Million Dollar Christmas Bride - A Billionaire Romance Page 11

  He nodded.

  “I…” Bianca wasn’t sure how to put her emotions into words. She struggled for a moment, but then said, “I’ve just been through this before, you know. I’ve been down this road. I know how it works.”

  “What are you talking about?” Jackson asked. He stepped back. Rufus stretched and then plopped down into a sitting position at Jackson’s feet.

  “I want to have a healthy relationship for once,” Bianca said. “I’m thirty-four… It’s about time, you know?”

  “You’re going to have to fill me in,” Jackson said. “I’m feeling a little bit lost here.” He reached a hand up and swiped the back of it across one eye, clearing sleep away. The sun, rising steadily, crested over the top of a building a few blocks over. Pale sunlight touched the balcony floor.

  “That makes two of us,” Bianca said, adjusting her blanket.

  “Then let’s try to get our feet on the ground,” Jackson said. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  Bianca’s thoughts raced. Though she knew it was irrational, her mind was filled with memories of hurts from the past. Lingering in the background, forming a foundation to her abandonment issues, was the loss of her father. She sensed his absence deep in her bones.

  “I deserve better,” she said quietly, almost to herself.

  “Better than what?” Jackson asked.

  “Better than this,” Bianca said. “Better than feeling like this. I just… I want something normal. I want to be with a guy who wants to be with me—you know, a healthy, committed relationship. I keep falling for people who treat me like I’m not important. It’s my own fault, I think. I’m the one entering into these relationships.”

  She looked out, past Jackson, into the distance. She sensed that she sounded crazy, babbling on about her past and her emotions, but the feelings inside of her had to be expelled. She knew that if she kept them in, they’d only fester and erupt at a later point.

  Been there, done that, she thought bitterly.

  “Bianca, we spent one night together,” Jackson said. “Everything is okay. Everything is good. Nothing has changed between us. You don’t have to worry.”

  She turned her focus to him. She felt her brows tent up and her jaw tense. “But that’s exactly the point, Jackson. I want things to change. I want intimacy to mean something. I always enter into these messed-up relationships, and they never go anywhere. I’m not saying it’s your fault… it’s my fault for staying over here last night without saying any of this to you first. That’s always how it goes with me. I act first and then my actions catch up to me. That’s how I get myself into these situations, time and time again.”

  Jackson looked back at her with a steady gaze. His eyes softened, as if he was beginning to understand where she was coming from.

  Feeling encouraged by this, Bianca continued. “I should have told you how I feel, Jackson. That was my fault,” she said softly, still searching his eyes for signs of what he was thinking. “I think I’m falling for you. And if you don’t feel the same, I better know about it. Because last night meant a lot to me. I want it to change things between us—for the better, maybe.”

  He continued to look back at her, but he didn’t speak.

  Bianca felt her heartbeat speed up. This is when he’ll say he’s falling in love with me, too, she thought. This is when he’ll say that going forward, it’ll be me and him. Committed. Faithful.

  She waited.

  He didn’t speak. One corner of his mouth tugged downward, just slightly. He reached a hand up, scratched the back of his head.

  Bianca realized she was holding her breath. She inhaled, exhaled, and then bit her lip. “I’m sorry if this is coming out of left field,” she said. She broke eye contact and looked down at Peaches.

  Under the attentive gaze of her owner, Peaches perked up. She lifted her chin, waiting to be pet.

  Still, Jackson didn’t speak.

  He doesn’t feel the same, Bianca thought. He doesn’t care about me in the same way I care about him.

  “You know what?” she said, her tone taking on a bitter edge. “I think Peaches and I better go. She’s not crazy about walking with strangers, so I better take her out for her morning walk myself. Tell your housekeeper thanks.” This was far from the truth; Peaches loved strangers and was always eager to meet new friends.

  Bianca strode past Jackson, through the glass doors. The housekeeper was now in the sitting area, setting out a tray of croissants, fruit, and coffee. Bianca saw that the dress and sweater she’d worn the night before were now folded and in a neat pile.

