The Billionaire's Christmas Bride Read online

  “What does that have to do with Michael treating you like this?” Grace asked, hardly able to believe what she was hearing.

  “You have to understand. Michael’s father didn’t want his son to end up like him. And so, before he died, he added a condition to his will. It really threw a wrench in Michael’s plans, believe me. He’s grown very, very fond of money in the last few years. I’m guessing he wasn’t like that when you knew him.”

  Grace hadn’t known Michael well enough to decipher his attitude to money. But, at the time, she’d found him to be pure and sweet, without the greed that money generally fueled. She shrugged noncommittally, urging Helen to go on.

  “Anyway,” Helen continued. “The will says that Michael must marry before the beginning of the year he turns 31; his 31st birthday is April 4 of next year.” She stretched her fingers outward, laying her palm flat. “And I am the only solution, because I am the only eligible person at the company. I’m one of the only women who doesn’t already have a boyfriend or a husband.”

  Grace’s jaw dropped. She had sensed a change in Michael, sure. But she hadn’t expected that he could have used someone like this. “And you’re going along with it?”

  “It was easy, at first,” Helen admitted. “He’s charming when he wants to be. He told me we never had to consummate the marriage, and that I didn’t even have to live with him if I didn’t want to. I would be safe and secure and very, very rich for the rest of my life, with a huge payout in exchange for my hand. The ‘yes’ fell out of my mouth before I could really think about what it meant to marry for money.”

  “I take it that it doesn’t feel very good?” Grace asked.

  “It feels horrible,” Helen agreed. “Sure, Michael’s incredibly handsome. But he’s so, so far away in about a million different ways. I feel that I don’t want to be linked to him outside of a professional environment. I don’t want to be his friend, even. I’ve had thoughts of quitting the company and moving out West, where the other top-tier jobs are. I know I could find a new job with no trouble.”

  Grace nodded, her head swimming with this news. “Well, let me ask you this,” she said. She reached for the tissues on her desk, passing one to the red-faced girl across from her. Tears had begun to stream down Helen’s face. “What does your gut tell you? Should you follow through with this wedding? Or should you pull out?”

  Helen bit her lip, dabbing at her cheeks. She sniffled. “My gut?”

  “I know it sounds like a line out of Seventeen magazine, or something,” Grace said, laughing. “But why don’t we listen to our gut more often when we’re making huge life decisions? Our head can tell us a million different things. It can tell us the probable outcomes of a million different decisions. But only our gut will tell us what will really sit well with us. Don’t you think?”

  Helen nodded, blinking several times. As Helen wiped at the mascara dripping along her cheeks, Grace had a moment of clarity, remembering the gut feeling she’d had about Michael both the previous day and twelve years before. She’d known that something was special about him. And yet, the words Helen was telling her—that he was distant, marrying only for money, and not for love—seemed outside any boundary she was willing to cross.

  “I think you’re right,” Helen whispered. “I don’t know what I’ll do. But thank you a million times over for talking this out with me. I don’t have many female friends, and, like I said, my mother would think I was an idiot for making any decision besides marrying him.”

  Grace stood and walked around the desk, wrapping her arms around the shivering woman in front of her. Despite having insecurities of her own, with distance she was able to see all the ways in which Helen’s life was currently off track. And she wanted to help fix it.

  She watched Helen leave her office several minutes later, a fresh Kleenex in her gloved hand. She waved goodbye to Grace, her eyes distant.

  “I know you’ll make the right choice,” Grace offered, just before the door clicked closed.

  Grace allowed her head to tilt forward, leaning it flat against the desk. She sighed heavily, tapping the buzzer to alert the secretary that she needed to speak with her.

  Christina bumbled into the office a moment later, red hair swimming around her freckled neck. “What is it?” she asked curtly.

  “Could you order me some lunch?” Grace asked. “Maybe a sandwich from that shop down the street? O’Sullivans?”

  “You really want a greasy fish sandwich at a time like this?” Christina asked, leaning heavily on her left hip. “We all know what happens when you eat too many carbs.”

  Grace smiled inwardly, remembering one week when she’d had her period and hadn’t been able to fit in her business dress pants. Christina had ordered her a salad every day for lunch that week, and the week after, until Grace’s bloating had gone away. She cared like a domineering mother, but unlike Grace’s actual mother, who sent packages of cookies in the mail, she illustrated her care by withholding. Grace didn’t dare tell Christina that she’d had pizza the evening before.

  “Oh, Christina. What would I do without you to take care of me?” Grace said, giggling.

  “And what did you do to that poor girl?” Christina asked. “She ran out of the office crying. You didn’t tell her that her fiancé didn’t really love her, did you?”

  Grace gasped, leaning forward. “You sensed it, too?”

  “Of course. I saw it the moment they came in yesterday,” Christina said, her eyebrows furrowing. “But it really doesn’t seem sensible to marry for love. I assumed they were marrying for the best reason of all: because he could support her.”

