by Suzie Nelson
Lewis grinned, gently wrestling with the boy. “You betcha we can.”
“Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! Best Sunday ever!”
“Breakfast first!” Rosie insisted, smiling as she watched Lewis and Angelo play.
The two boys looked at each other. “Fine,” they sighed in unison.
Laughing, Rosie threw her arms around them both and, for a moment, the three of them just lay there, happy to be together as the sun rose above the city.
THE END
Billionaire For Christmas
Chapter 1
I mean, it’s not like I thought Bobby was the love of my life. It’d been six months and the relationship was winding to an end. But, even if we weren’t going to get married and have four kids and a white picket fence and the whole thing, dumping your girlfriend three days before Christmas is still not exactly gentlemanly behavior. Who even does that? But, hey, I guess now I can really be sure that I’m better off without him. So, thanks for that, I guess, Bobby.
Janice, of course, is over the moon. She’s convinced that this will be the straw that breaks the camel’s back and that now I’ll move home to Oregon. And, while I love my sister and all of her adorable children (And they really are adorable: curly brown hair, big blue eyes. It’s outrageous.), moving home to Oregon is not exactly one of my new year’s resolutions.
“Just come out here for Christmas,” she said when I told her the news. “It’ll be just like old times.”
“Except with your husband and three children,” I responded.
“Well…yeah. Almost just like old times,” Janice laughed. “Come on, Amber, you can’t spend Christmas alone in New York. Just come home. It’ll be fun.”
“Look, Janice, I appreciate it, but at this point, it’s a bit impractical. Ticket prices will be through the roof.” This was true, but it wasn’t the real reason I didn’t want to go home. If I went home all my relatives would want to give me their condolences and sympathy and whisper behind my back about how I’m not getting any younger and when will I finally settle down with a nice boy? I can already hear Aunt Bettina discussing my dwindling prospects with Great Aunt Gigi over a plate of panettone.
It doesn’t matter how many times I tell them: Zia, I’m only twenty-five, don’t worry, there’s lots of time.
Not to mention, my prospects are just fine. I’ve got a good job with Random House Publishing and a cute, rent-controlled apartment in the lower East Side, right around the corner from New York’s best deli, which I share with a gray cat named Rufus who likes his food warmed up slightly, thank you very much. I’ve even already paid off a quarter of my student debt. But none of that counts as far as my very Italian aunts are concerned.
They just sigh and shake their heads and take my hand in theirs and say things like: “No one wants biscotti that someone else has already taken a bite of, if you know what I mean, Amber.” Or, “Yes, but men like young women, Amber.” They mean well, but it’s enough to do a girl’s head in.
All of which is why I will not be flying across the country to spend Christmas with my family. A fresh break up is enough of a bummer already. No one needs their family rubbing salt in the wound.
“I suppose tickets will be a bit pricey,” Janice replied. “But I just hate to think of you over there all alone on Christmas, Amber.”
“Don’t worry, Janice,” I reassured her, sensing victory. “Loads of my friends are staying in the city for Christmas. I won’t be alone.”Again, not strictly true. It depends on whether or not you count the cast of Buffy the Vampire Slayer to be a company or not. Because, at the moment, my options are 1) go home or 2) cuddle Rufus while watching a Buffy marathon. At least Buffy will make me feel good about my life – after all, at least it’s not as shitty as hers.
Janice sighed. “Okay, well, if you’re sure. Tim sends his love.” Tim is Janice’s unbelievably upbeat husband who’s always spouting mini pep-talks at the drop of a hat. Yet another reason not to spend Christmas in Oregon.
“Give him and the kids a hug for me,” I replied. And that was the moment that I realized that I hadn’t put anything in the mail for the kids. Shit.
So here I am, three days before Christmas, newly single, and wading through a chaotic shopping mall trying to find presents for my nieces and nephew. I can’t wait until they are old enough to read (the nieces – twins – are two and the nephew is four, so not exactly reading age yet). Then I can just send them new releases from work.
As it is, I’m trying to decide if Janice will think I’m trying to give the girls a complex if I buy themBarbies this early. And, to be honest, looking at these things as an adult does make me question the wisdom of giving them to young kids. No one has tits like that. I put the dolls back on the shelf. Maybe a nice stuffed animal? Or maybe a coffee break. Yeah, that sounds about right.
I head up to the food court and buy myself the fanciest, most ridiculous latte the coffee shop has. One of those enormous flavored concoctions that are topped with half a bottled of whipped cream and cocoa powder. My boyfriend just broke up with me, I tell myself. I deserve a treat. If only the café sold shots of baileys too.
Happily scooping up chocolate-y whipped cream with the end of my straw, I take the elevator back down. It’s one of those glass ones that let you look out at the mall below you and feel superior to all those other shoppers scurrying around on the ground floor like chumps. And feeling superior always makes me feel better about everything else in my life.
