Christmas with the Billionaire ; A Tiara for Christmas

by Niobia Bryant

  Diana frowned at Macy, and Alia wondered if this was going to turn into another slugfest between the two of them. Diana was very opinionated and liked thinking of herself as a truly liberated woman who behaved like a man when it came to relationships. That is, she juggled men, used them and tossed them aside when she’d had enough of them. Macy, a preacher’s daughter, believed love was sacred and hearts were not to be played with.

  “Girls...” June, who acted as mediator when Macy and Diana got into arguments, cautioned. “We’re here to celebrate Alia’s birthday, remember? Not to discuss the merits of breaking or not breaking men’s hearts.”

  “Your problem,” Diana said to Macy, ignoring June, “is you’re still looking for Prince Charming, that perfect man who was born only for you. Listen up—he doesn’t exist. He’s a fictionalized character created by greeting card companies, rom-com movie producers and romance writers to satisfy their customers. You’ve never fallen in love or lust with anyone!”

  Alia was well aware that Diana’s assertion that Macy had never been in love was untrue. Macy was in love with Alia’s brother, Brock. But that was a secret she’d shared only with Adam, and he wasn’t going to tell anyone.

  Macy only smiled. Alia hoped that smile meant Macy’s temper was held securely in check, because Macy could be dangerous when provoked. She owned a security firm for a reason. A third degree black belt in karate, she’d joined the Marines right out of high school and earned the rank of gunnery sergeant by the time she was twenty-five. She’d served in Iraq and Afghanistan. She could probably kill Diana with her little finger. Diana knew all of this, yet she seemed to get a kick out of sparring with Macy. Alia didn’t believe Macy was a killer. But still...

  “Girl, you were born to be a lawyer. That tongue of yours can be vicious when you want it to be, and your heart as cold as ice,” Macy said. “But I know you’re hurting and that’s why you lash out at people who love you. And I do love you, even though you like to draw my blood at every opportunity.” She continued to look Diana in the eyes, her smile never wavering.

  Diana sighed heavily. “Your daddy did a number on your brain. You actually do turn the other cheek.”

  “I’m no saint,” Macy said. “I’ll probably beat the hell out of my sparring partner at the gym tomorrow. But just so you know, Diana, I’m the one who controls how violent I get. So don’t think you’re going to provoke me into whipping your behind, because it’s not going to happen.”

  Alia was amazed by the look of relief on Diana’s face. Was that what Diana was trying to do? Goad Macy into physically attacking her? That made her wonder just how psychologically damaged Diana was inside. Who had hurt her? Diana had never spoken about it. She had said she became a lawyer because she wanted to help abused women. Could she have been an abused woman in the past?

  “Are we done?” Alia asked hopefully. “No more hurting each other with cutting words.” She saw their waiter across the room and called for him. “We’d like to order dessert!”

  Her friends started to protest, but she insisted. “You’ll just have to work out a bit more tomorrow,” she said. “But you’ve stressed me out so much that I need dessert tonight. So shut up and order something decadent.”

  Her friends’ protests promptly ended when they saw the array of goodies on the dessert tray as the waiter wheeled the cart next to their table.

  After the waiter had served them and left, they dug in.

  “A bit more running won’t kill me,” Macy said as she spooned a piece of strawberry cheesecake into her mouth.

  “I’m sure Tony will be happy to help me work off the extra calories,” said June teasingly, a naughty expression in her eyes as she tasted a piece of pecan pie.

  “I’m not going to pretend,” Diana said as she tucked into her apple pie. “I’m just going to enjoy this and not care about the extra calories. Do you think men care if they enjoy a huge piece of pie after dinner? They don’t give it a second thought. We’ve got to chill out, ladies.”

  Alia smiled as she enjoyed her red velvet cake. It had been a wonderful birthday dinner. She could always count on her girlfriends to entertain, enlighten and generally keep it real.

  Because of their friendship, it would be a little easier facing another lonely night without Adam.