  Grace held her tongue, deciding not to bring up the fact that Christina’s husband had left her for a Brooklyn bookshop owner, thus pushing her into the legal secretary work which, in the end, had been her calling. Instead, she nodded in agreement. “And perhaps I’ll never marry. Because really, who needs it?”

  At these words, Christina looked triumphant. “In the end, staying single might well the best route. But not for these clients, right Grace? They’re paying a great deal for their prenuptial agreement, and they haven’t paid up yet. Just let them get married. Please.”

  Grace sighed heavily. “But she knows she’s not loved. Doesn’t she deserve better than that?”

  Christina rolled her eyes and tapped from the office, near-slamming the door closed behind her. The noise echoed through the room, causing Grace to laugh slightly through her nose.

  “I take it she doesn’t agree,” she whispered, trying to find humor in all of this.

  Of course, alongside this humor, she felt confusion and a strange sense of loss. No, Michael hadn’t fallen in love with anyone in the years since she’d last seen him. He had become cold, sour. He was using a woman to gain access to the money in his father’s will, regardless of her feelings.

  Grace couldn’t understand how the man who’d made her heart flutter all those years ago had experienced such a dramatic change of character. Perhaps he was incapable of empathy. Perhaps he couldn’t sense how truly wrong this was.

  She stood from her chair, pacing across the floorboards as she took another call, explaining the client’s options as she advised him about his divorce. She felt the pain in the man’s voice as he whispered question after question, clearly locked in his office near Wall Street, hopeful that his coworkers couldn’t sense his sadness.

  “Hey, Jarred,” Grace said as they neared the end of the conversation. “It’s going to be all right. She was cheating on you. You deserve better.”

  “I know you’re right,” Jarred affirmed. “It’s just hard to believe it.”

  “Well, believe it,” Grace replied, her tone encouraging. “Take yourself on a fabulous vacation for Christmas. Celebrate the fact that you can start your life anew. You can fall in love again. It’s truly a gift.”

  Ending the call with Jarred, Grace’s stomach quaked with hunger. She hoped Christina would bring her salad soon. Perhaps she would sneak out and
grab that sandwich herself, after calling several more clients, assisting them with the ins and outs of their legal problems.

  She paused, feeling a moment of assurance. This job was truly where she belonged. And, for a little while, as she threw herself into work, she allowed herself to forget the mysterious “gut feeling” she’d had the previous day, while speaking with Michael.

  After all, she didn’t know for certain if Helen was going to back out of the marriage, and it was for the best not to get her hopes up. Ruining the potential wedding of an old friend, an old flame, was far beneath her. She had more class than that; or at least, she hoped so.

  SEVEN

  Grace worked tirelessly for the next few hours, scarfing down her salad between phone calls and client visits, intermittently cursing the illness that had taken Marie away from the office.

  She couldn’t run the firm all by herself. She felt like a juggler, tossing ten dishes in the air simultaneously. It seemed that the workload of everyone at Long and Sons had increased in the previous few weeks, almost on cue with all the drama currently circling in Grace’s life.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, imagining the January vacation she was planning to take in the Bahamas, all by herself. The sky would be as blue as the ocean, and her skin would gleam in the sunshine.

  Michael and Helen would be married by then. Or, perhaps, they wouldn’t be.

  Why the hell did she care so much, anyway?

  Around four that afternoon, Christina sent a call to Grace’s office. Grace sighed heavily—she needed a few hours of peace, and her throat was hoarse after so much talking.

  She answered the call after a moment of guilt, knowing that Marie was counting on her. She felt herself near the finish line, on her hands and knees, crawling.

  The smooth, confident voice on the other end of the phone seemed to calm her, instantly. Her gut stirred. It was him. She collapsed back in her chair, almost as if falling into that crystal blue Bahamas water.

  “Hey, Grace. It’s Michael.”

  “Michael.” She paused, her head spinning. “How wonderful to hear from you.” She paused, unsure of what to say. “I actually had a meeting with your fiancée this morning to go over some of the paperwork. She said you were busy with meetings and wouldn’t be able to come in any time soon. How nice of her to take care of it.”

  Immediately, Grace regretted her words. Why bring up Helen? She was trying to sound polished, professional, but her words masked her inward, fearful question: why was Michael calling? Had Helen told him about their conversation? She had to play it cool.

  “Ah, yes. I have been quite busy, but not too busy to call you,” he said. His voice was flirtatious and charming. Grace felt like doing a backflip. “In fact, I wondered if you might want to meet me downtown after work? I know you said we couldn’t have dinner, since I’m your client. But a drink? Surely, that’s all right with the old rule book.”

  Grace hesitated. She tapped her tongue against the roof of her mouth and sanded her fingers down her black dress, relieved that she’d chosen something a bit more sophisticated to wear that morning. Perhaps she’d been inspired by that meeting with the handsome man from her past. Perhaps, somewhere deep down, she’d half-heartedly imagined he’d come in to see her that day.