This time, the feeling doesn’t last long, unfortunately. As the elevator arrives on the ground floor my phone rings in the depths of my purse. Shrugging one strap off my shoulder, I look down, rummaging around for my phone as I step out of the elevator. It’s amazing how big the inside of your purse is when you’re trying to find something, but how small it is when you’re trying to stuff your laptop into it. I feel like the purses do something tricky with time and space that scientists still haven’t figured out. Or maybe I just watched too much Mary Poppins as a kid.
Anyway, there I am, rummaging and walking at the same time (I should have known!) and all of a sudden I’m doing neither – I’ve walked straight into a man trying to get onto the elevator. So, instead of rummaging and walking, now I’m staring in horror at my beautiful latte, which has spilled all down his very expensive-looking suit.
“Oh fuck,” I say. Not my most elegant response to be sure, but I’m in shock. At least my phone had finally stopped ringing. “I am so sorry! I—” Then I catch sight of the guy’s face. “James? James McEwan? Holy shit!”
“Hi, Amber,” James replies with a smile that is every bit as knee-weakening as I remember it to be. “I see you’re as clumsy as ever.”
“What? No, my phone was—oh, you’re joking. Ha. Ha. And you’re as much of a smart Alec as ever too.” Then I sigh. “I really am sorry about your suit.”
“It’s okay,” James shakes his beautiful head. I swear to God, the man has only gotten more gorgeous since I last saw him. “How have you been, Amber? Long time no see.”
“Yeah,” I reply, remembering the last time we spoke and blushing. That had also not been one of my finest moments. “I’m…I’ve been good. I’m in publishing now. At Random House.”
“That’s perfect for you,” James smiles. “You always did have your nose in a book.”
“And you?” I ask. My stomach is doing some seriously impressive acrobatics. Looks like it gets more out of our yoga classes than I do. Glad one of us is learning something.
James shrugs. “I’ve followed in the family business. Investing in this, investing in that.”
I nod. It’s always been a bit of a mystery what James’s father did for a living other than move frequently. “Your parents must be proud.”
James nods. “They are.” He gets this funny little smile suddenly and asks, “What are you doing for Christmas, Amber?”
“Uhh,” I stall, trying to come up with a convincing lie. Waterskiing in the Caribbean? Mountain climbing in Nepal? Anything
to keep him from thinking I’m a lonely loser who spends Christmas alone. “Nothing, to be honest. I’m on my own this year.” Or, you know, that. Mentally, I groan. I’ve always been terrible at lying.
“Really?” James asks, having the decency to look surprised. “I’m sorry to hear that. Why don’t you come over? I’m having a Christmas party for some international business friends who are here working in the States.” He pulls a business card out of his pants’ pocket. One corner is brown from coffee. I wince. He either doesn’t notice or pretends not to and hands me the card. “That’s the address. First floor of the building. It’d be great to catch up.” Amazingly, all things considered, he seems sincere.
“I…thanks, James,” I reply, taking the card. “That’s really sweet of you. Look, can I buy you a coffee? Or maybe a tea or something, if you’ve had enough of coffee for today?”
He chuckles but shakes his head. “Thanks, but I’m in a bit of a rush, actually. And, to be honest, I want to get out of these clothes as soon as possible.”
“Right,” I agree. “Of course.”
“But come to the party,” he says, his gold-flecked eyes even more beautiful that I remember them to be. “Really. I’d love it if you did.”
I nod. “I will,” I say. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure. Though, if you want to pay me back, maybe don’t spill anything on me at the party?” he smiles.
Even though he’s joking, I can feel a blush rise in my cheeks. “I’ll do my best,” I reply.
He looks at me for a second then, very quickly, leans in and gives me a soft kiss on the cheek, his hand touching my arm. “See you there, then,” he says and disappears into the elevator, leaving me standing frozen in the middle of the mall, wide-eyed and holding my breath like a total idiot. Holy shit, did he smell nice. How is it even possible to smell that good?
Finally the last of his after shave fades and I snap out of my reverie. Looking down at my empty coffee cup, I grimace and flop onto the nearest bench. Setting the cup down beside me, I let my head fall into my hands. God, that was so embarrassing I could literally die.
The thing is James isn’t just any old random acquaintance. He was my senior year boyfriend back in Oregon. I loved him like a crazy person. Hell, I lost my virginity to him! I’ve never loved anyone like I loved James, and, as my aunts would be the first to tell you, there’ve been many guys since.
But James’s father worked for a multi-national investment firm and, one day in February of our last year of high school, his firm decided that they needed him in Germany. A week later the whole family had moved to Frankfurt. James told me they were moving a mere eight days after we had sex for the first and only time.
We thought we were going to be together forever. I’d never been one of the popular girls in high school and, for me, losing my virginity had been a pretty big deal. But we’d been going out for six months and, like I said, I was totally crazy for him. I thought he was The One. You know how high school kids are. So, long story short, I did not take the news well.
We were out for a “walk” when he told me. In Portland there are lots of great forests criss-crossed with chip trails for walking, running, and/or making out in. I’m sure you can guess which of those we were doing.
