“P
LEASE
,
SIR
. W
E
NEED
just one more shovelful of coal for the fire. Only, the bookkeepers are freezing, even with their fingerless gloves and stocking caps.”

“What are you talking about, Amelia?” Luc Chevalier looked up from his desk at his assistant, who appeared, if possible, more doe-eyed than usual, her dark brows crinkling in the middle, her hands clasped in front of her chest.

“Embellishing my request for time off.”

“It is not cold in this office. Neither do I have a...fireplace in here, and if I did, I wouldn’t burn coal. I would burn wood.”

“A Christmas Carol,”
she said, blinking her owlish blue eyes. “I feel like a Dickensian street urchin.” She sighed, brushing her bangs out of her eyes.

“I cannot give you time off.”

“Think of Tiny Tim.”

“I sincerely doubt anyone called Tiny Tim is depending on your presence over the holidays.”

“You don’t know that,” she said.

He cleared his throat and shuffled the papers on his desk. “I do, actually. You have two sisters. You have no brothers. Your father’s name is Michael. And unless you have a new nephew named Tim, there is no Tim.”

“How do you remember all that? It makes it seem like you care.”

“Not especially,” he said, “it’s just that I don’t forget.”

“Charming. Luc, it’s Christmas. I need some extra time off.”

“What is the date today, Amelia?”

“It’s December 21.”

“Then it is not Christmas. Christmas is one day. Not a week. Not four months as store displays might have you believe. One day. You will be off work in time on Christmas Eve to enjoy any religious services you may need to attend, and you will be off on the day of the holiday itself. But not the entire week before.”

“Don’t you have some sort of feast to get to? Family gathering?”

“You’re well aware that I do not have a good relationship with anyone in my family, as my father is a terrible human being and my brother is barely a notch above him. I do not take holidays with them. I do not take holidays at all.”

“Bah. Humbug,” she said.

“In continuation of your
A
Christmas Carol
theme. Very clever.”

“Though, I feel, underappreciated in this setting.”

“Which setting?”

“Your office. With a man who hates Christmas, the sound of children’s laughter and classic literature.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he said. “I’m quite fond of classic literature.”

“Har. Har. Please, Luc.”

He cleared his throat and stood up, watching Amelia’s blue eyes widen slightly as he did. “I’m sorry, but I found out only an hour ago that I need to go to Aspen to speak to Don Fleischer about the acquisition of the resort. I can’t afford to sit it out and wait until after Christmas.”

Luc was relatively new to real estate. He was coming off being the CEO of one of Europe’s largest investment firms. But after finding out his father was stealing from clients, he’d walked, after burning the generations-old institution to the ground.

His father had caused him enough pain over the course of his life, yet he’d continued to work for the old man and he had no idea why.

But he was done with that. He’d taken the money he’d earned off investments and started new, away from Chevalier Financial.

And that meant he couldn’t let things simply sit just because some people felt the need to inject their lives with frivolity and trees inside their living rooms. He didn’t get it, particularly, but then, the only function Christmas had ever served in his life was that it got his father out of the house nearly every night for the month of December for social engagements.

He’d always appreciated that about the holidays, anyway.

“Wait...what? We’re going to Colorado?”

“Yes. You’ll be compensated for travel, as always, and I will have you back in time for Christmas. Actual Christmas, and not these vague days leading up to it that everyone seems to want to spend in a red-and-green haze.”

“Luc...my family is...”

“You can bring them back key chains. And a mug. I will give you spending money for cheesy, location-based souvenirs.”

“Luc, I don’t...”

“It is not a request, Amelia, it’s part of your job.”

She balled her hands into fists and raised them up, shaking them, the ring on her left hand glittering in the light. “Blast you, Luc Chevalier.”

“Every year, Amelia. For the past three years. And you still act surprised?”

“You don’t make me go on a last-minute business trip every year.”

“No, but we have this discussion about Christmas every year. Though, this is the first year you’ve borrowed from
A Christmas Carol.
The year you stole from scripture to try and convince me was a particular low.”

