Cole For Christmas Read online

  He placed the necklace around my neck. The C hung above my heart. He kissed me there first and let his lips travel across every dip and curve of my body. His love was the healing balm to my fractured heart. Could this divine man really be mine?

  “Are you going to undress?” I asked breathlessly.

  “Are you in a hurry? We have a lifetime.”

  “The day is fading, Elias, and you owe me a lot of Cole for Christmas.” And that’s exactly what I got. Again and again. Merry. Christmas. To. Me.

  It wasn’t a wise move to sleep with the boss, so when we woke up, I asked him to fire me. I’d rather be broke than loveless. I could always find a job, but there was only one Elias Cole, and he’d given himself and his family to me for Christmas.

  Back at his house the next day, we sat in front of the big Christmas tree with his family. “Hey babe, you won the gingerbread contest, so where is Christmas next year?” All eyes were on Elias.

  “I’m thinking we should converge on the Craig’s next year. Didn’t you say you had a brother Gretchen’s age?”

  The End.

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  A Sneak Peek into Wrapped Around My Heart

  Jess

  Eight o’clock in the morning was my favorite time of day. Not because I’d already had one perfect vanilla latte. Not because the muffins at Baby Cakes were still warm, although that was a bonus. It was because at exactly eight o’clock every morning, Mark Cantwell walked into the office and smiled, and my life became perfect.

  “Good morning, Jess.” He sauntered toward me and looked to the coffee pot, which sputtered out his cup of famously strong brew. He liked espresso on steroids. Double dark. Double strong. Double delicious. He claimed it put hair on his chest. Something I didn’t doubt, but wanted the opportunity to confirm. Mark Cantwell’s chest had become one of my many obsessions since I started working for him nine months ago.

  And just like every morning, I stood in his way, and he slid his hand across my back while reaching for his favorite mug. The one that said, Show Me the Money.

  “Grab a cup and come to my office.” His fingers breezed slowly across the small of my back and disappeared, leaving me wishing his coffee took longer to brew.

  “I’ll be right there.” If I were a savvy planner, I would put his cup to brew two minutes later, so he’d have to leave his hand on my back. But I was more interested in making sure Mark got everything he needed because at the end of the day, that was my job. My purpose was to ensure Mark Sexy-As-Hell Cantwell’s full satisfaction.

  I picked up the box of muffins and my notepad on the way to his office. The morning huddle was a ritual I prayed never ended. It didn’t include the other brokers in the firm. It was just him and me and a box of muffins for thirty minutes. It was the second-best part of my day. Only second because during this time, he never touched me.

  My heels click-clacked across the white marble floor to his office. His desk sat to the side of a wall of windows that overlooked Los Angeles, but it was not that view that took your breath away. Nope, the man in the navy blue suit paired with the simple white shirt and a crimson tie did that. One look at him and you knew you were not dealing with a mere mortal; you were dealing with a financial god.

  “Did you send the memo out to the team?”

  I placed the box of muffins on his desk and arranged his favorite pumpkin spice muffin on a napkin in front of him. Not because I had to but because I wanted to. I sat with my ankles crossed and feet tucked under the chair as I leaned forward, hating the expanse of desk between us.

  “Yes. I’m assuming you’re talking about the Christmas bonuses for this year.”

  “I’d prefer to call them profit sharing.”

  I reached into the box and pulled out a cranberry orange muffin and picked at the edge. Above the paper liner was the only place a muffin top was acceptable. The snug waistband of my skirt served as a reminder to go easy on the muffins and schedule some gym time.

  “I sent the memo out last night.” Employees who’d been with the company for a year or more benefit from profit sharing. I’d fallen three months short.

  “Not a fan of Christmas?”

  “I don’t see the point.” He shuffled through the papers on his desk and slid one single sheet across to me. “I need you to pull the latest data on this company.”

  I looked at the name: Braxton, Brix, and Billow. “I pulled it for you last week.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “And?”

  I smiled. “And I’ll be happy to pull the numbers for you again.” I sipped my coffee and stared at him while he shuffled through another pile of papers I’d left on his desk the night before.

