by Logan Chance
“Am I in the house?” What the fuck?
“No. Europe.”
I stalk across the snow to take my child but my arms go right through her. Her. The hazel eyed, chubby cheeked cherub is a her. Dark curls peek from beneath her knit hat. She lays her adorably adorable head on York’s shoulder. That should be my shoulder.
Twin Two waddles past me and dumps a pile of snow on York’s boots. Good boy. A boy. Twin Two is a boy. Because he’s bundled like an Eskimo, he tips over. York squats to help my little man up but they topple to the ground. Squeals abound. Squeals sweeter than a chorus of angels. And I’m in fucking Europe. Zoe whips out her phone and takes a picture.
I move closer and watch as she texts it to me. “No, don’t text it,” I say to her. “Call me and tell me I’m missing out.”
Her fingers pause. She glances over at me and I think for a moment she heard me, but her blue eyes look through me until frost covers my soul. She shakes her head and hits send. I watch in horror as she tells the kids it’s s’mores time and York is going to build a real fire. And then—as if s’mores wasn’t bad enough—they’re going to watch Rudolph.
“Ok, first,” I tell cloaked figure, “York can’t toast a marshmallow without burning it to a crisp. Second, this is my family, I should be watching movies with them.”
He shrugs his ghostly shoulders. “Well, you’re in Europe.”
“Well, you’re annoying,” I mutter.
“I wanna watch da Gwinch,” Twin Two announces with mittened hands on his hips.
“We can watch that too, little man,” York appeases him.
Twin Two’s precious pout transforms into a grin as he lurches against York and gives him a leg hug. My legs ache for a hug.
“Thank you for coming,” Zoe tells him.
“Of course,” he says. “I wouldn’t miss Christmas Eve.”
No way. I look over at ghostman. “Christmas fucking Eve?” He nods. “Let’s go. I don’t want to see anymore.”
“Go where?” Zoe says.
I open my eyes to morning sunlight streaming into the cabin and Zoe’s blues staring back at me. “Just a dream.”
“You’re going to be late for your call,” she says, snuggling against me.
“I’m taking the day off.”
Her eyes widen. “Really?” She throws the covers back and hops out of bed. “Well, this is unexpected.”
“I thought we could do something fun.”
You’d think I just said Christmas is cancelled. She tugs her t-shirt down over her panties and worries her plump bottom lip. “Isn’t the call important?”
“No.” I pick up my phone from the nightstand and postpone everything for today. “I’m free.”
And I do feel free. We dress and as I pocket my wallet, Zoe types on her phone before saying, “Santa has arrived.”
“Yeah?” With twins in his sleigh? I swallow back the urge to ask her to tell me already. There's a lot of shopping and preparation and freaking the fuck out to be done.
We step out into the cold air. “I have a surprise for you.” Zoe grins and takes my hand. She places it against her chest. “Feel my heart beating? I’m so nervous.”
Same. This is it. She’s going to tell me today. But I got this shit. I’ll be brave for both of us. Or hell, I’ll hire someone to be brave for us.
Five
“So what names would you pick for kids?” Graham asks.
My steps falter for a moment. “Um, I haven’t thought about it.”
“I don’t like fancy names. Just good solid names,” he adds.
“Me too,” I say. Are we having the talk? Honestly, I’ve fantasized about a family with Graham, but I don’t want to jinx it.
My nerve endings buzz with anticipation as we walk hand-in-hand to the main lodge. Nick is already here, and I’m sweating buckets beneath my coat. What if Graham hates the idea? I sneak a peek at him as we near the building. He looks very rugged today in his flannel shirt, jeans, and black coat. He looks masculine. Like a man who needs a goat, I reassure myself.
Before he can enter the lodge, I tug his hand and redirect him with a head nod. “This way.”
“Where are we going?”
“I have something to tell you. Well, show you.”
I lead him around the building, down the side, toward the back.
