Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Copyright and Disclaimer
Copyright © 2017 by Sarah J. Brooks
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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Naughty and Nice
A Billionaire X-Mas Romance
Sarah J. Brooks
Contents
Copyright and Disclaimer
Title Page
Special Invitation
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
The X-MAS-Wonder
The Billionaire’s Casino
The Billionaire’s LEGACY
Preview of “The Billionaire’s Fake Marriage”
More from Sarah
Special Invitation
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Prologue
The traffic had long before settled to the occasional night shift worker or the pretty girl who had been bedded and then asked to leave before dawn. For the officers of the Chicago Police Department, it was the best time of the day. It was quiet enough to allow them to find an alley or back street to pull over. They drank their coffee or reminisced with their partners—or perhaps even caught a quick catnap, as long as the call radio was on full volume.
Officers Delanty and Schmidt had retreated to their usual place—the alley opposite Flemming’s Bakery. Armed with a thermos of coffee, Officer Delanty lowered his window a couple of inches. They liked to inhale the aroma of fresh-baking doughnuts propelled into the air by the exhaust fan over the ovens. As was their custom, about five a.m., whoever was not driving would saunter across the street and knock on the back door. Mr. Flemming, proprietor, and head pastry chef, would greet the officer and hand over a complimentary bag of the soft, warm, doughy brown orbs. Chocolate-covered were their favorite. The officer would accept the bounty, tip his hat and stroll back across the street where his recently-poured cup of coffee was waiting. Office workers had their water coolers, but the officers of the Windy City had their Flemming’s Bakery.
They were about to pour their second cup of coffee when Officer Delanty chanced to look up at Flemming’s. Anyone else wouldn’t have noticed anything amiss. He, however, did and brought it to the immediate attention of his partner. “Arnie, you see that smoke coming from behind Flemming’s dumpster?”
“Yeah, I guess I do. You sure that’s smoke and not just exhaust?”
Delanty shook his head. “Nah, we’ve sat out here a lotta nights, and that’s not supposed to be there. I’ve got the wheel. Run over and check it out, will ya?”
Arnie looked at Delanty with suspicion. “No problem, but when I get back, there’d better still be four doughnuts in that bag with my name on ‘em,” he warned.
“Yeah, yeah, just get over there. It doesn’t look right.”
Arnie wiped the crumbs from his chin and lifted his sizeable body out of the car by grabbing the door frame. Ambling across the street, he reached behind to pull his pants out of his crack. I gotta stop with the doughnuts.
Delanty was about to eat Arnie’s second doughnut when his shoulder mic clicked on. “Delanty! Call it in, will ya? We need a truck, now! I’m goin’ in and get the Flemmings out.”
“Roger that,” Delanty answered and immediately put in the call. He watched as Officer Schmidt beat on the back door. He grunted as he heaved his own portly body out of the squad car, running across the street as fast as his breathless gut would allow. He saw people run from the building. “Folks, go over and stand by the squad car. Officer Schmidt still in there?”
Mrs. Flemming, her blonde hair in a bun neatly covered by a hair net was crying, but she nodded and pointed inside. “My purse,” she lamented.
Delanty took a couple of steps into the doorway, but the flames were already up the side of the building and bending over the roof. “Arnie?” he shouted.
�
�On my way!” came the answer.
“If you see her purse on your way, grab it.”
“Roger that.”
Delanty could hear Arnie shouting in the store, asking if anyone else was there. In the distance, Delanty could hear sirens and used his shoulder mic to verify the emergency vehicles were en route to him. “Arnie, that’s enough. It’s bad back here. Get out now. Go out the front!”
Arnie didn’t answer.
“Arnie! Did you hear me?”
Still no answer. The trucks pulled down the street then and had barely come to a stop before firemen were leaping clear of it. “Anyone inside?” one of them asked Delanty.
“Partner is still inside. Fire started here behind the dumpster, but it’s spreading fast. Better go in the front.”
Delanty stepped back out of the way and shouted, pointing to the others. “My partner is inside!”
