Into Santa: A Secret Billionaire Christmas Romance

by Barnes, Becca

  “Hmm.” She studied it. “Oh! I forgot to close the bracket.”

  “Yup.”

  Amelia fixed it, and the app rewarded her with a celebratory noise.

  “Good job,” I said.

  “Thanks!” She glowed in pride.

  “You’re better at teaching than I am,” said Rob. “I always end up fixing it for her, and then my wife gets on to me.”

  “I remember what it was like to learn. I guess it’s like any new language.”

  “I suppose so.” Rob pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced at it. “Just waiting on my wife to finish up some last-minute shopping.”

  “I suppose Amelia’s too old to tell Santa what she wants for Christmas.”

  “She wants gift cards.” He rolled his eyes but looked over Nate’s direction anyway.

  His eyebrows rose in surprise.

  “You didn’t tell me…” Rob jerked his head over toward Nate and raised his eyebrows even higher.

  “Huh?”

  The little girl Lizzy, who’d been busy rattling off her wish list to Nate, had finally finished and wandered off with her mother. There weren’t any more kids in line.

  Rob skirted past the rope and extended his hand toward Nate, who looked like a reindeer caught in the headlights.

  “This is the last place I thought I’d see you, sir,” said Rob. “I don’t think you ever met my daughter Amelia.”

  “Ho ho. Santa knows everyone,” chortled Nate in his Santa voice, but he still looked like he was ready to squirm straight off of his oversized green velvet armchair.

  What was going on?

  “Oh, sorry. Of course.” Rob made an exaggerated wink at him and lowered his voice to a whisper, but I could still hear everything he said, standing two feet behind him. “I just wanted to thank you for everything you did for me and my family during the lay-off.”

  Huh?

  “Pish posh.” Nate boomed, more Santa-like than ever. He looked like he wanted to crawl into his toy sack then and there.

  “I mean it,” said Rob. “I can’t ever thank you enough, Mr. Crainfield.”

  Crainfield?

  My breath caught in my throat, and I cocked my head to the side, begging Nate to correct Rob’s error. But he didn’t.

  “You don’t need to thank me for anything,” he said quietly, in his own voice. “And call me Nate.”

  I tried to will my feet to move or my tongue to form words, but they were both hopelessly frozen.

  Rob’s wife waved at him from across the way, and he patted me on the arm as he passed, wishing me good luck. I let out a weak grunt in reply.

  “Jen,” said Nate, once they’d left, “I can explain.”

  “Don’t.” I backed away, wrapping my red cardigan around me tightly. “Don’t you dare utter a word, Nathaniel Crainfield.”

  I turned on my heels and dashed toward the break room. Todd uttered a yelp as I walked in on him nuking a bag of popcorn.

  “What are you doing? We still have two hours left,” he said. “It’s a week before Christmas.”

  “I feel sick.” Not a lie. “I’m sorry. I need to head home.”

  I grabbed my bag out of my locker without bothering to change back into my clothes.

  “But what am I supposed to—?”

  “Here.” I tossed him my elf hat as I fished my keys out of my purse.

  The kids weren’t there for an elf anyway. They were there for Santa.

  The filthy, lying rat bastard billionaire.

  Twelve

  Hell hath no fury like an elf scorned.

  I’d already shoved the Monopoly game back into its box. I’d crumpled half the cards and dollar bills as I crammed it all in, but I didn’t care. It’s not like I’d be finishing the game anytime soon. Or ever.

  I’d spent the next couple hours fury-cleaning my house. Not that anyone would be coming over anytime soon. Or ever.

  But at least the frenzy of activity had calmed me down somewhat.

  As soon as my hands had stopped shaking enough to write, I pulled out my checkbook and filled out a check in the amount that had been mysteriously deposited into my account. Down to the last penny.

  No mystery left there. Nathaniel Crainfield had felt bad for me after my tires needed replacing and he’d pulled some strings in HR.