We’d strayed from the main path a bit and were lying down on the bank of a stream. The ground sloped down to the water so people on the trail couldn’t see you if you were down there, which is exactly what you want when you’re seventeen and desperate to have your boyfriend’s hands up your shirt. We’d brought along a blanket because the bank of the stream was all pebbles and debris from the trees and no one wants to stop the mid-make-out session because a rogue stick is jabbing you in the spine. It’s not very romantic, trust me.
So there we were, just us, the water, and a whole lot of greenery and James was doing something amazing in my mouth with his tongue when suddenly he pulled away and rolled onto his back, looking up at the faraway tops of the trees. Surprised and more than a little put out, I sat up, readjusting my rumpled top.
“What’s the matter?” I asked. At seventeen, something has to be pretty serious to get in the way of getting it on.
James sighed. His hazel eyes met mine and they were sad. He ran one hand up and down my thigh. “I have some bad news,” he said finally.
I felt my stomach plummet. Oh God, I thought. He’s met someone else. He doesn’t love me and now no one else will and I’ll be alone forever. Oh God, if it’s Sandra Graham I’ll literally die. Anyone but Sandra Graham. Like I said, I was seventeen.
“What is it?” I asked, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.
He worried his lower lip, the same one I’d been nibbling just a second ago. “My dad…his work…we have to…” he swallowed, clearly unable to get the words out. Then he took a deep breath and said, all in a rush, “We have to move to Germany, we leave on Monday, I’m so sorry.”
For a moment I just sat there, totally stunned. I had grown up in Portland. My family had grown up in Portland. At that point, the farthest I’d ever been was Seattle and even that had seemed like an enormous undertaking. Germany might as well have been the moon. Despite all this, my first thought was actually: At least it wasn’t Sandra Graham.
(Sandra Graham was the head of our cheerleading squad. Blonde, busty, with legs up to her ears. You can see why I was worried.)
Finally, I managed to say something. Not that it was very helpful: “I don’t understand.”
James’s poor lip looked like it would start bleeding any second, he was gnawing it so hard. “My dad has to move to Germany for work. He’s taking all of us with him. It’s really last minute…I’m sorry, Amber.” His eyes were bright and, if I’d been a little less wrapped up in myself, I would have realized that he was just as unhappy as I was.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have that kind of emotional awareness at seventeen. “You’re leaving me?” I asked. “We just did it and you’re leaving me?”
“I…” James shrugged miserably. “I don’t have a choice,” he said. “I have to.”
“You knew all along, didn’t you?” I accused, big fat tears beginning to fall. “Nobody moves to Germany in a week!” I yelled as if I were suddenly the world’s leading expert on moving to Germany. “You knew and you slept with me anyway! You used me!”
“What?” James looked (rightfully) dumbfounded. “No, Amber. No, I would never! I love you! I didn’t know!”
“Don’t lie to me!” I spat, getting to my feet. “Who knows how many lies you’ve already told me! God, I can’t believe I trusted you! I thought you loved me!”
“I do!” he said, also scrambling to his feet. “I do love you, Amber!”
He tried to grab my arms but I ducked away from him, angrily wiping tears off my face. I felt like my whole body was being ripped apart by giant robot hands.
“If you really meant that, you wouldn’t leave me!” I replied.
James was crying too by that point and, like me, I’m sure all he wanted was to hold me tight so that we could cry together, but I wouldn’t let him.
“Don’t touch me!” I screamed. “I hate you!” Which, just by the way, is the biggest lie I’ve ever told in my life.
He flinched back as if I’d slapped him and I grabbed my backpack, swinging it onto my shoulder.
“Amber, please,” he begged. “Please, can we just—”
“I never want to see you again!” I yelled and headed up the slope to the path, angrily shoving ferns and bushes out of my way.
“Amber, please!” I heard him call again, choking on tears. “I love you!”
But I didn’t turn around. When I reached the path, I started running; not in the direction of my home or my best friend’s home or anywhere useful, just running. Tears were streaming down my face and I was sobbing like a crazy person, but I just kept running until I was sure James wouldn’t be able to catch up. Then, finally, I got to a clearing with a children’s playground and, gasping for breath, I threw myself
on a bench, wrapped my arms around my legs, buried my face in my knees and bawled hysterically. I cried so hard that day I thought I was going to throw up.
Later, when I’d calmed down and it was beginning to get dark, I got up off the bench, picked up my discarded knapsack and shakily made my way home.
I never saw James again.
I don’t know if he was too busy helping his family pack or if he simply didn’t want to face me at school after all the horrible things I’d said, or what, but he didn’t come back to school during his last week. He had a goodbye party for his closest friends, I found out later on, but he didn’t invite me. Now I can’t blame him, but, at the time, it had felt like yet another betrayal. I spent all weekend crying in bed after Tommy Jenkins, a mutual friend, told me a few weeks later in biology class.
