A Very Merry Billionaire Christmas (Special Edition Holiday Novella)

Title Page

Author's Note

Invitation

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Endnote

About the Author

A VERY MERRY BILLIONAIRE CHRISTMAS

A SPECIAL EDITION HOLIDAY NOVELLA

Melanie Marchande

© 2014 Melanie Marchande

The cover art for this book makes use of licensed stock photography. All photography is for illustrative purposes only and all persons depicted are models.

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is intended for adult audiences only. All characters are fictional, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
 

***

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Author's Note

Merry Christmas, lovely readers!

As this story references characters and relationships from other books, it doesn't strictly function as a standalone. I suggest reading at least I Married a Billionaire, I Married a Master, and His Secretary: Undone to appreciate what's going on here. But of course, you're welcome to give it a try as sort of a sampler platter - and if you're curious about how these couples ended up where they are, well, you know where to go.

In the spirit of giving, 100% of my profits from the sale of this book will go towards a charity. Visit
my website
for more information.

Enjoy.

- M

Chapter One

The Westbrook, Billionaire's Row

Apartment 3607

The afternoon of December 10
th

"No."

The curvy redhead shakes her wild curls, glancing at the home theater screen, then to her husband, and then back again.
 

"No? Why
not
?" Tall and lean, all hard edges where she is all soft peaks and valleys, Adrian Risinger points at the image on the screen. "Look at that."

"I'm looking," she insists. "I'm looking, and I'm horrified."

"It's amazing. Did you see the falcon?"

"I saw the falcon. I'm not clear on why a falcon flying directly at the camera is supposed to make me want to buy a hideous five million dollar house."

Adrian tosses the remote down on the plush red sofa. "You're no fun," he says. "The implication is that the grounds are big enough to go falcon hunting."

"The
grounds
? Are you listening to yourself right now?" She leans on the back of the sofa, and Adrian reaches for her hand, smiling absently as their fingers intertwine without any conscious effort. "And don't even get me started on the interiors. This house looks like Tony Montana's wet dream."

"Exactly."

She snorts. "You are unbelievably tacky."

"We're going to need a house eventually."

"Why? This place is perfectly nice."

"Sure, but it's no place to raise a family."

"What on earth makes you think I want to raise your demon spawn?"

"You seemed pretty eager last night."

"That was just roleplay. Plenty of things are hot in roleplay, but that doesn't mean I really want to be kidnapped by a ruthless mobster. Or spend the rest of my life barefoot and pregnant in...
that
kitchen."

"Don't be ridiculous, we'll have a staff. In fact, they come with the house."

"You know, I'm pretty sure I saw that in a horror movie once. I don't think it ended well."

He grins, patting his thigh, and she only hesitates a moment before rounding the corner of the sofa and sitting down on his lap. "I promise you," he says, winding his arms around her waist, "if we find a redheaded maid that
I
see as Alexandra Breckenridge, and
you
see as Frances Conry as a cloudy eye...we'll sell the house immediately."

"After you have your way with her, you mean."

"Well, obviously. I'm not going to pass up the opportunity to fuck a ghost. That doesn't just come along every day." He smiles, nuzzling against her neck. "Be serious for a minute, love."

"You know that's impossible."

"We need a house." He kisses her gently, just under her earlobe, before continuing. "Doesn't have to be in the kitchen, but I
do
want to see you barefoot and pregnant. I know you want it too. What I
don't
want is to raise kids in this soulless high-rise. Am I wrong, Megs?"

"You know you never are." She sighs, smiling a little. "I want to have
so many
of your children. Like, twenty. They'll drive me insane but I'll love them more than I thought possible. Just like their dad. I draw the line at barefoot, though. I'm going to keep wearing shoes."

Adrian lets out a dramatic sigh of disappointment. "Well, I think we should at least look at the place. For science."

"Can't we make an appointment some other time?" Meg wrinkles her nose slightly. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'd love to go to a crazy billionaire's Christmas party, slash house showing, but not as much as I'd love
not
to."

"The house showing is just a rumor," her husband reminds her. "Besides, think of the stories we can tell the children." He grins. "All twenty of them."

"You know the only way that's actually going to happen is if you figure out a way to splice your DNA with a seahorse and bear
at least
eighteen of them yourself," Meg snickers.
 

He wants to tell her how sexy she is, how sexy she'll be when she's swollen with his seed, but he can't quite find a non-laughable way to word it. He wants to tell her that her stretch marks will only add character. That he hates the idea that a woman's body is destroyed by the one thing everyone thinks she's supposed to do with her life.
 

But he's acted like enough of a sap already.

"Speaking of crazy billionaires," he says, "they say Daniel Thorne will be there. I've always wanted to meet him."

"Really?" Meg twists her head around to look at him. "You've never met? I just figured..."

"He doesn't go to a lot of parties," Adrian says. "Which sort of contributes to Dr. Clickbait's overall thesis, if you're into that sort of thing."