Two men with axes ran to the front doors of the building, that were actually on the front corner. Two hefty swings and they were inside. Moments later, they dragged an unconscious Schmidt out onto the sidewalk, and a medic bent over him. Arnie was still clutching Mrs. Flemming’s purse. The medic pulled the bag free from his arm and handed to Delanty.
A crowd had gathered. Flemming’s Bakery was a local landmark—generations could remember ordering their wedding cakes, buying their Christmas pies and some still bought fresh-baked bread there every day. By the time Arnie regained consciousness, he was in the ambulance and on his way to the hospital. The medic said Arnie would be treated for smoke inhalation, but no amount of oxygen could make the Flemmings stop their tears or keep the others around them from hugging one another as they watched an era end. Delanty was due to go off duty, but he hung around a little longer. In his way, he was also grieving.
In the confusion and crowd, no one noticed the lone man standing at the end of the block, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled low over his face as the glow of a cigarette illuminated the corner of his mouth. No one heard him snicker or saw him throw the cigarette to the sidewalk, leaving the ember to die by itself.
Chapter 1
Lillie
Two weeks earlier…
“I put a couple of cookies in there for the little one,” I whispered to Mrs. Huckleberry as I handed her change over the counter.
“Oh, Lillie, you’re such a sweetheart. My Johnny takes after his grandma; always something sweet in his hand,” beamed Mrs. Huckleberry as she folded the white bags into the large tote bag she carried. “God bless,” she said in accented English as the bell over the door signaled the next customer.
“Do you have poppy seed pastries?” The woman had three elementary-aged children popping around her, although she seemed oblivious to the commotion. I watched the children and smiled at their antics.
“Yes, we have some fresh out of the oven. How many would you like?”
“Hmmm… give me a dozen pastries, and make at least half of them poppy seed, please?” The woman was searching through her purse for her wallet. Her daughter was tugging at the strap.
“I want a brownie!”
“Hush! We’re getting pastries.”
I stepped into the back to put the order together, and when I emerged, I motioned to the little girl to come closer. “You know, we’re trying out a new recipe for our brownies. I wonder if you and your brothers would taste test them for me?” I knew my dark green eyes tended to sparkle when I was mischievous and since I was only five-feet-two inches, bending to the children's height was quite comfortable for me.
“Are you one of Santa’s elves?” The little girl asked shyly, her eyes huge as she then looked up to her mother for permission.
“Okaaay,” the mother gave in, and I took three brownies out of the case and put them into a separate bag.
“Do I remind you of one?” I asked. Kids in school had often teased me about my red hair, diminutive stature, and green eyes, calling me “Elfie.”
“Tell the nice lady thank you, Missy.”
“Thank youuuuu…” the children said in unison.
“Lillie, Papa wants you to taste his new buttercream frosting. I’ll take the counter,” Mama said from the doorway to the kitchen area.
“Okay, Mama.” I gave the lady her change and headed for the back.
“Is that your daughter, Mrs. Flemming?” the woman asked.
“Yes, she just graduated college. We’re happy to have us here with us for a while.”
“She’s very sweet,” the woman commented.
“Sometimes too much for her own good,” Mrs. Flemming answered, a touch of concern wrinkling her brow.
“Is she going to take over the business someday?”
“Ohhh, we hope she does, but you know how the young are. Always have a mind of their own. Her papa and I are ready to retire, though.”
“Really? We’d miss you.” The woman’s daughter was tugging at her sleeve, wanting the bag with brownies.
“Oh, I know, and we will miss our whole customer family, but we’d like to live where it’s warmer—maybe even Florida.”
The woman nodded with understanding. “Okay, we’re going!” she chided her children. “Have a good day, Mrs. Flemming. It will all work out. God hears your prayers,” she finished as the four of them flowed out the door like a stormy tide retreating to sea.
I smiled to myself. Mama didn’t realize I was standing just behind the swinging doors to the kitchens, transferring some fresh doughnuts onto display case trays. I quickly poured frosting on them and licked my finger out of habit. Mama has a lot to learn about the art of subtlety, I thought to myself as I swept back through the doors after overhearing the conversation.
