“I won’t be by myself.” I gestured to the dogs.
“You know what I mean.”
“I know, I know. But I have to work late tonight anyway. I don’t want to keep you guys. Speaking of which, you need to get going.” They were only headed up to Knoxville where Annie’s parents lived, but Christmas Eve traffic was going to be murder if they didn’t get on the road soon.
“I know. And I have to pee every five minutes, so this should be an adventure.”
“Have fun,” I said as I helped her up. “Give Aunt Millicent a big hug for me. I’m the most upset that I won’t get to spend the holiday with her.”
We both laughed.
“She’ll be very, very sad to hear that things didn’t work out with Nate,” said Annie, then added in a serious voice, “I am, too.”
“Please.” I put my hands on my hips. “You’re only mad that you won’t get any free ski trips to Vail.”
“Ahh. Don’t forget Paris.” She bit her lip. “But that’s not why I’m sad. You and Nate seemed to just...fit.”
“I don’t fit with a billionaire, Annie. Honestly, can you picture me living some crazy jet-setting lifestyle with the rich and famous?”
“No,” she answered honestly. “But I can’t picture Nate doing that either. I can picture you being happy with him, though.”
“He lied to me.”
“Yup. He did. And only you can decide whether or not you can forgive him for that.” She took both my hands and squeezed. “I’m more worried about you lying to yourself.”
“You’re the worst.”
“I love you, too. Merry Christmas.”
Fourteen
The day inched by excruciatingly slow. It was easier when we had a steady flow of kids come by, but that dropped off early afternoon. Late afternoon was filled with desperate last-minute shoppers--mostly men--sifting through the leftover scraps in the stores, looking for that perfect gift that would say, “Hey, babe, I promise I didn’t forget about you until one hour before the mall closed.”
Good luck with that.
Once the final shoppers left, I heard a commotion at one of the entrances. Dozens of people, all dressed in festive sweaters appeared out of seemingly thin air. They came armed with five Christmas trees, mountains of gorgeously wrapped presents, squishy sofas, tables, chairs, tons of food, toys, and even a working electric fireplace.
“What’s going on?” I turned to face Nate, breaking my silent treatment out of sheer shock.
“My own personal army of elves,” he said as they transformed the middle of the mall into a cozy living room.
“I don’t understand.”
“I know how hard the holidays can be when it comes to represent loss. All those kids in the shelter have had some kind of trauma in their lives. When the rest of the world is celebrating with their families and friends and that’s all you see on T.V. and in the movies...I don’t know. I just wanted to make sure that they know that they’re loved on Christmas.”
“But the people…?”
“All volunteers. Some have been doing it since as long as I’ve been Santa.”
“Are they Crainfield employees?”
“A few C-level and VP’s that have been with me from the beginning, but for the most part, they’re just people who love to spread joy at Christmas.” He shrugged. “I like keeping my little secret, to be honest. Most people assume my leave of absence in December involves exotic beaches and private islands.”
“You don’t like exotic beaches and private islands?” I asked.
“I’d be tempted if there were a cute elf to accompany me.” He wagged his eyebrows, but there was a sadness in his eyes. “But I look forward to my Santa gig all year long.”
“Yeah.”
There was a pile of gifts separate from the ones under the trees.
“What are those for?” I asked.
“I follow up on some of the kids who come to visit Santa and make sure that they get the stuff on their list.”
“Oh.” I patted my chest. Something had clearly gotten lodged in my throat in the last few minutes.
Once the volunteers had turned the area around us into a delightful winter wonderland, they let the kids in.
Their reaction was immediate and amazing. It was pure, unfettered wonder. The lines of worry and anxiety and distress melted from their faces.
I knew they were going back to reality at the end of the night, but in this moment, they felt truly cherished. And I could see why Nate was hooked.
I also couldn’t help but notice that the staff all wore shirts that said, “Crainfield House.”
“So.” I sidled up next to Nate after all the children had had a chance to visit with Santa. “This isn’t the only night a year that you spend with these kids, is it?”
“Nope. We have weekly events planned. We work with a lot of foster families in the area, too. I’m not always able to make it to each one, but I go when I can.”
“Nate—” I had no idea what I wanted to say. It was like a swell of conflicting emotions had been growing in my chest all day, and they all wanted to burst out at once.
“Wait.” He pulled an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to me. “Before you say anything, read this. Please.”
“Okay.”
Another boy--a teenager, way too old to believe in Santa Claus--was hovering around the edge of things and Nate wandered over to him. He didn’t bother to use his booming Santa voice.
“Hey,” he said, “You too cool for Santa or what?”
The kid chuckled but turned red.
They got to talking, and I could tell that they’d met before. One of the employees came over, and the three of them started into a real conversation. Nate wrapped his arm around the boy’s shoulder, and the kid’s defenses visibly melted. I didn’t want to intrude, so I joined a group of elementary age girls cooing over their new Barbies.
The night winded down, and the volunteers had a clear system for cleaning everything up in a flash. They may have donated their time willingly, but I couldn’t help but notice that Santa was handing out envelopes to each one as they passed.