  * * *

  “Ninety-eight, ninety-nine...one hundred!” Adam Braithwaite breathed as he finished doing his push-ups. He got to his feet and walked slowly around the eight-by-eight-foot room he’d been kept in since they’d brought him to this facility. He wasn’t exactly sure of his location, but he guessed it was somewhere in Abu Dhabi, the capital of the United Arab Emirates. After his capture—however long ago that had been—the van he’d been tossed inside of hadn’t driven far enough to leave the country, in his estimation. Before his capture, he and his colleagues had been living in Dubai, the UAE’s biggest city, working on a government project.

  As he walked in a circle in his room, his heartbeat returning to normal after his exertions, he wondered what day it was. His captors hadn’t provided him with a calendar, or anything to keep track of time passing. They had taken his watch, which he wouldn’t have cared about, except that it had been given to him by his wife, Alia Joie. They’d also, of course, taken his cell phone.

  When he and his team were taken from the lab they’d been working in, those among them who had resisted, including himself, had been roughed up, but since that day they had not been physically abused as far as he knew. He saw his colleagues about once a week when their captors allowed them to have a meal together in a communal dining room in the facility, and he hadn’t noticed any bruises on them. While they ate, they were free to converse. All of his team were still in relatively good health when he saw them: Arjun Sharma, a particle physicist, Calvin Hobbes, a quantum physicist, and Maritza Aguilar, a theoretical physicist like himself.

  They had all lost some weight, which he attributed to the fact that their captors were not giving them enough to eat to maintain their body weights. Adam had been told by his primary inquisitor that if he began talking, they would increase his rations. Once or twice, Adam had been tempted, but was too obstinate to comply. He was glad to note his colleagues were, as well. When they’d first been allowed to eat together once a week, Adam was afraid that each time he walked into the communal dining area, he would find a colleague missing until the number dwindled down to just him. Their captors hadn’t threatened them with death if they didn’t cooperate, but Adam still feared violence. However, that hadn’t happened yet, for which he was grateful.

  Adam had no idea how long he’d been held prisoner at the facility. After some time, he’d begun to make scratches each day on the wall next to his bed, but he knew the amount of scratches didn’t come close to the actual number of days he’d been here. He counted 563 scratches on the wall. That amounted to a little over a year and a half. To him, the time away from Alia Joie felt like it had been much longer.

  Keeping Alia Joie foremost in his mind was what gave him the strength to keep going. Being held against his will was eating away at his sanity. The silence was sometimes unbearable. He was a big, happy, gregarious guy who relished life. No four walls could contain his spirit. Yet he had been bound by four walls for what felt like forever. His captors might not physically abuse him, but they certainly were mentally abusing him. What’s more, he wasn’t allowed to read or have paper and pen to write down his thoughts or mathematical equations, which he had a habit of doing for relaxation. There was no relaxation in here.

  The doorknob jiggled and he knew someone was about to enter his room. He’d observed the face of every man who brought him his meals. Four different men were apparently assigned to his care and feeding. They brought him meals, changes of clothing, soap, towels, toothpaste and toothbrushes when the need arose, and about three times a week they escorted him to the office of his inquisitor, who questioned him about the work he and his
colleagues were doing for the US military.

  The man entering his room today had a familiar face. Adam didn’t know his name. He didn’t know any of their names. He’d named this particular man simply Number Three. Number Three was an Arab of average weight and height wearing a green military uniform and black combat boots. He had wavy black hair and a mustache and beard. Adam noticed beards were common, as all four of the men he saw on a regular basis wore them. He had his own full black beard now, while he used to have dreadlocks down his back. He’d held out as long as he could, but had recently asked to have his locks cut off because he was unable to wash his hair often enough and didn’t have access to the essential oils required to keep his hair healthy. Now he was bald headed with a full beard and mustache.

  At six foot four, he towered over the Arab. The man peered up at him, and Adam waited with interest for what would come out of his mouth. He was so bored in here that the variety of options intrigued him. Would he go see his inquisitor or go see his colleagues? It was obvious the man hadn’t come to bring him a meal because there was no tray in his hands.

  In halting English, the man said, “You will have a meal in the dining room. Follow me.”

  “I’ll put on my boots,” Adam said, and went and sat down on the bed while he did that.