  She felt flushed as she hurried over toward her boots, which were now lined up neatly at the base of the couch. She let the fleece blanket fall away from her as she stooped to pull on one boot and then the other. She grabbed her sweater and pulled it on over Jackson’s shirt. Once her purse was over her shoulder, she swiped a mug from the coffee table and took a sip of the warm, perfectly brewed coffee.

  With the mug still in her hand and Peaches at her heels, she strode through the expansive space, heading in the direction of the exit—she hoped. Last night had been such a blur of passion, she really wasn’t sure.

  “Miss!” the housekeeper called out, “Miss! Your dress!”

  Bianca didn’t turn around. She was intent on making her exit as quickly as possible. She turned down a hallway, and to her relief, spotted the front door.

  She sped up.

  “Bianca, wait!” Jackson called out.

  Her heart skipped a beat. Her breath caught in her throat. She froze. Now? she thought. Is he about to say he loves me?

  She turned slowly.

  Jackson held up her dress, which the housekeeper must have handed to him. “Your dress…” he said.

  “Is that really what you want to say to me right now?” she asked, as a sharp pang of disappointment hit her gut and traveled up to her throat, where a lump formed. “Really, Jackson?”

  She felt her hands grip the coffee mug in her hands tightly, as if it was a life raft. If I hold on tight enough, maybe I won’t cry.

  Chapter 14

  Jackson

  “Is that really what you want to say to me right now?” Bianca asked, her voice quavering with sadness that was masked, just barely, by sass. She gripped the white ceramic mug in her hand so hard that her knuckles turned white. She raised one eyebrow until it disappeared under a swooping wave of auburn bangs. “Really, Jackson?”

  Though anger crackled on her surface, he knew she was holding back tears. He could see it in her face and hear it in her voice.

  He let the dress in his hands fall. “What do you want me to say?” he asked.

  She pressed her lips together. Her eyes glistened as she took a shaky breath. “I think you know.”

  He did.

  She wants me to say “I love you.”

  His unsaid words formed an invisible cloud that hung over the room. He knew that if he spoke—if he said those three words—the cloud would disappear. Her mood would lighten. Everything would be okay.

  But he couldn’t.

  Those are words you can’t take back, he thought. Not without a fight. Not without tears. As it is now, nothing has been lost. She’s holding her heart out to me, but if I don’t accept it, that means I won’t break it.

  Love ends in heartbreak. That’s not what I want—not for me, and not for Bianca.

  “Look,” he said, “I know this is complicated… and maybe it’s not what you want out of a relationship. But it’s all I can offer right now.”

  Bianca shook her head. “This isn’t a real relationship,” she said. “As it is now, you’re using me. I can’t let that happen. Not again.”

  Her words cut into him, and he recoiled. “I’m not using you,” he said. “This thing with the fake wedding has nothing to do with what happened between us last night. I would never dream of paying you for…” His voice died out, as he realized that he wasn’t helping his case. He tried a different tactic. “They’re separate
issues entirely.”

  “Great,” she said. “Then let’s keep business apart from our personal lives. I think we should have some space for a while.”

  He watched her set the coffee mug down on a side table near the front door. She hitched her purse up on her shoulder.

  “We’ve been spending so much time together,” she said. “I think I was starting to lose sight of the big picture. But in reality, I’m just an employee to you.”

  “You’re not an employee,” he said.

  “Oh really? You’re paying me to fulfill a role for you, so you can get what you want. That’s pretty much the definition of employee, Jackson.”

  “But you’re more than that,” he said. “You’re…” He wasn’t sure how to put what he felt into words. She had become a friend, over the past few weeks. He was addicted to seeing her, or at the very least talking to her, every single day. When he saw her, he felt happier. And when she wasn’t around, he was thinking of her.

  And then there was the attraction he felt. How could he explain that?

