The Billionaire's Lessons in Christmas Read online

  THE BILLIONAIRE’S LESSONS IN CHRISTMAS

  By Holly Rayner

  Copyright 2016 by Holly Rayner

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author.

  All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.

  Table Of Contents:

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  ONE

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  Annabelle stared out across the cold, gray morning as water lapped along the sides of the small boat. Her eyes were a sapphire blue, but in the mist of dawn they appeared as gray as the sky above. Her expression perfectly matched the weather.

  She felt, rather than heard, the boat’s engine come to a halt, and she didn’t turn as she heard someone approach her from behind.

  “Cheer up, Belle. Things will get better.”

  She turned then to see the lined, weathered face of her lifelong friend, Martha. The woman was more like a second mother to her, really. The town of Bluewater was small enough for the locals to know each other well, and almost everyone had had a part in raising Belle and her sister Kate. She searched her emotions for a smile, and came up empty.

  “Will they?” she asked.

  Martha sighed, meeting Annabelle’s gaze. In the distance, a towering oil rig loomed over the bay. The craggy rocks and lush foliage of the shore were completely overshadowed by the monstrosity before them, and a shot of white hot anger blasted through Annabelle’s veins.

  This couldn’t continue to go on. It just couldn’t.

  “I hear they’re planning on building another one,” Martha said, her shoulders slumped.

  Annabelle nodded. “They are. And I have plans later today to do everything I can to keep that from happening.”

  “Do you really think we have a voice, though? The world is full of so much greed. How can little people like us make a difference? They don’t even see us. All they see is the bottom line.”

  “I’ll make them see,” Annabelle hissed.

  They were interrupted by Martha’s husband, Alex, who came out with a thermos and three paper cups. He rubbed his hands together, the cool December air seeping through his thick gloves.

  “All right, then; let’s have a final toast.”

  He handed the cups to Martha and Annabelle before pouring steaming hot liquid into each. When Annabelle looked down into hers, she saw that it was cocoa.

  Alex lifted his paper cup. “To the Craggy Maiden. May she one day lead coastal tours again, providing a charming experience for all who grace her decks.”

  “To the Craggy Maiden!” Martha and Annabelle said, each raising her cup before taking a sip.

  Annabelle’s cocoa was watery, with a sickly-sweet aftertaste, but she was sure to drink all of it down, lest she appear rude. Martha had offered her a job as a tour guide when she was sixteen years old. It was the only job she’d ever had, until Frost Energy discovered oil reserves just off their shore. Within a month of the oil rig going up, the town began to look deserted. Bluewater was a charming coastal town just north of Seattle, but with the enormous eyesore blocking everyone’s view, the tourism that kept the town alive dropped off in a blink.

  Martha and Alex had carried on as best they could, but without anyone to buy tickets, they had no choice but to dock the boat and seek other employment until things got better.

  That is, if they ever did get better.

  Annabelle cast another glare at the oil rig that was destroying all of their lives. Did they even care what they were doing? Did they even know?

  They sure as hell would, if she had anything to do with it.

  “Did you find yourself another position yet, Belle?” Alex’s eyes were tired, but kind.

  Annabelle shrugged. “No one’s hiring, really. Everyone who has a job still is clinging to it for as long as they can.”

  “What will you do?” Martha asked, her gaze worried.

  These people didn’t deserve the lines around their eyes that Frost Energy had given them. Not one bit. Annabelle considered telling them a lie, just to spare them the sad truth, but the way gossip spread in their town she would quickly be found out.

  “I’ve given up my apartment and moved back home. With Kate still finishing up her degree, we’ll all be in the house together again. One big happy family.”

  “Won’t that be a little crowded?” Alex asked.

  “Probably. But we don’t have any other option at present. We’re lucky that Kate is on scholarship and can commute from home. Otherwise I doubt she’d be able to finish her education.”

  “It’s good to be thankful for small blessings,” Martha sighed.

  “Yeah. And just so you guys know, I’m going to fight this. Bluewater will not be another on the list of towns that got destroyed because of some man in a suit.”

  Martha and Alex looked at her with grim expressions, and their unspoken response was heavy in the misty air.

  Yeah, right.

  They made one last sweep of the bay before Alex turned the boat towards the dock, and they all stepped off the Craggy Maiden for the last time. It felt strange, being on land so soon after heading out, and Annabelle wasn’t at all sure that she liked the sensation. She wrapped her arms tightly around Martha and Alex each before bidding them farewell.

