Mistletoe Kisses

By Bella Winters

I shouldn't be anywhere near Deacon.

Our daughters are best friends in college.

Her daughter hates every woman he's been with.

His arrogance is off the charts.

And he doesn't know the big bad secret I'm hiding.

Seriously, why was I so naive to even think Deacon was my Christmas present.

The hot rich guy who fell into my lap out of no where.

But he's the present I shouldn't open.

Even if my body aches to be with him.

I don't wanna make myself a joke in front of my daughter.

But what if he's the only one who can protect me from the danger that I've gotten myself into?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bella Winters
• Release date: Nov 25, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393709299

Bella Winters

Bella is a contemporary romance writer who loves to write about strong, gorgeous, Greek God like alpha men who love protecting their sassy and sexy women. Many of her books have been in Amazon TOP 50!

Book preview

Chapter 1

Ava

When I burst out of the bathroom, the blaring guitars are even louder. Dripping wet, clutching my threadbare towel around me, I stomp to her bedroom. Just like I thought, daughter dearest is sprawled like a starfish across our bed, staring up at the same moldy stain on the ceiling, her feet tapping to the tune of the so-called music.

Are you kidding me? I stride over to the iPod dock and kill the music with a push of a button.

This gets her attention and she pushes up on her elbows, frowning at the sight of me dripping all over our bedroom carpet.

What? Julianna asks, apparently unaware of anything. As usual. Geyser shot again?

The loud banging at the front door to our apartment comes again. This time, without the music, we can both hear it clearly. I gesture wildly at the sound.

That. You keep the music up this loud, how are you supposed to hear anything else?

She rolls her eyes and slowly gets off the bed. I guess I’ll be getting it, then, she says.

I mean, if you’d rather I go answer the door in nothing but a towel—

Chill, Mom, she says, as she edges by me. I said I got it.

Most times I’m endlessly proud of my only child. A bright, beautiful twenty-two-year-old with the world at her feet. Even that feisty streak of hers reminds me of when I was younger. A lot younger, and with way fewer problems. But times like this, all that attitude does is get on my nerves.

Because I know who’s at the door. It can only be one person. And I know the reason he’s practically breaking it down, too.

Mom! Julianna’s voice filters through from the living room.

She doesn’t have to raise it much, given the shoebox in which we live. One bed, half bath, kitchenette, and a living room big enough to hold our prized double sofa we picked up at Goodwill. It’s humble, but it’s home. Right now though, it’s a humble home I’m struggling to afford.

Just a sec! I call out, dropping my soaking wet towel to the floor, and quickly pulling on the black t-shirt and pajama shorts spilling out of the laundry basket.

At least our heat is still on. Because with this Milwaukee winter in full swing, we’d be walking around in every layer of clothing we own.

I’m out of breath when I get to the door, wringing my hair in the towel to save the shirt I’m wearing from getting soaked. Sam Silverberg is standing there, hands on his ample hips, looking like he’d much rather be doing anything else than paying me a visit first thing on a Friday morning.

Mr. Silverberg, hi.

Your phone get suspended again? he asks, in that gruff smoker’s voice of his.

I can feel Julianna’s eyes on us, moving from one to the other, like she’s watching a tennis match.

Uh, yes, I’m sorry. I meant to come around and see you last week, but-

But what? Work’s been so crazy, you just didn’t have the time?

I purse my lips tightly. He knows full well what work’s been like for me. We wouldn’t be standing here having this conversation if I was snowed under with work.

Look, Ava, you know I got a soft spot for the both of ya. But I can’t be doing business like this.

Mr. Silverberg, please. I hate that I’m pleading, and I hate even more that it’s happening in front of my daughter. I just need another week or two, and I’ll settle the whole outstanding balance. Promise.

That’s what you said two weeks ago, he says. Also promised that time, if I’m not mistaken.

Yeah, but how was she supposed to know the client wasn’t going to settle their payment for the wedding? Julianna butts in. She’s glaring at him, arms folded across her chest.

I know it’s the wrong time, but my heart swells with pride. A second ago, I was ready to strangle her. Now, I want to smother her in a bear hug. Which pretty much sums up our relationship.

You stay out of this, young lady, Sam barks at her.

Julianna instantly gets her back up. Excuse me?

Jules, honey, it’s okay, I say, holding up both my hands to stop her from going off at him. That definitely won’t help me get another extension on rent.

She’s fuming, but does as she’s told and stands down.

You gotta understand, Ava, he says, it’s not like I’m trying to be the bad guy here. But this is food on my table, expenses that I gotta cover, or I’ll be the one falling behind. And that’s a slippery slope you don’t wanna be on, you get my meaning?

I nod. Of course, and I’m sorry. But I’ll get you the money, even if I have to rob a bank, I say, with a nervous laugh.

He doesn’t find it funny. I can give you the weekend.

My heart drops. He can’t be serious. How am I supposed to get that kind of money in two days? I couldn’t even get it in two months! The sickening stressed out knot that’s permanently in my stomach tightens and twists, sending a wave of nausea through me. I can’t lose our home.

To be honest, Mr. Silverberg, I can only get part of the payment by Monday. But I’ll be good for the rest of it in a couple weeks, like I said.