  She waited, frozen.

  He wanted to tell her how he felt, but he was afraid. He’d seen the pain that love could cause. I can’t love her, he thought. I can’t.

  “You’re my friend,” he said lamely.

  She narrowed her eyes and shook her head slightly. “Friend with benefits?” she said coolly. “No, thanks. You can find another ‘friend’ to share your bed with. And you know what? You can take care of the remainder of the wedding planning on your own. Our contract doesn’t state that I have any obligation to help you with that. I’ll be there on Christmas Day to play my part in front of your mom. Text me if you need to get a message to me, but please don’t call.” Her voice sounded so tight, so strained.

  “Please, Bianca,” Jackson said, as she reached for the door. “Please, wait a minute. Wait.”

  It was too late. She stepped through the door, Peaches at her side.

  Rufus gave a bark of disappointment as the two disappeared behind the closed door.

  Jackson felt the pressure of Rufus’s paw at his hip. The dog was well trained and barely ever jumped up, so it took Jackson by surprise, “Down, buddy,” he said, as he gripped one tan paw and then guided it downward.

  Rufus whined.

  “I’ll take you out in a minute,” Jackson said.

  Rufus whined again, as if to make it clear that it wasn’t a morning potty break that he was interested in.

  Jackson shook his head. “I’m not going to go after them, buddy,” he said. “What would I say? She wants more from me than I’m capable of giving.”

  He turned and expected Rufus to follow him back into the apartment. When he reached the hallway, though, he sensed that Rufus wasn’t by his side. He looked back and saw him at the door, with his paws up.

  “Leave it,” Jackson said. It was a command he’d trained Rufus to obey as a pup. Back then, Rufus had a habit of sticking his nose where it didn’t belong—bits of trash on the sidewalk, unidentifiable mounds of who-knew-what in the parks. It had taken a while for Rufus to get the hang of the command, but once he’d finally learned it, it worked like a charm. When Jackson uttered those two simple words, Rufus would switch his focus away from the off-limits object and instead trot right to Jackson’s side.

  For the first time in many years, the command didn’t work.

  Rufus continued to stand at the door, his big paws propped against it, his nose almost in line with the peephole.

  Jackson backtracked and walked to Rufus’s side. He placed a hand on the dog’s back and stroked his fur. “I said leave it.”

  Rufus looked up at him, and his eyes conveyed a message that Jackson didn’t want to accept: You just made a big mistake.

  In his heart, Jackson knew that his dog was right. Letting Bianca leave felt so wrong.

  But she pretty much demanded to hear words that I’m not ready to say, he thought. I can’t say “I love you.”

  A response to this thought surfaced in his mind, from deep within his soul. It was a question he’d struggled with for years but had never found an answer for.

  Will I ever feel ready to say those three words?

  Chapter 15

  Jackson

  Jackson walked back into the sitting area and eyed the couch. Just last night, Bianca had been sitting there in the corner, looking so perfect.

  He remembered the excitement he’d felt, watching her swallow the first sip of her drink. She’d leaned forward and set the glass down on the table. Then, her eyes had turned up to him with an expression of deep desire.

  She wanted me, he thought. I wanted her.

  How did everything go so sideways?

  He eyed the coffee table on which she’d placed the half-full tumbler the night before, then reached for the mug of coffee that was there now and brought it to his lips. The drink was lukewarm and tasted bitter. He set it down again, and then paced restlessly to the glass windows.

  For a few minutes, he watched the sidewalk below. Would he see Bianca emerge? Would she hail a cab or walk to the nearest trolley stop?

  A sound behind him caught him off guard. It was his housekeeper, talking to Rufus. “Where’s your friend, the pretty golden retriever?”

  Though the question was posed to Rufus, Jackson knew it was also spoken for practical purposes.

  “The golden retriever went home,” Jackson said. “I’ll take Rufus out in a moment, on my own. Thanks, though.”