  “Thank you.” He lifted his head for the briefest of moments and gave me a slip of a smile. I loved this little power exchange we had going. He’d demand, and I’d push back. Not a lot, just enough to get him to smile.

  “Is this a hostile takeover?” It was a valid question since the man gobbled up companies like I did chocolate candies.

  Mark laughed. “No, it’s something new.” He brought a pen to his mouth and chewed on the end, then laid it on the desktop. “It’s a partnership.”

  I was tempted to snatch the pen he’d been chewing on but let that thought go. Instead, I leaned in like I would if I were to tell him a secret.

  “Can I be candid with you?”

  He leaned in like every word I uttered was important. “I always want you to be honest with me, Jess.”

  I lifted my head so we were eye to eye. “Forgive me for saying, but you don’t come across as the kind of man who plays nicely with others.”

  He looked up at me with eyes the same color as a smog-free California sky. “Oh, I’m really quite good at playing, Ms. Stone.”

  He only used my last name when he was making a point he didn’t want me to forget, but what was his point? His words seemed naughty in nature. Combined with his sly smile, and I was certain he was teasing me.

  “I’d love to see that, Mr. Cantwell.” I made a note to get him the report within the hour. “But in all honesty, you don’t seem the type of man who likes to share, and a partnership implies sharing.”

  He sat back and folded his arms across his broad chest. The smooth fabric of his custom suit gripped his muscles. “We’re talking about two different things. I can play all day and never have to share.” He took the last bite of his muffin and watched me for a second. “I never share. Once something is mine, it’s mine forever.”

  A shiver ran down my spine. He was probably talking about money or possessions, but when he looked at me and said those words, my heart beat wildly. What would it be like to be Mark Cantwell’s woman for a minute—a day—forever?

  When the meeting wrapped up, I had a to-do list a page long. I rose from the chair and smoothed out the creases on my gray pencil skirt. “What would you like for lunch today?”

  He stood like he did every morning before I left, and he walked me to the door. “Chinese takeout for two.”

  “Two?” I asked with an ache in my heart. Did that mean he had a lunch date? I scrolled through his calendar in my head and came up with nothing. I knew everything about his business life and nothing about his personal life. I liked to pretend he didn’t have a life outside of work, but that was silly. The man was a walking billboard for successful and virile.

  “Yes, Jess, two, and plan to spend your lunch with me. I’ll give this sharing thing a try.”

  My heart leapt with joy. The only time we shared lunch was when a deadline was looming and his upper-level executives
met around the conference table. Those days I usually served and cleaned up and took notes. This was different. We would be alone.

  Within the hour, I had the report he requested. I’d ordered enough Chinese food for a half-dozen people, and I had looked at the clock on my computer at least ten times, wishing that time would fly by so I’d get another serving of Mark.

  It was absolutely insane the way I crushed on him. At twenty-eight, I should be past that stage in my life.

  At least I didn’t have an entire notebook of newspaper clippings like I did when Justin Bieber was coming on the scene. Every dime I had as a teenager was spent on Teen Beat magazines.

  The distinctive ringtone for my sister sounded from the bottom drawer of my desk and pulled me from visions of young singers and hot bosses. Bethany’s ringtone was the song from Jaws that played just before the sharp-toothed beast ripped apart its prey.

  Duuun dun duuun dun duuun dun doo dedoo doo dedoo dede doo chomp.

  “Hello, Bethany. What’s up?”

  “Good morning to you too.” A little huff of disgruntlement shaded her voice. “Do you answer all your calls like that? It’s a surprise you’re still employed.”

  Taken aback, I replayed the four words I’d said in my head. “Generally, I start with a greeting and then move on.”

  “With a what’s up? Real professional there, Jess.” In the background was the sound of a vacuum cleaner, which meant Bethany’s housekeeper was hard at work.

  “First of all, you called my cell and not the office, but I don’t want to argue with you about it.” Arguing with Bethany was as painful as a root canal without the benefit of Novocain.

  “Why change things now? You argue with me about everything.”

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly and silently. “How’s Ben?” That usually was a good deflection technique. Ask Bethany about herself or her child and she was happy. As long as the world rotated around her, all went well.