"It's gross," Meg declares. "I know it gets readers, but it's gross. Dr. Stu is scum, I don't care how many degrees he has. He makes all his money going on late-night talk shows and speculating about the latest former child star's complete and total breakdown, for our entertainment. I guess they've all gone to rehab, so he's got nobody left to pick apart except Daniel Thorne. Can you imagine how he must feel, reading that?"

"Not that it matters," Adrian says. "Brilliant is brilliant. I probably have a personality disorder, and look at me!"

Meg snorts. "Well, I'm just as qualified to diagnose you as Dr. Stu is. How many times, in the last month, has an ATM told you to feed it a stray cat?"

"God, not
that
kind of personality disorder!" Adrian laughs. "I mean, at worst, I'm a raging narcissist, right? Maybe with a touch of sociopath."

Meg tilts her face so that their noises just barely touch. "Of course not, Mr. Risinger. You're just a damaged anti-hero. If only you could find someone to understand you. Oh, but who could ever learn to love a beast?"

With a playful growl, Adrian stands, hauling her up with him and then tossing her back down on the sofa. She dissolves into shrieks, then giggles, then sighs...

***

The Chelsea Arms, Billionaire's Row

Apartment 56

The evening of December 11th

"So, what do you think?"

Jenna rubs a towel through her hair, glancing at her husband from across the hallway. "I think I just walked in the door from a twelve-hour flight. Can we talk about this later?"

"To be fair, you've been home for an hour." Ben waves the embossed invitation in the air, like a bidding card. "Yes or no? He's not the kind of guy who likes to be kept waiting."

"If you wanted a timely answer, you could've asked me two months ago, when you got it." She perches on one of the kitchen stools, absentmindedly folding and unfolding the towel. "Are Daniel and Maddy going?"

Ben clears his throat. "I'm, uh, I'm not sure. He's not exactly talking to me."

The actress rolls her eyes. "I thought you were going to patch things up while I was at the shoot."

"I did
try
." Ben is indignant.

"Define 'try.'"

"I sent him, like, ten or twelve text messages. And I only called him an asshole once."

Jenna rolls her eyes. "You need to fix this, okay? Just apologize. Grovel. Do whatever you need to do. You're acting like a child, and he has every right to be upset with you."

"Why? It's ancient history."

"Trust me, Ben. He doesn't care that you did it, he cares that you told him. Because you very obviously told him for the express purpose of pissing him off. Just apologize."

"You don't give orders around here."

"Sometimes I do. Like, right now." She sighs. "You slept with his sister, Ben. Just say you're sorry."

"Well, first of all, I'm not sorry." Ben raises one finger, and then another. "Second of all, it was a million years ago. Before she even knew her husband. Daria and I had just broken up. It was a momentary lapse in judgment. I don't see why it has to be a big deal."

"It didn't have to be. Especially if he never found out. But he did, because you told him. Because you were being - and I say this with all the love in my heart - a bit of a dick."

Ben makes a dismissive noise, waving his hand. "Maybe. But there's no reason for him to make such an issue out of this. Back in the day, we would've worked it out with a quick fist fight..."

"A, no you wouldn't have. B, he has a daughter now. He sees things a little bit differently. His sister's always been top dog - she's older, she's arguably tougher, she stands up for herself. I think he regrets not being there for her. Being 'a man,' whatever that means. He feels responsible for the fact that you seduced her."

"For the record,
she
seduced
me
." Ben crosses his arms.

"Definitely do
not
mention that to him. Now that he's really responsible for someone else, he feels it even more. And you had to go and rub it in his face."

"I was not rubbing anything!" Ben insists. "You're reading too much into this. He needs to get over himself. He's upset over those articles, over that stupid celebrity doctor who's never even met him, doing an armchair diagnosis for a quick paycheck. He's not upset over me and Lindsey ten million years ago. There's no reason for him to take it out on me. We're adults, aren't we?"

Jenna stares at him for a little bit too long. "I don't think you really want me to answer that question."

***

Thorne Industries, Office of the CEO

The afternoon of December 12th

Maddy Thorne tents her fingers, unconsciously mirroring her husband across his massive desk. "You really, really need to get some perspective on this," she informs him.

Daniel just stares. "She's my
sister
, Maddy."

His wife takes a deep breath ."Please don't take this the wrong way, but...Lindsey can take care of herself."

"Evidently, she can't." Daniel Thorne's jaw twitches. "I mean,
him
?"

"I feel like I should be offended on behalf of my friend." Maddy's lips draw into a thin line.

Her husband glances at her, sharply. "Of course not. A man like him is absolutely fine for her. But for Lindsey? For
my sister
?"

"Daniel, it's...it's practically ancient history."

"You sound just like him."

"Well, it is! I mean, when that happened, you were probably still sandwiched between two supermodels at the Bellagio. It's not worth getting upset about something that happened when we were all different people."