  Why not? Pay some cash. Make all your problems go away.

  Well, I was no one’s kept woman.

  I scribbled out the address and put an extra stamp on the envelope for good measure.

  Nate tried to call the minute the mall had closed, but I didn’t answer. He kept trying to call repeatedly for the next half hour. Fuming, I knew he was driving over to my house, that he’d be at my doorstep in T-minus three, two, one…

  Ding dong.

  I leaned back next to the front door, my spine pressed to the wall.

  I’d have to face him eventually.

  And if I were being honest with myself, I had some blaring, glaring questions that I wanted answered sooner rather than later.

  Namely, what the damn hell?

  He had told me his name was Nate James. Try as I might, I couldn’t remember if he told me that before or after I’d told him that I used to work for Crainfield Industries. The place from which he’d fired me.

  And then proceeded to woo me knowing full well that he had fired me.

  Which took me straight back to…

  What the ever-lovin’ damn hell?

  What kind of a creep does something like that?

  That one was hard because nothing about Nate to this point had suggested he was a creep. But lying about your identity is one huge red flag.

  The next question was a little more nuanced, a little more rhetorical. How could I and why would I ever trust another thing he told me?

  Short answer: I couldn’t and I wouldn’t.

  Long answer: Oh, hell to the no, I couldn’t and I wouldn’t. Never. Not ever.

  I peeked through my peep hole, not sure what to expect on his expression. Smugness? Contrition?

  Oh, crap.

  I winced.

  Whatever I’d expected, I hadn’t been braced for him looking like a baby seal who’d been clubbed half to death.

  I took a deep breath and opened the door.

  His eyes were stained bloodshot. His cheeks, void of color. He’d stripped off his coat, but he still wore the red pants and suspenders that held them up.

  Shivering there on my front porch in his white undershirt, his biceps straining against the thin fabric of the sleeves with his hands dug deep in his pockets while he stared at the ground…

  Well, it had the unfortunate effect of being freaking sexy.

  It changed nothing.

  But hot damn.

  It wasn’t fair.

  He was unreasonably sexy.

  Why couldn’t he have sprouted a third ear in the middle of his forehead or developed a huge paunch in the last few hours? Anything but looking like he’d taken a heavy beating with the sexystick and lost the battle while winning the war.

  But then again, he was Nathaniel Crainfield. He never lost at anything.

  We both stood there for a few moments in silence. I didn’t move to invite him in, and he didn’t move to invite himself in.

  I took another deep breath and tried to clear my head.

  “So,” I said, “I don’t really know what to say.”

  “I don’t either,” he admitted.

  “You lied to me,” I said. “About who you are.”

  “Technically, no.” He took a step back when he caught the angry glint that probably flashed across my eyes like a lightning bolt.

  “Technically, no,” he repeated. “But I realize that technicalities aren’t very helpful in this current situation.”

  He wrapped his arms around his chest. His fingers were starting to turn blue. Even as furious as I was, I didn’t need a billionaire’s hypothermia on my head.

  “Come in,” I said grudgingly and grabbed a blanket
off my couch to wrap around him.

  “Thanks.” He edged inside. Fran rushed up to him and nuzzled her muzzle into his crotch, the little traitor.

  He patted her on the head and motioned to the sofa.

  “Do you mind if I sit down?” he asked.

  “Fine.” I didn’t join him. I stayed standing there right next to the door, radiating a you’re-not-welcome vibe as clearly as I could.

  “I have a lot I need to explain,” he said.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “Who doesn’t introduce himself to his co-worker with a fake name and then lie about the fact that he had fired her from her former job, all while seducing her?”

  “I didn’t actually give you a fake name,” he said.

  “Oh, that’s rich. I mean, not as rich as you are, obviously. I’m especially curious about the truck. Do you get off on slumming it with the unwashed masses? Or just with me?” I threw my hands up in the air. “Oh, and the name thing. What is ‘James,’ your middle name or something? Or simply a random name you came up with on the spot?”