Chapter 2
Christopher
It was a good day. I was opening my forty-ninth store, Carolina’s Emporium and Tea Room. I took enormous pride every time a new location opened its doors, and the forty-ninth was just as exciting as the first.
It wasn’t about money; I had all that I needed. It was the challenge of creating a world of beautiful and unique gifts, all paired with a tea room that served the best pastries and sugary concoctions I could assemble. Okay, I’ll be honest—it’s about beating the competition. The game—it’s always about the game, and money was just how you kept score.
“Looks good, Chris,” my partner, Steve, spoke up from behind me as I looked out over the store.
“Thanks. Did you like the display with the international dolls? I thought mothers might bring their daughters in.”
“You’re full of crap. You know I don’t care about dolls. Put them anywhere you want and if you get a live one, put her face in my lap.”
“Watch it now. Customers all around. You really should work on your social graces, you know?”
“Hell, that’s what you’re for – the social graces,” he mocked me. “I take care of the dirty, behind the scenes work – you look after the prissy side, although I have no idea what you see in it. Jesus, how do the ladies swallow the fact that you own a god-damned bakery?”
“It’s got nothing to do with that, and you know it,” I told him for the hundredth time. “I like the challenge of beating the competition and raising the bar. Doesn’t matter what kind of retail you get into, Steve. It’s all the same formula. Tell the customer what they want, and then give it to them. Everything has become cheap. The competition has crap in their food, crap in the imported trinkets… won’t have that associated with me. I go first class, always have.”
“You and your damned integrity,” Steve muttered, and I could see him looking toward the door. He wanted to go outside and have a smoke. I’d told him to quit, but he seldom listened to me. I wondered again just why I’d brought him on as a partner. I knew why. He handled the dirty work, and that freed me up to do what I did best—handle the competition.
“Go ahead. Go outside and light up, but for god’s sake, leave the negative attitude out there, would you? Look for cracks in the foundation or check whether security is paying attention. Just go.”
“Mr. Tollier, we’ve had an inquiry about the hand-painted Bavarian china,” piped up Mrs. Harriet Tiffany, my store manager. She was an older woman but had that perfect combination of a sweet grandmotherly face, impeccable manners and the instincts of a lion. I’d known it as soon as I’d interviewed her. I’d hired her on the spot.
“What is it they want to know?”
“They asked whether there might be a second matching set available. It seems twelve place settings with serving dishes won’t be adequate.” Her coiffed silver hair gleamed in the lighting, but the black glasses perched on the end of her nose were all business.
“Please tell them that we regret the inconvenience, but each set is unique, so no. However, we are expecting more sets to come in each week, and I know there will be at least one with thirty place settings. Take their address and tell them you’ll send a card, including a complimentary luncheon, when the set arrives.”
Mrs. Tiffany nodded efficiently and went off. I knew she would treat the customer like they were the Queen of England, which was exactly what I wanted. Women should feel as though they’d entered a fairy tale when they walked through the door. The competition at 36 Flavors or Dunkin Doughnuts were dirt beneath my feet.
Crystal chandeliers sparkled from the high ceilings over displays on glass shelves accented with bouquets of fresh flowers and lace. Satin drapes hung below cornices padded with tapestry. The same fabric covered the seating at the round tables with pearl pink linen cloths, each topped by a crystal vase of fresh flowers. Naturally, everything in the store was picturesque, as well as for sale. Women came to be seen, to gossip and to impress one another with the furnishings they bought to use in their own homes. My next location, the fiftieth, would have the addition of a clothing boutique and there were plans on the table for antique replica furniture galleries. I thought the old-world tradition of Europe would go over well.
The grand opening had begun to slow down. Sales were through the roof. Maybe even better than that, customers seemed sorry to leave, lingering at the displays on the way out the door. It was time to begin winding down the day, but I knew my staff had it in hand. I couldn’t spot Steve anywhere, so I told Mrs. Tiffany I was leaving and headed out the door. I looked both ways down the sidewalk but didn’t see him. Crossing the street, I knew a little bar around the corner and suspected he might be there. Sure enough, he was huddled over a mug of whatever beer they had on tap at the far end of the bar.
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