  Adam was dressed in his usual attire of a khaki shirt and slacks—no belt—and black combat boots. Whoever ran the facility had a very basic dress code. Except for Maritza, who had been supplied with apparel appropriate for an Arab female, all of his colleagues wore the same thing.

  In the dining room, Adam was relieved to see that the whole gang was there. The air was redolent with the heavy spices cooks in that part of the world used when they prepared meals using a combination of vegetables and meats like lamb, beef, chicken and sometimes camel. Adam hoped it wasn’t camel today. There was never any pork because Dubai was a Muslim area.

  Maritza, a petite brown-skinned woman with coal-black hair and soft brown eyes, smiled when she saw him coming. Adam thought that of all of them, this time had been the hardest to endure for her. Maritza was the mother of a small child. Her husband, Raul, was taking care of little Mariana while she was here. The rest of the team didn’t have children. But all of them had loved ones who were missing them as much as they missed them.

  He sat down at the table, and for the next few minutes they clasped hands tightly. Adam remembered that before they had been kidnapped, they had rarely been demonstrative with each other. They were scientists, after all. They were friends, too, but their caring was expressed by doing good work together. Now, though, they were not embarrassed to hug or clasp each other’s hands with affection. They were survivors, and it did their hearts good to see that they were all still here from one week to another.

  “You look good with a bald head,” Maritza told him, smiling.

  “He looks like a genie,” Calvin joked. Calvin was British, with pale skin and gray eyes. He vaguely reminded Adam of British actor Colin Firth, but younger and fitter. Calvin was a devoted runner.

  “Leave him alone. He looks like Will Smith in Suicide Squad,” Arjun, an Indian American with warm brown skin and deep-set brown eyes, chimed in. Arjun was the youngest among them at twenty-five. He’d been a math prodigy before turning his focus on physics. Adam believed he was also the smartest among them, although Arjun was too kind and modest a fellow to own up to it.

  Adam chuckled. “I’m happy to see you all are well, too,” he said in his British Bahamian accent. He dug into the meat stew on his plate. It was sitting on a pile of white rice, and there was a bottle of water beside it. After chewing and swallowing, he said, “My guess is lamb.”

  They played a game of “guess the mystery meat” every time they were together. Maritza smiled. “My family kills a goat every year and Mama makes a stew out of it that tastes just like this. I’m going with goat.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Calvin said. “This is camel. I saw some hair in mine. I’m positive it was camel’s hair.”

  “You’re going to make me gag,” said Arjun. “My money’s on beef. Which I really shouldn’t be eating, anyway. It’s a good thing I have no appetite.”

  They laughed. Adam said, “You win.”

  After their laughter had died down, they started speculating, as they usually did, on when and how they were going to be rescued. Being in enemy territory, though, they kept these conversations low-key and at a soft volume.

  “I had a dream last night,” Maritza told them in a whisper, her brown eyes animated. “We’re going to be rescued soon, and the military is going to do it in the middle of the night with commandos everywhere! It’s going to be like an action movie on steroids.”

  “I hope it’s soon,” Calvin said in equally low tones. “I know Beverly is probably dating someone else by now. She doesn’t strike me as someone who’ll wait until the end of time like Alia.” He tossed a meaningful glance in Adam’s direction.

  Adam’s heartbeat quickened at the mention of Alia Joie. He missed her so much it was a physical ache in his heart. What was she doing right now? He knew there was an eight-hour time difference between here and New York City. When it was midnight in NYC, it was eight in the morning here. When she was going to bed, he was rising. He supposed it was only fitting that they were living opposite lives now. But when he got home, everything would be in sync again. What they had was meant to last forever. He fervently believed she would never give up on him. Somewhere, she was out there thinking of him and praying for his return, as he was here, praying to be returned to her.

  Copyright © 2019 by Janice Sims

  ISBN-13: 9781488034497

  Christmas with the Billionaire & A Tiara for Christmas

  Copyright © 2019 by Harlequin Books S.A.

  Christmas with the Billionaire

  Copyright © 2019 by Niobia Bryant

  A Tiara for Christmas

  Copyright © 2019 by Carolyn Hall

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