Before we make the final turn that will reveal his surprise, he stops and moves in front of me to clasp my face in his hands. “Listen, I’m going to be there for everything.” His serious eyes plead with mine to believe him. And I do, even if I don’t know what he’s talking about. “I’m going to have snowball fights, and light fires, and watch Rudolph. I’m going to enjoy the hell out of being in a gingerbread house. I will not be in Europe.”
“Ok,” I say as a bleating goat prevents me from asking what in the heck he means.
He drops his hands. “Was that a goat?”
I grin and take his hand again. “Merry Christmas, Daddy.” Nick waves as we round the corner. “Meet Star and baby Jack.”
I’ve never seen Graham stunned, until now. His footsteps slow. He volleys his eyes between me and the goats. “You got me a baby goat?”
“Yes,” I exclaim. “He’s so sweet and I got his mom too. York helped me.”
“You’re not pregnant?”
My head draws back. “What? No. Why would you think that?”
He scrubs a hand on his jaw. “Well...I saw you show York a baby sweater. And then you said you were sick and York said double trouble was coming my way.” He blows out a breath. “A baby goat?”
I nod. “The sweater was for Jack. There are no human babies.”
“Yet,” he adds to my statement. “But there will be. ‘Cause I want them with you,” he says, causing an explosion in my ovaries. He grins. “Let’s go meet Star and Jack.”
Give a man a goat and he’ll give you a ring. Five. With Nick, Star, and baby Jack looking on, Graham opens a red velvet box containing the engagement ring from a year ago and four slim rose gold bands twined together. “I need a real fiancée this time. I love you, baby. So damn much. And I want every Christmas for the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me, Zoe?”
“Does Santa have reindeer?” I step into him and wrap my arm around his waist. “That’s a yes, in case you don’t know Christmas speak.”
And then he kisses me. Heady and deep. A kiss full of promises of Christmas magic to come.
THE END
BREAK ME
Katy wants a promotion at work and will do just about anything to get it. But, will she pretend to be engaged?
You bet your butt she will.
She meets Pollux in the most unlikeliest of places, and sparks fly. His sexy eyes and quick wit is exactly what Katy is looking for in a fake fiancé.
But, is Pollux really who she thinks he is?
Prologue
A brand-new day. A fresh start. Another chance at life. A new beginning.
Ever heard of these phrases? Yeah, well they’re all bullshit. Why? Well, I’ll tell you. The new life you think you’re having isn’t new at all.
Your past mistakes. The hurt you may have caused. The lives you’ve ruined. They’re all still there. Hiding. Dwelling deep within you.
I could have a thousand new lives, and it would never erase the people I failed. The mess I caused. The years of heartache I’ve dealt with.
I failed her.
She wasn’t meant for the life I caused.
She was meant for so much more.
But, she couldn’t see that. She hid her pain well. She cried herself to sleep every night, and I never noticed.
I overlooked her sorrow.
And then one day she was gone.
Leaving the rest of us behind. And breaking us all.
Chapter 1
Katy
“Oh fuck, you like it when I choke you?”
Hell yes. His handsome face, with the faint scar jutting through his left eyebrow, blurs. No one has ever choke
d me during sex. It's not actually a full choke, just light pressure on my windpipe by his large hand. I am too far gone to even answer this sex God, so I nod. “You're such a dirty girl. Your pussy is so wet for me,” he husks out, tightening his choke hold and driving his thick cock faster into me. I am. I am so dirty. Filthy. I can't tell him, because I can barely breathe.
My ass slides across the cool marble of the bathroom counter as he rams into me. I bump and scoot along the small surface, and the basket of tissues flies to the floor when I reach out trying to get leverage. Tingles ignite low in my belly, fanning out. I'm going to come before he kills me. It's going to be epic.
The heels of my red Louboutin’s dig into his firm ass, pulling him closer to me. My head falls back, and pricks of light fire off behind my eyelids as my orgasm rolls through my body.
I can finally breathe when he releases my throat to grab my ass and lift me off the counter, thrusting into me until his tall, lean body shudders with his own orgasm. “Goddamn,” he mutters.