  “He’s out with Sasha.” Our mother had raised two children while working full time, but Bethany had had a nanny since the day she brought Ben home four years ago. She traded in au pairs like other people did cars on a short-term lease. Sasha was the newest edition and came from Russia. “I’m not sure she’ll last. She’s young and inexperienced. She’s more of a toy to play with than a role model.”

  What that said loud and clear to me was she was far too pretty to keep full-time in the house.

  “That’s too bad. So …”

  “Right, back to the reason I called. I wanted to talk about Christmas.”

  “I’ve already got your present, so no last-minute wishes.” It was the same every year. I’d get her something, and she’d tell me at the last minute what she really wanted, which I’d run out and get. Then, on Christmas morning, it was always wrong. The right brand, but the wrong color. The right idea, but the wrong brand. When it came to Bethany, I was always wrong, but I never stopped trying.

  “You’re arriving tomorrow, right?”

  I looked at my calendar. It couldn’t be tomorrow. I hadn’t even packed yet, but she was right: Tomorrow was the twenty-second, and my flight left after work.

  “I’ll be getting in really late tomorrow night.”

  “I can’t wait. I bought you the most awesome gift this year. You’re going to love it.”

  I rolled my eyes. Last year her awesome gift was a jar of Nad’s hair remover and a bottle of wrinkle cream.

  “I’m excited to give you my gift too.” I always did something thoughtful. Last year I had her baby shoes bronzed. She said she loved them, but then pointed out the bubble in the finish. After years of criticism, I had finally realized that no matter what I gave her—even if it was the Hope Diamond—she would find some flaw simply because the gift was from me.

  “What did you get me this year? Stationery?”

  I nearly dropped the phone because that’s exactly what I had bought her. Personalized stationery on linen paper with embossed envelopes, to be exact. Now what? “Of course not.” I’d be running out later for a new gift.

  “Well, it would have been nice,” she said wistfully, as if the gift had been on her bucket list for years. She cleared her throat in that mean-girl-pay-attention-to-me way. “The real reason I’m calling is to see if you want to go in on a last-minute gift to Mom and Dad. As a parent, I understand how taxing raising a family can be. How difficult it is to put yourself first.”

  I pulled the phone away from my face so she wouldn’t hear me groan. “Go on.”

  “I’ve purchased a cruise to Alaska for them.”

  My stomach clenched. “You already purchased the cruise?”

  “I knew you’d say yes since you have this big-time job now as some man’s secretary.” She said the word secretary like it was bitter on her tongue.

  “I’m an executive assistant, not a secretary.”

  “It’s all the same.” I could see her in my head dismissing me with a simple wave of her hand. “Anyway, your half is roughly thirty-five hundred dollars. They are going to be so excited. You can thank me later.”

  I wanted to hit her now. “Bethany, that’s a lot of money.” I didn’t have thirty-five hundred dollars sitting around with nothing to do. I lived in Los Angeles, which came with a higher salary for sure, but it also came with higher rent, insurance, and food costs.

  “Oh,” she said in a voice that surely matched her resting bitch face. “Come on, Jess, it’s a rounding error. Surely you can fork over a few bucks to make our parents happy.”

  She knew exactly where to hit a girl, and it wasn’t in the gut. No, Bethany reached out and twisted my heart. I wouldn’t let her see that I was almost on my knees. Even if I had to take an advance on my credit card, I’d get her the money.

  “No, that’s perfect. I’ll bring the money with me.”

  “You will?” There was a moment of silence. “Super. Don’t forget my present.”

  I hung up the phone and sunk low in my chair. What the hell was I going to do?

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  Holiday Novels: Cole for Christmas

  The Trouble with Tinsel

  Wrapped around My Heart

  Cole for Christmas

  Mistletoe and Millionaires

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  International bestselling author of more than thirty novels, Kelly Collins writes with the intention of keeping the love alive. Always a romantic, she blends real-life events with her vivid imagination to create characters and stories that lovers of contemporary romance, new adult, and romantic suspense will return to again and again.

  Kelly lives in Colorado at the base of the Rocky Mountains with her husband of twenty-seven years, their two dogs, and a bird that hates her. She has three amazing children, whom she loves to pieces.

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