“On earth, peace and time off among men.”

“We leave early tomorrow. We’re taking the private plane, and I will have those candy cane lattes you like.”

“And the candy stir sticks?” she asked.

“Yes, the candy stir sticks.”

She sucked her lush bottom lip between her teeth and chewed on it for a moment, and he allowed himself some time to enjoy the sight.

He hadn’t enjoyed a woman in...far too long. Starting up a new company meant there was no time for sex. Though, sex and his assistant should never be a part of the same train of thought. No matter how long it had been.

A good assistant was a lot harder to find than a good time in bed. And his very engaged assistant was off-limits for even more reasons than just employment.

“And scones?”

“In several flavors, though I believe cranberry is your seasonal preference.”

A smile made the corners of her lips turn upward. “You remembered.”

“Again, because I don’t forget. Don’t be flattered by it.”

“I’ve known you for nearly four years and you’ve never once flattered me on purpose, Luc.”

“But what does it really matter since you still end up getting the coffee you like?”

She lifted a shoulder. “I guess it doesn’t. Though, don’t think it atones for the fact that you’re making me fly more than halfway across the country when I have Christmas shopping to do.”

“You can shop online. During business hours. You do it, anyway.”

Her eyes widened, her mouth dropping open in a perfect rendition of shock. “I do not.”

“You do. On your phone. I’ve seen you do it.”

“Vintage fashion goes fast. I have to be able to buy it when it comes up.”

“And you have to be able to...I don’t know, personally assist me when I need it.”

She rolled her eyes. “When do I not, Luc?”

“You always do, which is why you still work for me. And speaking of the fact that you still work for me, perhaps it’s time you went and did a little of that.”

“Oh, Luc, Santa is going to bring you so many presents.”

He smiled in spite of himself. Amelia had that way about her. She wasn’t the type of person he would normally employ. Much less the type of person he would employ to work so closely with him.

She wasn’t quiet or professional. She didn’t seem to observe any sort of conventional dress code. Though her red shoes, black dress pants and oversize charcoal sweater, open at the front with a white button-up shirt dotted with birds were indeed office appropriate in the strictest sense, they were
not
conventional.

She also wasn’t one to work with quiet efficiency. Rather, she was one to work while whistling, or singing. She had a nice voice, soft and old-fashioned, like having a black-and-white movie flitting around the office.

And he should mind. She should drive him crazy. She should disrupt his peace of mind and his Zen, though many would argue he actually possessed no Zen. And yet, Amelia didn’t bother him in the least. He found her a strange, if somewhat comforting presence.

She wasn’t quietly efficient, but she was efficient, and sometimes her singing “
A Few of My Favorite Things”
was a nice signal that her efficiency was in full swing.

“Santa would be better off giving presents to someone who needs them,” he said. “If I want something, I go out and get it. I don’t need to wait for it to be brought to me.”

She pursed her lips. “Yep. Well, I’m off to go and do all that work I have to do. Since I won’t be in the office for...how many days?”

“We’re only staying over one night, Amelia. You’ll be back home in plenty of time for Christmas. Don’t make your eyes all big.”

“They’re just like that,” she said, blinking slowly.

He let out a deliberate sigh, then scooped the papers up from his desk and handed them to her. “No, they aren’t. You definitely make them larger in different situations. You’re doing it now, don’t try and play innocent.”

Dark-fringed eyes widened farther. “I am not.”

He raised his brows and she raised hers back. “Off with you,” he said, smiling again, because she just had that way about her.

“I’m off, Mr. Chevalier.” Somehow when she said “Mr. Chevalier” it had a way of sounding less respectful than when she called him Luc.

“Good,” he said.

“‘Ohh, tidings of comfort and joy!’” she sang as she walked out.

“Well, that’s going to be fun on a three-hour plane ride,” he muttered, sitting back at his desk.

He might be adding alcohol of some kind to his latte. There was only so much holiday cheer he could stomach.