He slides out, removing the condom and tossing it in the trash can. The swanky bathroom is no longer filled with the grunts and groans of sex, only an awkward silence. My short, red evening gown bunched around my waist is a wrinkled mess. And ripped. Fuck. I shimmy it down covering myself, trying to fix the delicate lace hanging from the bodice. His deep brown eyes meet mine as he tucks his weapon of sex voodoo back in his black tuxedo slacks.
He grabs the tiny bit of dangling lace from my dress and rips it.
“There, you won’t be needing this.” He tosses the material into the trash. “Your eyes are a little bloodshot,” he says, running a hand through his dark hair. “They'll just think you're drunk.”
“What?” I ask, spinning around to look in the gold-framed mirror stretching across the wall. Shit. They are. Worse than the roadmap of my eyes is the love bite on my bare shoulder. Large and purple, where his full lips sucked. It was hot when he bit me, so hot I bit him back, but I'm not sure the wealthy people filling the ballroom will appreciate the hostess of the charity event to save their precious Dales pony looking like a two-dollar hooker.
I lock eyes in the mirror with the sexy stranger behind me. Yes, stranger. The only thing I know about him is his name. Pollux. I'm assuming he must like ponies since he's here tonight.
He reaches out and releases the snake pit of black curls on my head. “Now you really look like you've been fucked.” White teeth rake across his bottom lip. “Should've done that a while ago. I could've wrapped it around my fist.”
Let me just say, I'm not used to men saying these things to me. The men I've been with would rather get off to stock portfolios than pulling my hair. Katy Dale Vanderlin, daughter of a prominent New Jersey physician, senior consultant of Master's Consulting Firm, and semi socialite, does not have sex with strangers in bathrooms. Actually, she doesn't have much sex at all, which is probably why I ended up with my panties by the door. The panties he’s now sliding in his pocket.
“Okay, listen,” I tell him, “I don't usually do this kind of thing.”
“Why?” he interrupts. “Too busy mingling with the stuffy asses out there?”
Well, the tall sex God has good looks and brains. That's exactly why I don't. Fear of judgement, I guess.
A knock on the door halts our self-examination of me. “Katy,” my assistant, Anne, calls out, “are you in here?”
I hold a finger to my lips and shake my head at Pollux. “Yeah,” I answer.
“James is looking for you.”
Of course, he is. Anger courses through me. This prick has been on my ass all night. His neediness led me to seek solace in the hallway leading to the restrooms. That’s when Pollux stumbled upon me, and well, one thing led to another.
I peer over at Pollux, smile, and rustle my fingers into the now mess of wild hair on my head, smoothing down the ends. “See ya around,” I say, as we walk through the bathroom door.
A smile lights my face. Spur of the moment sex with a stranger is so not me. Not even a little bit. But it felt good to let my hair down, metaphorically speaking.
I only get a few steps before James scowls in my direction. His balding head reflects the lights from above, blinding me momentarily.
“Hi, sir. Did you need to see me?”
“Yes, I know we’re not working, but did you get the AR-2 file to me this afternoon?” As if I would forget. I’m up for partner, and I wouldn’t make any mistakes now when I’m so close. I can almost taste the sweet victory of it all.
“Of course,” I answer.
“Who’s this, Katy?” James asks, sizing up Pollux.
I can't exactly tell him this is the guy that choked me in the bathroom, so I step closer to Pollux and smile, or at least I try to in this awkward predicament. “This is, uh, um,...”
Pollux cuts in, “Pollux Clark. I’m Katy’s boyfriend.” He smiles, extending his hand out toward James’s.
Our eyes meet, and right now, I wish I could telepathically scold him. But, I weigh my choices and go with the charade. “Yes, he’s my boyfriend. I’m sure I’ve mentioned him before.”
“Nice to meet you,” James says, shaking Pollux’s hand.
Pollux drapes an arm over my shoulders. “Yeah, Katy here loves these events, but she needed some quiet time. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”
His hand moves further south, smacking my ass cheeks as he winks.
I want to strangle his neck. “Yeah, honey. Sure,” I say through clenched teeth.