  “Well, here’s the thing, Michael,” she began.

  “Uh-oh,” Michael said.

  “Well, I just don’t think it would be appropriate to meet up for a drink,” Grace continued. “Not just because of our client-lawyer relationship. But because, Michael, you’re about to be married. To a truly wonderful woman, no less.”

  She swallowed, eyeing the city lights as they began to brighten. Always at the end of the year, the New York sky dimmed into sundown towards 4:30 in the afternoon, leaving plenty of time for the madness of the city night.

  “Well, it’s funny you should say that, Grace,” Michael answered. “Because I’m no longer about to be married.”

  “What?” she asked, breathless.

  “I’m not engaged. The wedding’s off,” Michael said flatly. “As of this morning.”

  Grace sensed a note of disappointment in Michael’s voice. She realized, then, that Helen had probably broken the news to him immediately after their meeting. Intentionally or not, Grace had negatively impacted Michael’s future.

  She felt off-kilter with the news. Had she done the wrong thing?

  “I see,” Grace answered, hesitating even as her heart flipped in her chest.

  “So. What do you say about meeting for that drink?” he asked her again. “I’m getting over a breakup, after all. I could use some catch-up time with an old friend.”

  “Sure thing,” Grace said, before she could stop herself. She righted her posture, trying to shake it off. What did it matter, now, anyway? “I suppose it’s all I can do, as your twelve-year ghost.”

  “Are you my ghost, or am I yours?” Michael asked.

  “I suppose we can answer that later,” Grace laughed.

  They agreed to meet at seven that evening, at a bar named The Admiral. Michael assured her it made some of the best cocktails he’d ever had. “And I know the bartender, Kenny,” he told her. Grace could almost feel the wink through the phone.

  “I’ll see you there.”

  The moment Grace ended the call, she leaped out of her chair, dancing upon the floorboards, excitement filling her. She hadn’t anticipated getting to know Michael again; she’d assumed she’d never see him once they finalized the prenup paperwork. He would disappear into the ether with Helen, never to be heard from again. Just another ghost. Just another maddening disappointment.

  But here he was. Cropping up again. And this time, no one was tugging him away from her.

  Grace whizzed through the rest of her responsibilities for the day, finally typing up a summary email to help Marie catch up on what had happened while she’d been away, in addition to the lighthearted Facebook message she’d already sent her. She loved that they could maintain both sides of their friendship.

  At six-thirty, Grace left the office, delivering a few final messages to Christina before tapping toward the elevator. Christina’s raised voice followed her, like her mother’s had when she’d been a teenager. “Where are you going so fast?”

  Grace turned her head quickly, winking. “I’ll never tell.”

  With that, she shot down in the elevator and into the bustling city streets below, eager to discover what the evening had in store for her. Perhaps, this time, fate was really in her favor.

  EIGHT

  Grace took a taxi downtown to The Admiral, tucking her chilly hands under her legs. Her anticipation caused her to shiver even harder, creating her own heat. Her teeth clacked together.

  “You all right back there?” the cab driver asked, eyeing her in the rearview mirror.

  “Sure,” she affirmed. “I’ll warm up when I get there.”

  “It’ll be a cold winter. You should get something warmer to wear. Some gloves, too.”

  “I know. I’m being an idiot,” Grace replied. She smiled at him, knowing he probably had this conversation with fifteen New York women a day. She appreciated his empathy, and for the second time that day, felt she could have been having a conversation with her mother.

  The taxi spit her out at the intersection beside The Admiral. Grace gave the taxi driver a large tip, and he smiled sheepishly. “You have good Christmas,” he said then, sending her a hearty wave.

  The interaction had warmed her. Grace sped down the sidewalk, her heart brimming with emotion. She almost smiled at several people she passed before remembering that she no longer lived in Maine. In New York, smiling at strangers was all but illegal. At best, she’d be mocked. And there was nothing worse than being mocked by a New Yorker.

  The Admiral was in the center of the street block, with dark windows and a large wooden door that creaked as Grace yanked it open. She blinked several times into the darkness of the bar, noting the slight smell of cigarettes from years befo
re, when smoking in bars had been legal. Kenny, the bartender, stood in full view at the bar, shaking a cocktail. He gave her a hearty, bearded smile and Grace grinned back, forgetting her anti-smile persona. She was too excited to pretend otherwise.

  The bar was nearly filled with professionals like Grace. They tipped fancy cocktails down their tired throats and complained about their jobs, combing their fingers through sharply bobbed hair. The men were mostly in their 30s and 40s, some with eyes that followed Grace as she hunted for Michael. Her raven hair streamed behind her, gleaming in the candlelight.

  Finally, she caught Michael’s eye. He sat in the corner, hunched over a table, a whiskey before him.