftover pizza.

  Or perhaps, she’d do the appropriate thing: drink a green smoothie, remind herself who she was. She had started from the very bottom, an orphan in a rough system, and now she was a news anchor, at the sunrise of her career. She couldn’t allow a man to distract her now. Not in a million years.

  SEVEN

  Two weeks later, Mia sat in her usual place in the makeup room, with Theresa before her, organizing her various brushes and babbling away. Theresa had been married for a few years, and generally, her chatter about her outside life involved complaints about her husband. Mia listened ravenously, wishing herself into what she thought of as a very quaint, very adorable environment. The last time she’d been at Theresa and Jack’s apartment, she’d curled up on their couch, a large throw pillow on her lap, enclosed in the warmth of the house. She knew the warmth in their home was pure, stemming from Jack and Theresa’s love for each other.

  “You know, I love him. I really do,” Theresa mumbled in the corner of the makeup office, sharpening an eyeliner pencil. “But I swear to God, if he doesn’t start putting down the toilet seat, I’m going to kill him. You always say at the beginning of a relationship that it won’t bother you. You don’t see the little things, you know. They don’t matter yet. But then, suddenly, you’re two years into the marriage, and you want to take their head off because they didn’t put the dirty dish in the sink instead of next to it. Maybe it’s just a part of getting older. I don’t know.” She looked at Mia, her expression mock-serious. “Don’t ever get married.”

  Mia tossed up both her hands, giving a slight grimace. “Not that I have any takers, but okay, I promise.”

  “That’s silly, honey. You’re gorgeous. Look at you. Speaking of which, Jack and I were discussing setting you up with our good friend, Roger. Would you be open to something like that?”

  “A blind date?” Mia asked. She tipped her head left. “I don’t think I’m quite ready yet, actually.”

  “Oh, he’s great, Mia. You’d really like him.
We met him in college. He’s an artist. Into painting and activism, actually. So very much your type. He didn’t understand how we could waste our nights at the bar when there was a whole world out there to be saving.” Theresa chuckled. “Doesn’t that sound like someone you’d want to take home with you?”

  “Sounds inspiring,” Mia teased. “But I don’t know. I’m kind of off guys at the moment. I think I need to focus on myself for a little while.”

  Theresa gave her a look. “Now, I know that’s the expression you tell your mom when you haven’t met anyone in a while, but you don’t have to use it with me. What’s going on, honey?”

  Mia should have known she couldn’t escape the eye of Theresa. She swallowed, feeling a catch in her throat, but she wasn’t prepared to discuss James. Whenever his name came up at work, she felt her entire spine freeze. She felt her brain fog, and anger riddle through her.