CHAPTER TWO

A
MELIA
BRUSHED
HER
bangs out of her eyes, trying to undo the damage done by the wind as she’d boarded Luc’s private plane.

She should be used to the opulence by now, but she wasn’t. How could you get used to opulence on this scale? A giant plane, for two people and staff. It was bigger than her apartment, and definitely plusher. But then, she doubted Luc got anything at thrift shops.

She sat down on the couch and tried to ignore the dull buzz that filled her ears. Shell-shocked was about all that described her this morning. Not heartbroken, which was weird. Or not weird. But angry. And she was rarely angry.

But she was now. She felt...empty. And tricked. And in some ways relieved. But also confused.

It’s you I want to spend my life with. This isn’t who I want to be.

Well, what was she supposed to do with that?
Thanks for all this right around the holidays, Clint.

She fiddled with her engagement ring, a heavy weight settling on her chest.

“Where is my latte?” she asked the empty room.

Luc chose that moment to stride—yes, stride, he was big on the striding—into the seating area of the plane. Her heart did a funny little jump thing. Like it did when he surprised her. It wasn’t her fault. He was dead sexy, and no matter her current circumstances, she noticed. She noticed big-time.

From his lean, well-muscled build, to his smooth mocha skin, dark eyes and sensual lips... Oh, yes, Luc Chevalier was not a man a woman could ignore. Even a woman like her, who was ensnared in a relationship so complicated she didn’t even want to look at the man she was engaged to, and should not want to look at any other man, period.

Stupid Clint. And his stupid issues. Issues that were hers because that’s what happened when you cared for someone. When you’d loved them since you were sixteen.

Nine years. Nine years of being together, of buying into all kinds of stupid things she never should have, and now...well, she had no idea what.

Things with Clint had seemed simple at first. Then she’d started working for Luc and things had become immeasurably more complicated. She’d had a man in her life providing her with companionship, being the son her parents had never had and in general treating her like a sister while he was supposed to be her future husband. All while her boss slowly drove her crazy with the promise of lust and sex that had certainly not been a happening thing in her relationship.

Of course, Luc had never actually promised
her
sex. But he...exuded it. One look at him, and you knew, just knew, what those big, capable hands could do. Probably. It was all hypothetical for her. But her imagination was really good. It always had been. Heck, after all these dry years with Clint, it had to be. Honed, sharpened, etcetera.

He’d convinced her that waiting until marriage was romantic and right. And she’d felt...as if it showed how serious he was. As if it made her special. Of course, it might have been had he not been burning off
his
sexual needs with other people.

While she’d had nothing but fantasies. And scones. And shoes.

Lots and lots of shoes.

And complications. After this morning there were complications she’d never foreseen. Her entire life felt upended. Her family... Oh, this would destroy her family. Clint was the son her parents had never had and her marrying him was so darn approved of it was almost comical.

“Your latte will arrive after takeoff,” Luc said, sitting in the chair opposite her, his masculine scent teasing her nose and making her stomach tighten. Working with him was hard on a girl’s hormones. “Buckle up.”

She obeyed, not even bristling at his commanding tone, because hey, she was used to it.

Honestly, it was a good thing he was as grumpy as he was. That sort of helped to counterbalance his sexiness. Okay, she lied. Sometimes his grumpiness was even enticing. Because it made every smile she eked out of him an achievement. It made him seem like a locked box holding something special inside and sometimes she got little glimpses of it, and it made her want to just...wrench him open sometimes.

But that was inappropriate. One should not want to wrench their boss open.

Yet she always had. Her fascination with Luc, with his moods, and his smile, and his good looks, had been there from day one. Her ring had kept her insulated against taking any of it too seriously or too far. But there had always been a little more to her feelings for him than was strictly appropriate.

A little flutter of excitement when he walked into the office in the morning that had absolutely no business being there.

The engines fired up, and they started moving down the runway. There were a lot of perks to one’s boss having a private plane, but the efficiency and speed were top on the list. They achieved liftoff only a few minutes after she boarded, and she didn’t even have to sit next to anyone with questionable hygiene.