  “My legal name is Nathaniel Crainfield. I do business under that name. Nobody calls me Nathaniel but the newspapers and magazines. And I grew up Nate James. When my parents died and my sister and I moved in with my Nana, it was hard having to explain to everyone I met why we had a different name from her. It was like it opened the grief wound fresh every time I had to introduce myself. So I decided to go by her last name, my mom’s maiden name. James. My sister Tori did the same thing. She still goes by James. When I started my business, I knew I’d be introducing myself from scratch, and I wanted to honor my dad’s memory. So I started going by Crainfield again. But when I head home, when I’m with my family and my friends, I’m plain, old Nate James.

  “Honestly, I don’t even know why I introduced myself to you as Nate James. The only way I can explain it is that I sensed something about you from the get-go that I wanted to be me with you.”

  “You told me you work for a cable company,” I pointed out.

  “I do work for a cable company.”

  “No. You own a fiber optics cable company. Namely, the largest fiber optics company in the southeastern United States. You employ thousands of people. One of whom used to be me.”

  “True.” He squinched up his face all cute, and I wanted to smack that cuteness right off of it. “Still cable, though.”

  “Unbelievable.” Literally. How could I believe anything he told me?

  “Look, Jen, that’s what I tell people when I want to keep things simple and not be Nathaniel Crainfield, CEO and titan of industry.”

  “No. You look. I don’t know what kind of game you were playing, but a lot has happened since that first day we met. Maybe you introduced yourself as Nate James innocently. And maybe you told me you worked for a cable company to keep things simple. But we’ve spent so much time together since then. We’ve kissed. And made out. And at the wedding, if Millicent hadn’t been in my room, we would have…”

  I closed my eyes as I felt the heat of embarrassment creep up my cheeks.

  “Oh, my gosh,” I said. “It was you. You paid for the hotel rooms.”

  He didn’t deny it.

  “Your intentions may have started out well and good,” I said, “but you’ve known this whole time that I used to work for you. You’ve known that you fired me. And you’ve kept silent.”

  “I know,” he said, “and I’m so sorry.”

  “You may have enjoyed your fun little fake romance, but I developed real feelings for you, Nate.”

  “I have real feelings for you, too, Jen. I kept trying to find the right time to tell you, and it kept turning into the wrong time. And, truthfully, I didn’t want to tell you because I knew it would change things, and I can’t tell you how amazing it’s been to just be Nate James with you. I’ve been able to be the real me with you. You’ve gotten to know the real me.”

  “I don’t know you at all.”

  He jerked back like I’d slapped him.

  “I know I can’t make it up to you, but--”

  “Let me stop you right here. Is this the sweet scene where you assure me that if you’d known me while I still worked for you, you never would have laid me off? And then you’re going to swoop in and offer me my position back at Crainfield Industries? I might need to sit down so I don’t accidentally swoon.”

  “I’m not offering you your job back, Jen.” He raised his eyebrows. “And if I had to do it all over again, I most certainly would have laid you off.”

  Wow.

  “Goodbye, Nate.” I held the door open.

  “Wait a minute. Would you let me explain what I mean by that?”

  “Goodbye.”

  I slammed the door behind him. His truck hadn’t left my driveway before I’d crumpled to the ground in tears.

  Thirteen

  I don’t know about a white Christmas, but we were definitely having an icy week. It was like a Cold War had silently erupted in the mall’s North Pole. Nate and I stayed polite in front of the children--to be honest, they were the sole reason I hadn’t quit outright--but I wouldn’t even go into the break room with him. I put on my elf costume in the Dress Barn changing rooms and ate my nightly peanut butter sandwich for dinner down in the food court.

  Todd had no idea what was going on between us. But after a single attempt at negotiating a truce, he gave up and said, “Just keep a smile on in front of the kids.”