I went back to the break room and changed into my jeans. As I folded my red cardigan, the crumpled envelope fell out of the pocket.
I glanced to the door to see if Nate was coming, but he had been busy chatting with friends.
Opening the envelope, I found three slips of paper inside: the check I’d sent into human resources, a letter, and what appeared to be a Crainfield Industries employee performance evaluation.
My performance evaluation.
A surge of frustration built in me, but I pushed it down. I’d promised Nate I’d read what was in the envelope.
“Dear Jen,” the letter began, “It’s hard to know where to start this. I already let you know why I introduced myself as I did. And holding back my real identity as your former boss was simply stupid. I know that there was no defense for it. I guess that I was hoping that you’d fall as hard for me as I was falling for you and that some magical moment would appear when you somehow knew without me telling you. Looking back, not the best game plan, I know. One might call it insane.
But there’s one thing that I said that I need to explain no matter what. When I said that I wouldn’t hire you again, given the chance, I did mean that. Not because you aren’t amazingly capable and smart and a hard-working employee. I stuck your performance eval in here as proof. You’re incredible. But you hated working for Crainfield. All your evals included that, too. That you seemed bored, unengaged, weren’t living up to your potential.”
I had to pause to let out a huff until I pictured myself sitting in a staff meeting, counting down the milliseconds until I could get back to coding. And even when I was coding, it wasn’t like I was being stretched. It wasn’t like I had...cared.
“I don’t take layoffs lightly, Jen,” he went on. “You were hand-picked because you were so full of potential yet so unengaged. This particular set of layoffs was extra-difficult, but
also necessary. To explain why they were necessary, I’d have to show you. But I make it my personal mission to ensure that ex-employees are taken care of. When I checked to see which of our displacement services you’d utilized--counseling, coaching, job placement--none. So, yes, I had HR send you a check instead. There were extenuating circumstances with your broken ankle. I would have done it with any former employee. I’m not taking that money back. Period.”
For a moment, in my mind’s eye, I could see Nate as a powerful CEO. As someone who wouldn’t take, “no,” for an answer, but also as someone who felt the full weight and pressure of having a huge number of people under his leadership. It was hard to reconcile with the Nate I knew. Hard, and yet, not hard.
After all, the man took care of his elf.
Still, I wondered how lonely that would be, being the man at the top.
And it hit me.
That was why he hadn’t told me. I’d been the first person in who knows how long who he didn’t have to wonder whether they liked him either because of or in spite of his wealth and power. He’d feared that as soon as he let me know who he really was, he’d be alone again.
And I’d proved him correct.
The door opened behind me, but I didn’t turn around. I knew the clomp of his boots, the scent of his aftershave. And when he walked up directly behind me, the feel of his breath on my neck.
“Did you read it all?” he asked.
“Not the last page.”
“But that’s the best part,” he said. “That’s where I reveal the secret to my success and give you the recipe to my grandma’s caramel swirl fudge.”
“Hmm.” I turned slowly to face him. He’d stripped to just his pants and shirt again. Damn sexy. “That secret might be worth a ton of money.”
“I’m just kidding. I’d never reveal her recipe.”
“What does it actually say?”
“A lot of mushy stuff, mostly. Some poetry about your beauty.”
“You mean my boobs?”
“Those, too. I think at one point, there’s some groveling. And about five more, ‘I’m sorry’s.’”
I bit my lip.
“You don’t need to do any groveling,” I said. “I understand now why you didn’t want to share your full identity.”
“That’s the thing. I did want to. I want you to know every aspect of me, inside and out. And I want to know you that same way.”
“Nothing in between us?”
“Nothing but the truth.”
“Okay,” I said, then took a deep breath and plowed on. “I get that you picked up on the fact that I wasn’t fully engaged with working at Crainfield—”
“You hated it,” said Nate.
“All right, I hated it. So is that why in the letter you said that it was necessary to lay me off? Just because I didn’t enjoy it?”
“No. I actually said that I’d need to show you why it was necessary.”
“Umm, okay.”
“And to show you, well, are you still up for spending Christmas with me?”
“Yessss.” I narrowed my eyes.
“Perfect. We’ll need to swing by your house to grab your stuff and the dogs.”
“Wait? Do you mean Christmas with your family? In West Virginia? Nate, even if we leave right now, we won’t get there before dawn.”
“Oh, ye of little faith.”
Fifteen
“Just us, Gus.” Nate stuck his head in the cockpit and patted the balding, middle-aged pilot on the back.
“Tori’s not coming?” asked Gus.
“She drove up earlier this week to help Nana with the baking and spend some time with friends.”
I’d worried the entire drive to the airport that the dogs would go crazy in the plane. Private jet, actually. Instead, they had to be coaxed up the stairs with treats, and they curled up in the far corner by the bed.
Because there was a bed. And gorgeous leather sofas, not to mention a full bar and kitchen and home theater system.
In. The. Jet.
“The flight’s just a couple hours,” said Nate.
“Does Gus not mind working on Christmas Eve?”
“He’s headed home, too, actually. He’s not my regular pilot. Just fills in on occasion. Gus is an old family friend, retired from Delta. One of my dad’s best buddies from high school.”