Luc’s hygiene was impeccable. He smelled like...well, he smelled like everything good and spicy. The man, ironically, smelled like Christmas.

“Thanks for that, Luc. So are you going to let me in on the agenda for the next couple of days and why I’m so necessary?”

“You’re necessary because you always are,” he said, his accent caressing the words like a touch. A very sensual touch. He spoke very good English but there was a French flavor to his speech that never failed to make her feel all shivery.

“Well, thanks for that. But specifically, what function am I fulfilling?”

“I need you to help keep track of things. And to give your opinion. When I decide on what I want to offer, I’d like your take on things.”

“But you’re an expert on real estate. Surely you don’t need my opinion.”

“I do. I need people to want to come and stay in a resort. Obviously, it’s being sold because it’s not profitable at the moment, or at least it’s not doing what Fleischer wants it to. Or else why would he sell? So I have to make the decision as to whether or not I can make it do what he can’t.”

“And you want my opinion for that?”

“Yes.”

“I’m flattered. Look, that’s the second time in two days you’ve flattered me. You’re losing your edge.”

“You can unbuckle now,” he said, a command, not a request. Why did it make her go all shivery?

“Okay,” she said, undoing the buckle because she wanted to, not because he’d told her to.

She leaned back in her seat, and the stewardess appeared with a red-and-white mug, and a small plate with a scone. She also had Scotch for Luc.

“Wow. That’s roguish of you. It’s early.”

“It’s evening in Paris.”

“And we’re in New York.”

“I’m still on Paris time.”

“Have you been back to Paris in four years?”

He smiled and she gave herself a mental back pat.

“No.” Then he unrepentantly lifted his glass to his lips and took a drink.

She admired him for it, if she was completely honest. He was a master at not giving a damn about what other people thought, or what the rules or conventions were. And to someone who was so bound to those same things, it was both awe-inspiring and terrifying.

She wished she could be like that for one fleeting moment. That she could say to hell with convention and reason. To hell with Clint and their past. To hell with what he was asking her to do. And with what her family might think.

But that wasn’t her.

“I’ll just stick with my latte.”

He held his drink out. “You don’t care to make it more interesting?”

“A full-fat latte is interesting enough,” she said. “Trust me. Why are we leaving so early?”

“We have a breakfast meeting with Fleischer.”

“A breakfast meeting?”

“Yes, after which we will spend our time enjoying the resort. I think he’s hoping to drive the price up.”

“By showing you a nice relaxing time? Doesn’t he know you’d rather chew glass? Oh, no, he’s probably going to foist holiday cheer on you!”

“Luckily,” Luc said, leaning back, one long leg stretched out in front of him, the other bent at the knee, “I am immune. You, on the other hand, had better be careful.”

“I’m already radiant with cheer,” she said, smiling and fluttering her lashes at him. This, at least, felt normal. She’d forget all that other crap for now. No one ever teased Luc, she’d noticed that when she’d first come to work with him. But she did. She treated him like she did everyone else, well, with some added respect because he signed her paychecks, but her parents had always taught her that race, gender, class or general uptightness were never a reason to treat anyone differently.

So, in spite of the fact that he was as rich as God and scary as all get-out, she treated Luc like she did everyone. And weirdly, he seemed to like it. At least, she still had a job. So at the minimum he tolerated it.

Which she would accept.

“You do sort of radiate,” he said, taking another drink of Scotch.

“Why don’t I feel complimented?”

He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. I need you to check on some properties while I deal with some final schematics approvals for the new build. And no singing.”

“No singing?”

“Drink your latte.”

“But I want to sing.” She didn’t really.

“No,” he said, taking another sip of his Scotch as he took his laptop out of the bag that was positioned next to him, “singing.”

She pulled a face and took her computer out, too. “I can sing in my mind.”

“No, you can’t.”

“You don’t own my thoughts, Luc Chevalier,” she said, opening up her laptop and typing in her password.