  Easier said than done. Anytime I caught myself looking at Nate in my peripheral vision (totally on accident, I swear), it was all I could do to keep from tearing up or lobbing a candy cane at his perfectly chiseled face hidden under that beard.

  For his part, Nate didn’t make any more insulting insinuations about my unhirability. I’d give him that.

  That was about all I’d give him.

  Why would he need anything I could offer him anyway? He was a billionaire who already owned half of freaking Atlanta.

  I had googled him. I know, I know. Pathetic and pointless and dangerous and stupid move.

  He didn’t just live in the biggest penthouse downtown. He owned the hotel in which it was located. Along with three adjacent skyscrapers, seven restaurants, homes in Vail, Paris, London, New York, and beach houses scattered around the world. He boasted land as far as the eye could see in just about any direction you traveled in the South, and the piece de resistance...this very shopping mall.

  That’s right. I had been working for him again without even realizing it.

  Every so often, we had a parent who wanted a picture of their kid with both Santa and his elf. I’d dutifully stand next to him and smile brightly. I wasn’t a complete Grinch.

  As soon as our shift was over, though, I’d throw my jeans on under my skirt and hightail it out of there before Nate had a chance to so much as utter a word to me. I could see his frustration mount as I grew more and more adept at avoiding him.

  Yeah, well. Tough hot toddies. I was equally frustrated. But the worst of it was that I wasn’t frustrated because I still had to see him every day.

  I was frustrated because I still wanted to see him every day. I still looked forward to seeing him every day.

  If I were a normal person, my feelings for him would have evaporated the moment that I’d found out that he’d lied to me. And they would have been long, long gone after he’d told me that if he had it to do over again, he’d still lay me off.

  But apparently, I wasn’t normal.

  That, or I was simply a masochist.

  “Jen,” said Todd as I was heading out the door on the day before Christmas Eve, “would you mind staying a little late tomorrow? We have a group of kids coming in from a local children’s shelter, and we thought it would be better to do it towards the end of the day when things were winding down.”

  “Sure.” It wasn’t like I had anything better to do. Plus, I had genuinely enjoyed talking with the kids in line. There were some that acted entitled and demanding, true. But most were brigh
t, inquisitive, and nice. Amelia hadn’t been the only one who’d been playing that popular coding game, and I always looked forward to helping troubleshoot and answer questions when kids got stuck on it.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll pay a bonus for the extra time.”

  What he meant was that Nate would pay a bonus.

  “No need.” I tipped my chin up and shot a furtive glance in Nate’s direction. He’d just walked in to the break room. His mouth was set in a grim line as he opened his locker.

  “But—”

  “No need,” I repeated, even though it was a total, complete, and utter lie. After sending in the extra funds back to Crainfield and buying a few measly toys for my sister’s kids, I was back to being flat broke. Even paying for gas to drive here and back was a stretch.

  But I’d manage.

  * * *

  “You’re sure you don’t want to come with us?” Annie was curled up on my couch in a ray of warm morning sunshine with Fran warming her feet and Luna snuggled up under her chin. She had brought me a big-ass mocha and was dutifully sipping from her gallon-sized water bottle and nibbling on crackers to keep the nausea at bay. She’d only barfed twice since arriving at my house.

  Progress.

  “Yeah. I’m fine. Seriously.” I was anything but fine. I’d spent half the night tossing and turning and the other half having unwanted thoughts about Nate that would put me square on Santa’s naughty list.

  What was wrong with me?

  Rationally, I should hate him. Or at least dislike him. But underneath my thinning crust of anger, my most frequent thought was simply, “I miss him.”

  I missed talking to him, joking with him. I missed shooting each other meaningful looks in between customers, having entire unspoken conversations with our eyes. I missed driving around with him and eating late night takeout. I missed touching him. I missed holding his hand.

  And Lordy, I missed that man’s kisses.

  “You can’t just stay here by yourself,” said Annie.