  Once the housekeeper was gone, he turned his focus to the window again. He watched people move this way and that, but there was no sign of Bianca.

  After ten minutes of this, he went into his bedroom. He felt distracted as he showered and dressed. Then, once he’d pulled on a light coat and clipped Rufus into his leash, he headed out the front door.

  Outside, the morning air was crisp and cool. With Christmas only a week away, a mention of a possible cold weather front moving in had many Memphis locals buzzing with excitement. The city tended toward mild weather in December, and snow was rare—but possible. The news stations had been playing up the possibility with forecasters and anchormen asking, “will this year be our first white Christmas in nearly two decades?”

  Jackson didn’t think it would. Likely just hype, he thought. He knew how the media tended to work—they’d say anything to encourage higher ratings.

  He strode down the block, one hand in his pocket, the other holding Rufus’s leash. Rufus pulled slightly, hustling at a rate much faster than usual, and Jackson wondered if his doggy brain was still stuck on Peaches and catching up to her.

  We’re not going to, and that’s for the best, Jackson thought. Because what would I say to Bianca? She wants a commitment. I’m not ready to give that.

  As he walked pedestrians passed by him, most busily looking at their phone screens while they traveled. Some talked into their devices, and others scrolled. Everyone seemed busy and intent on getting to where they wanted to go, which was likely to work.

  Jackson realized it was a Friday. His mind turned to his office and the tasks that awaited him there. It was comforting to know that no matter what was happening in his personal life, he could always go to his office and lose himself in the work of running his business.

  Though he rarely walked to work—he preferred the efficiency of driving—he realized that his feet were carrying him in that direction. He felt a deep longing for the comfort of his desk, his employees, his office.

  At work, he had power. He had prestige. He was Jackson Wylde: owner, top dog, CEO.

  Bianca’s words crowded into his thoughts. “I’m just your employee.”

  Of course that’s how I’m treating her, he thought. Because that’s what she is! I hired her to pretend to be my wife.

  He took out his phone and, as he did nearly every morning, texted his personal assistant. She was in charge of keeping track of his appointments, and it was his habit to check in with her at the start of the day.

  It was soothing to know
that the text was nothing but a business matter. Nothing to get upset about. No drama. No hurt feelings, he thought with satisfaction.

  A response came in almost immediately, with a detailed schedule. At the bottom, there was a note. “Your Ferrari is due for an oil change. Should I arrange for it to be picked up, serviced, and returned to you?”

  The mention of the Ferrari made Jackson’s mind turn back to Bianca. He remembered the first night he saw her, standing out in the dim evening light in her oversized coat, auburn waves barely peeking out from beneath her hood. Her eyes had been bright and animated as she explained her plight to get to work on time. She’d apologized with such sincerity, exuding a warmth that he rarely felt from anyone else in his life.

  Who needs it? he thought, cutting off that recollection. She can give her love to someone else. I’m fine on my own. I’ve lived alone my whole life—why would I change that now?

  He typed up a quick response, approving his assistant’s suggestion, then slipped his phone back into his jacket pocket. Though he wanted to think of anything but Bianca, his mind refused to cooperate.

  In his mind’s eye, he could see her face so clearly.

  He recalled the way she’d looked when she first sampled a bite of coconut cream layer cake. He remembered the feeling of her weight as she leaned against him when crossing the Heritage Manor dining room in those heels that were so obviously too big. Her smile, quick and authentic. Her figure in that black cocktail dress… those curves…

  He could still remember every single country song they’d sung along to at the Corner Bar. And the way she’d looked, bathed in moonlight when sitting on the bench at the edge of the riverboat.

  Stop! he commanded himself. This isn’t right. I can’t dwell on this. It’s time to move on—like I have with every other relationship I’ve ever begun. Move on before someone gets hurt.

  I should never have slept with her. I shouldn’t have let my emotions get the best of me. Space will be good for us. Emotions lead to messiness… disaster… heartache. Who needs it?