  Casting one last glance at her former livelihood, Annabelle made the short walk back to her parents’ house, just off of Main Street.

  Her parents were bakers. Her father, Steve, specialized in breads, her mother, Deborah, in confections, and Annabelle had grown up with the scent of cookies embedded in her hair and clothing. Their small house was attached to the bakery, which made it an easy commute for her parents at three in the morning, but wasn’t exactly conducive to housing four adults at once. Annabelle had only been back a few days, but it was clear that staying for a long time would only prove detrimental to her relationship with her parents.

  She opened the glass door to the shop, which chimed with jingle bells. It was December twentieth, just five days until Christmas, and the shop was warm with the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg. A small tree was stationed in a corner, decorated with colorful bulbs and lights, complete with a gold star on the top.

  “Mom?” Annabelle called out.

  “Back here!”

  Following the sound of her mother’s voice, Annabelle headed towards the kitchens, where she found her covered with flour from head to toe.

  “You would think you could control your ingredients after thirty years of baking professionally,” Annabelle said with a smile.

  Deborah glanced down, as though just noticing the me
ss she had made all over her black apron. She shrugged. “There’s no controlling the artistic process. If I’m to make my treats as delicious as they need to be, I can’t focus on silly things like tidiness.”

  Annabelle walked over and kissed her mother’s cheek affectionately.

  Deborah leaned in, accepting the embrace and placing her own gentle kiss on her daughter’s cheek. “How was the last ride?” she asked.

  Annabelle frowned. “Depressing.”

  Her mother nodded sadly. “I figured it would be. There is no easy way to say goodbye.”

  “No, there isn’t. And more importantly, we shouldn’t have to. This town was thriving before they came along.”

  Deborah didn’t need to ask who “they” were. Everyone in town had been affected by the drilling. The only reason the bakery had survived was because Annabelle’s mother was an internet genius, and she shipped her pastries all over the state of Washington. It wasn’t a lucrative investment, but it was helping them scrape by while others weren’t so lucky.

  Annabelle glanced down at the wooden table to see what her mother was working on. “What’s this?” she asked, eyeing a ball of yellow dough.

  “Cookie dough, for sugar cookies.”

  “Yum! Where are you sending them?”

  Deborah wiped some flour off her brow with a sleeve. “Nowhere. I’m going to chill this now and then we’ll be baking sugar cookies later, with cocoa.”

  “The good kind though, right? Because I had cocoa this morning, and it did not live up to my high expectations—which are entirely your fault, by the way.”

  A smile tugged at the corner of Deborah’s lip. Annabelle rarely saw her mother smile anymore, and it broke her heart.

  “I will melt the chocolate personally,” Deborah agreed. “Now, when do you have to go?”

  Annabelle pulled her phone from her back pocket and checked the time. “Right now, actually. I want to make sure there are enough signs to distribute.”

  Her mother nodded and wrapped her in another hug, and Annabelle tried not to think about the specks of flour she would have to dust off. Instead, she breathed in the sugary scent of cookies made with fresh butter, and waved goodbye as she headed back out the door.

  She hadn’t meant to stop off at home before heading to the protest, but the bakery had a pull that tugged her right through the doors. Perhaps it was because when she did that as a child, she always got a treat for the way out. As an adult, she rarely remembered to ask for one.

  Annabelle thought about her mother as she walked to the oil rig offices. Her hair was turning white along her temples, when it was once a rich chocolate brown, just like Annabelle’s. Telltale wrinkles tugged at the corner of her mother’s eyes—worry lines. Thinking about it enflamed her anger all over again, and she quickened her pace as she made her way to the small, trailer-like building just outside of town.

  She could see the group of protesters setting up a few yards away from the building, and she waved at her friend Will as he handed a sign to a woman in a red flannel shirt and weathered jeans. His eyes were warm when they landed on her.

  “Belle! I’m so glad you’re here.”

  Annabelle smiled at Will before giving him a quick hug, during which he held on a little too long at the end. She put the thought from her mind as she looked around at her fellow protesters.

  “This is a good group we have here,” she observed. “Do we have enough signs for everyone?”

  “We should,” Will answered. “I was just waiting for you to arrive. Whenever you’re ready, we can swarm.”