“No, I meant you’re incapable of singing in your head. You will be belting out something ridiculous in about five minutes. It’s best if we put a moratorium on music.”

“I can so sing in my head.” She had a feeling she wouldn’t, though. Not with her thoughts as crammed with gloom as they were.

They both put their heads down and started working. And it didn’t take long for her to fill the empty space left by reading boring work reports with a Christmas carol. A few moments later Amelia felt her lips start moving and then...

“‘God rest ye merry...’” She looked up, at Luc’s dark, judgy gaze. She cleared her throat and looked back down. “Bah humbug, Mr. Scrooge.”

But she didn’t sing again. She worked. And she kept on that way until the plane landed in Denver.

“That landing was terrible,” Amelia said as they got into the limo that was waiting for them in front.

“It always is here,” he said. “It’s all the mountains.”

“Damn mountains,” she muttered, putting her purse in her lap and curling up against the door, more for a little distance from Luc than from genuine trauma over their rough landing.

Luc reached over, his finger brushing her cheek. A bolt of heat crackled across her skin and went down deep. “Are you all right?” he asked, his deep voice traveling along the path forged by the fire that had gone before it.

It was a one-two punch. His touch and his voice. If he added something else to the mix she was toast. She moved more tightly into the cold plastic embrace of the door handle.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I get a little nauseous on rough touchdowns like that, but honestly, it’s nothing to be concerned about because... Since when are you ever concerned?”

“Since you look like you’re about to vomit on the leather seats.”

“So touching.”

She whipped her phone out of her purse and opened up one of her flash sale shopping apps, scrolling through the daily deals.

“See? You do shop at work.”

“It’s early!” she protested. “And we went back in time.”

“You’re still on the clock until five.”

“You’re harsh,” she said, touching a picture of a pair of candy-apple-red shoes.

“You have shoes that look just like that,” he said.

“No, I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I don’t!”

“You wore them yesterday.”

She rolled her eyes. “Those are cranberry. These are more of a true red.”

“And today you have on Muk Luks.”

She looked down at her knee-high furry boots, with the leather laces and fuzzy balls. “Yes. I do. It’s cold here out west. It’s snowing.”

“Which is what you want with a ski resort,” he said. “At least we have that.”

“Yeah, otherwise it’s just a bunch of rich idiots scooting down a mud hill.”

“Yes, well, you don’t want that.”

“Mmm.”

The limo wound up the side of a mountain, on a freshly plowed two-lane road lined with snow-covered evergreens.

In Manhattan, there were places on the streets where your vision was walled in by buildings. Beyond the gray steel in front of you was the glass and metal beyond it, and above, there was a small pocket of yellow-coal sky.

But here...here it was trees. Trees along the roadway, over the mountains and, beyond that, more trees, with a shocking blue sky streaked with white clouds.

It was like being thrust into Oz after the black-and-white haze of Kansas.

The road ended on the mountaintop at a large lodge, constructed of heavy wooden beams and a green sheet metal roof, covered in patches of bright snow.

“Sold. Can I live here forever?” she asked.

“There are very few shops,” he said.

“Online shopping.”

“Are you still online shopping?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “Because as someone pointed out, I do have very similar shoes.”

“You should have brought ski boots.”

“We’re only going to be here a day.”

“Yes, and we’re due at breakfast now.”

“Now? I am in Muk Luks, Luc, as you pointed out.”

He made a very dismissive French sound that rippled through her, not like the sexy electricity from before, but like annoying, static electricity. “They’ll do fine. You’re in the mountains, after all. And you look as beautiful as ever.”

Don’t blush. Don’t blush.
“You think I’m beautiful?”

Oh, wow. What in the world was that? How needy could she get? Asking if he thought she was beautiful.

Though, considering the beating her ego had taken recently...she did feel in need.

BOOK: Christmas With a Billionaire: Billionaire Under the Mistletoe\Snowed in With Her Boss\A Diamond for Christmas

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