James is unimpressed. In fact, he appears like he wants to murder us both.
I step out of Pollux’s grip.
“Pollux, are you coming Sunday to the company picnic at the park?” James asks.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Great. See you then.”
James leaves, ambling back to the twinkling lights of the party, and I turn to Pollux. “What are you doing? What was that?” I want to scream more things to him, but he laughs slightly, crossing his strong arms over his chest.
“Calm down, princess. You looked like you could use the help.” He steps closer, pulling me against his firm chest. “I’ll see you Sunday, sugarplum.” He salutes me with a wicked grin before striding away.
Asshole.
Chapter 2
Pollux
Fuck. My night went from great, to complicated, to even more complicated.
With my MacBook in hand, I sink down onto the large, overstuffed sofa in the grand penthouse suite of the Plaza, my home away from home while I stay in New York. It’s nice here, very accommodating, but the color choices are God awful. Blue and gold? It looks like a lot of the hotels I’ve stayed at in the South of France. Frilly, overdone, and just plain gaudy.
Surfing the latest stock portfolios, I narrow my eyes as I come across Masters Consulting Firm. I click on Katy Vanderlin’s link and stare at the picture. Tight body, fiery eyes, and red, plump lips. Reading about her slew of top clients and hard work ethic is overshadowed by the way she felt coming on my cock.
The idea of seeing her again makes me smile, but I need to tamper down the school-boy crush and focus on my main objective. And it sure as fuck isn’t falling for an executive at Masters.
No, that’s the last thing on my agenda.
It's probably best not to see her again, but, I need to be at that picnic. Hell, I need to be anywhere Craig Kendall, president of Masters, is. I’m finally making progress with my plan, and I won’t let some smoldering temptress persuade me otherwise.
What's my plan? I’m a corporate raider, for lack of a better word. Sounds kickass, huh? Well, it is. I buy companies, tear them apart, and resell off the parts for big money.
Right now, I have my sights set on one of the top consulting firms in New York. Yeah, you guessed it...Masters.
I’m still unsure what I’ll do with it once I buy it. Tear it apart? Sell it whole? Run it myself? That’s why I want the inside scoop. I want to get a vibe for the employees. Not only how they work,
but how they function as humans.
This is how I operate. It’s how I work. Some may think it’s not a traditional approach, not old-school, but that’s the beauty of it all. Being unconventional is how I’ve become so successful.
Staying incognito to achieve my objective is the main reason I threw out a fake name. Seemed fitting, a gala to save a pony...so I chose Pollux, the Greek patron god of horses.
At thirty-four, I’m a beast in the boardroom. And an even bigger one in the bedroom. Katy Vanderlin just made things even easier for me.
Sunday morning rolls around, and I smile at my new plan, and maybe a little bit because I get to see Katy again. This is the first time in years I've felt a spark of excitement. She’s fun. I’m sure she won’t be too happy to see me, and it makes it all the more fun. I keep it semi casual in black Armani. Trim button down shirt and slacks. Can't go wrong with Armani.
I step off the street corner, weaving into the throng of people rushing to the Subway on this brisk afternoon in Manhattan. I hit the stairs and slip inside the closing Subway doors to grab a seat. I don’t think I’ve been on the Subway in well, ever. I’ve never ridden this hunk of junk. And now I see why. I'm shoved in between an earbud wearing yuppie and a religious zealot trying to give me a pamphlet on how to get to heaven.
“No, thanks,” I tell him. “Hell has a spot reserved for me.”
The sub pulls in at Grand Central Station, and I hop out, passing by the panhandlers with cardboard signs and street artists trying to get attention. Ninety percent cons. Like me, I guess. Pretending to be someone you’re not.
Fuck, it's cold. My breath hangs in the freezing air, and I wonder how great this “picnic” is going to be. The people last night don't strike me as the type to picnic. When I think of a picnic, I imagine summer green grass, a wicker basket, and sitting on a red and white gingham blanket. Like the kind I used to take with my kid sister, Harper.