  Annabelle pulled a protest sign from their pile, and allowed herself a grim smile. “Swarm. I like that. Let’s show these suits whose lives their ruining, shall we?”

  Will grinned. “Ready when you are.”

  Turning to the group that was milling around, Annabelle squared her shoulders and addressed them, raising her voice above the hubbub.

  “Thank you all for coming out today. Frost Energy thinks that they are impervious to the will of the people, that they can stomp on anyone, destroy anything, so long as they make a profit. Today we are going to show them that they cannot ignore the faces of those they are harming. Are you ready to show them?”

  A chorus of cheers erupted from the small crowd of protesters. Annabelle counted a dozen or so, which was actually a pretty good turnout. Better than previous efforts, anyway.

  She raised her sign and led the way to the chain-linked fence that protected the suited employees of Frost Energy. Today they would show them that there were people willing to take a stand against evil and greed.

  Today, they would be heard.

  TWO

  Chase Frost sat in a comfortable leather chair, his fingers laced as he rested his elbows on the polished wooden table. His green-eyed gaze was cold as he stared down the woman in front of him, watching her tremble beneath his scowl.

  Chase Frost loved power.

  The fact that this woman would stand there, trying not to look like she was shifting from one foot to the other in her black heels, was another example of how easy it was to control others. It was a game Chase enjoyed playing regularly.

  Finally done toying with his prey, he leaned back in his seat and glanced back up at the presentation slide.

  “So, you’re telling me we won’t be able to get the second rig up for another six to eight months?”

  “Y…Yes, Sir.”

  Chase lifted an eyebrow at her stammer. “Am I making you nervous, Kathleen?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Are you afraid of what I’m going to tell you next?”

  Kathleen shifted in her shoes again. “Should I be?” she asked, her voice trembling ever so slightly.

  Chase looked at the other suits, gray-faced men who craved a fraction of the power and wealth Chase had amassed before the age of thirty. In their eyes he saw jealousy, greed, and cunning. Sometimes he wondered if he would grow to look like them someday—lifeless drones concerned only with preserving their billionaire status. Finally, his gaze settled on one gentleman in particular.

  “George. You told me last week that we would be able to get the rig up in three months, at the most. Can you please explain to me why this number has changed so dramatically?”

  George shifted in his seat, but, unlike Kathleen, he was not cowed by Chase’s demeanor, and he met his gaze head on.

  “She’s mistaken, Mr. Frost. Three months should be all it takes, provided we use the company I emailed you about last night.”

  “You never provided me with that information!” Kathleen cried. Realizing she had raised her voice, she slumped her shoulders and took a step back as the men stared at her with deadpan expressions. “Well, he didn’t. Had I known that, I would have updated my presentation.”

  Chase looked back to George, who shrugged.

  “I sent you the email last night. Did you really not get it?”

  Chase had watched George play this game before. They worked in the big leagues, and it was always interesting to see who couldn’t keep up. Kathleen pulled out her phone and scrolled, tapping an email open, then turning pale as a ghost.

  “You sent the email at three in the morning. How would I know, four hours later, that things had changed?”

  Chase tsked, and Kathleen fell silent.

  “Big business is a tough game to play, Kathleen. Perhaps in your next role you will know better.”

  Any remaining color in Kathleen’s cheeks drained away at his words.

  He leaned back in as he faced her. “You are terminated, as of this moment. If you have an office to clean out, please do so. Good luck in your job search elsewhere.”

  “You can’t be serious…” Kathleen began, but was cut short by Chase’s piercing stare.

  “Do we have to call security to escort you from the premises? You’re better than that, Kathleen. You’ll learn your lesson at the next place. We don’t have time for these kinds of mistakes.”

  “You’re a monster!�
� she yelled, striding out of the office.

  When the door slammed behind her, Chase smirked at the room at large. “Some people just can’t take the heat, am I right?”

  A chorus of agreement echoed around the room.

  “Now, who will tell me what our real time frame is, and what the next steps are? I’ve got to get back to Seattle soon, folks, so I need real-time information, not last night’s report.”

  George prattled on about the changes Chase already knew about while the rest of the room sat in huddled silence, trying not to be noticed. It was enough to make Chase laugh. These people were the biggest pawns, and they thought of themselves as kings and queens. Watching these Ivy League baboons cower beneath his authority was something Chase legitimately enjoyed.