“Oh, that’s cool.”
“I might even give him a Christmas bonus for flying us up so late,” said Nate with a wink, then added in a yell, “If he’s nice!”
“I’m always nice!” Gus yelled back.
We spent the flight cuddled up on one of the couches chatting and watching It’s A Wonderful Life in the background.
It all felt incredibly normal.
Except for the private jet thing.
But even that wasn’t some hoity-toity pretentious affair like I’d worried. Gus kept the cockpit door open, and he jumped into our conversation a few times when we talked about our favorite Christmas memories from growing up. It was sweet. He had memories of Nate’s parents that Nate couldn’t recall. And even though I was pretty sure Nate had heard those stories more times than he could count, he just smiled as Gus regaled us with tales of Nate as a toddler escape artist.
“I feel sorry for the mother of his future children.” Gus guffawed, and Nate’s cheeks went pink.
When we landed, Gus steered us to a private hangar with Crainfield printed on the side. The tiny local airport was nearly deserted except for a couple employees locking up. They nodded to Nate as if he was a regular sight. Gus waved goodbye to us as he headed to the employee section in the parking lot.
A sleek black Mercedes was parked at the curb out front.
“Hey!” A cute, bubbly brunette with a pixie cut waved at us from next to the car, as if we could miss her. Nate’s little sister Tori, I presumed.
“Hey, kiddo!” Nate swept her up into a bear hug. “Thanks for picking us up.”
“So this is the famous ‘Jen the Elf’?” she asked over his shoulder.
“Guilty.” I stuck my hand out, but she threw her arms around me instead.
“I’ve heard so much about you. Anyone who can put up with my brother is not so much an elf as a saint in my book.”
I laughed, and Nate rolled his eyes.
“You staying with us up at the cabin?” he asked as we climbed into the car.
“Nah. I’m staying at Nana’s.” She shot me a mischievous look in the rearview mirror.
It occured to me that she would make the better elf any day.
I let my mind drift in the backseat as they caught up in the front, names and places I didn’t know. When we drove through the small main street of the downtown that had clearly seen better days, but also had a ton of construction going on, Nate motioned for Tori to stop the car.
“This is what I needed to show you, Jen.”
“Boy, you really know how to treat a girl, Nate,” muttered Tori.
He ignored her and opened the door for me to get out.
“This town, well, this whole region’s economy is dying. And we’ve been especially hard hit with the opioid epidemic.” He pointed to one of the empty storefronts. “So this is where the New Leaf Coding Academy is going. And this entire block is going to be Crainfield’s local headquarters. A new coffee shop over there. Farm-to-table restaurant, across the way.”
“You’re rebuilding your hometown,” I said.
“Yup. We plan to retain and attract talent to this area.”
“That’s why you had to lay off employees in Atlanta.”
“Handpicked employees. People who could get another job in a snap.”
“If they wanted one.” I brushed my hair behind my ear and stared down at the ground.
“Jen, I fully support whatever you want to do next. And if that’s coming back to Crainfield—”
“It’s not coming back to Crainfield,” I said with a sigh.
“I know.”
“Honestly, I’ve really enjoyed
being an elf. I love being around the kids. I wish there was some way I could keep doing what I’m doing. But Christmas is over tomorrow.”
Nate looked over at the Coding Academy and then back at me. Then a slow grin grew across his face.
“Come back to work for me,” he said.
“I just told you—”
“Not at Crainfield. What if we opened up an after-school program for at-risk youth, teaching them coding? I’ve watched you at work with the kids. You’re amazing. You could hand-pick your staff. I’ll have my lawyers set it up as a non-profit, and I’ll finance the whole thing and talk to other potential donors.
“Are you serious?”
He nodded. “What do you say?”
“I say—” Holy crap, that sounded like heaven. “I guess I say, sign me up.”
Nate swooped me into a hug and next thing I knew, we were kissing each other and laughing.
“Get in the car, you arctic lovebirds,” said Tori, poking her head out the window. “You’ve gotta be freezing your kiesters off.”
I was worried about the dogs and the buttery leather upholstery of the car. I had offered to set up one of the kennels and squeeze them into it, but Tori brushed it off.
“My dogs ride in here all the time.”
She drove us to the cabin. And I should have known that my vision of “cabin” and Nate’s reality of “cabin” would be two totally different things. I had imagined a simple, one-room wooden structure. This was a sprawling two-story chalet constructed of cedar logs nestled atop one of the mountain peaks. I turned on the front porch, and the view in every direction, even in the dim moonlight, stole the breath from my lungs.
“This is amazing,” I said.
“I get up here whenever I can,” he said.
“Jeep is gassed up in the garage,” Tori called from inside the car. “Nana said lunch is at two. She wanted you guys to have a chance to sleep in. Since you’ll be so worn out from playing Santa.”
She lifted her fingers into air-quotes when she said, “playing Santa.” Her laughter rang through the air as she pulled around the circular driveway, before she rolled up the window and sped off.
“Bit of a spitfire, isn’t she?” I said.
Into Santa: A Secret Billionaire Christmas Romance Page 8