In two weeks I’ll have new tenants in here, he says, matter-of-factly, as he makes his way out. Hopefully this time they’ll be the paying kind.

He slams the door behind him, leaving me and Julianna stunned in his wake.

Mom?

I feel my daughter’s arm around my shoulder, rubbing gently. I still can’t tear my eyes from the front door.

Mom, I know you don’t want this, but I’m going to ask Mrs. Sing if I can take on a few evening shifts.

Her words break the spell I’m under, and I turn to look at her, shaking my head. No. This is not your responsibility, I say. You have school to focus on, or you’ll lose your scholarship.

I’ve got school under control, she persists. And I want to help, so let me.

Who even says she has a spot for you? That Chinese take-out is so small, they don’t need more than one waiter.

She shrugs. Then I’ll work in back. Do kitchen duty, anything. She has this determined look on her face, I can’t help but see myself in her. The same dark hair, huge brown eyes, but with her father’s chin. I guess he had to leave his mark somewhere.

God, I love her.

Honey, this wasn’t the plan. We were supposed to come out here so you can have a better life. A future.

"We left so that we could have a better life, Mom. We’re a team, remember? In this together. Ride or die."

She hugs me and I hold on tightly. Hot tears sting my eyes. I can’t believe I’ve failed so miserably. Five years ago, when she was just 16, I ran out on her father—my abusive drunk of a husband—with promises of making a better go of it. New city, new opportunities. A whole new life. How naïve I was back then.

It’s going to be okay, Mom, she says. In fact, I’m going to take a walk down to East Cuisine, and see what she says. She goes to sit on the sofa and pulls on her sneakers that are laying there.

What, right now?

Well, Mrs. Sing did say I can come around any time. She stands up and straightens her faded Def Leppard t-shirt. I guess now’s as good a time as any.

She plants a whopping kiss on my cheek, and gives my shoulder another squeeze for good measure, before heading over to the door. She pulls on her winter coat, another Goodwill special, and opens the door a crack, letting in the crisp winter air.

Oh, she says, turning back to look at me, nice save with that lie about your phone being disconnected. She throws me a wink and is gone.

The place feels suddenly empty without her. Gigantic and cold. Feeling heavy, I make my way back to the bedroom we share to finish getting dressed. I have to get cracking on that outstanding payment and try to bag some kind of paying job this weekend even if it kills me. I joked about it before, but I swear to God, if I had a getaway car, I’d be considering which bank to hit up too.

How did things go so horribly wrong so fast? There was a plan. I was fired up with the kind of flames you can only get when you’re running away from a life you’re determined not to ever go back to. But more and more, I’m beginning to think that I was too rash in my decision to leave. If I’d stayed put and sucked it up, Julianna wouldn’t be in this position where she has to help support me. Maybe happiness is overrated. I would sacrifice it in a heartbeat to make my daughter’s life better.

I had exactly one contact in Milwaukee, and they helped me set up a wedding planning agency in my name. But the network to which I have access is only ever more of the same middle-and low-income people like myself. This means the weddings are always budget events. Not to mention I work with the type of clientele that just flat-out refuses to settle payment after the reception. Five years on, and we’re nowhere near to making ends meet.

Thank heaven for Li Ming Sing, our neighbor. A round, old woman, with her own take-out just down the street. She took me under her wing when we moved here and regularly shows up at our door with bags of food from work. In return, Julianna and I check in every other weekend or so to give her a foot rub or help tidy her place. Whatever we can to let her know we’re grateful for her. I suppose, with my life in upside down chaos, there are a few things that make me luckier than most.

Properly dressed in my favorite pair of faded blue jeans and a gray sweater, I go back to the bathroom to dry my hair. Just as I turn on the dryer, I hear my phone ping in the kitchen. At first I choose to ignore it, but then it occurs to me that it might be Julianna with news about a job. I set the dryer back down and pad through to the kitchen on my bare feet.

To my surprise, it’s an email, not a text. And that can only mean one thing. My website is pretty basic, which is all I could get as a favor from a friend, but it has a working contact page that allows clients to enquire with me through email. My fingers rush to open it, my eyes can’t read fast enough.

Wedding Request

One (1) Premier Platinum Package - Open quote

Comment: Talk to Jules xoxo

This doesn’t make sense. Someone just went onto my site and requested the top tier package on offer. And they know Jules? We definitely don’t run in the type of circles for that to happen. I check the quote details, and it’s from Madeline Shaughnessy. Shaughnessy.

My chest tightens, and my hands begin to shake so much I have to place my phone back on the kitchen counter. I may be out of the loop on who’s who in the camp of the mega-rich, but I recognize that particular last name instantly. That’s because it belongs to the richest family in Wisconsin.

I’m staring at my phone as if it’s about to come to life and bite off my face. What in the hell does a family like that want with the likes of me? And how do they know my daughter?

As if on cue, Julianna blusters into the apartment, teeth chattering. She must notice something’s up by the look on my face because she rushes over and says, Mom? What’s wrong? What happened?

I still can’t find words, so I just point stupidly at my phone on the counter.

She picks it up, and after a few seconds, her whole face brightens in the widest smile. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod! It comes out like one long word, her screech tearing through my ears.

What? Jules, what is it? Her reaction has me even more alarmed than before.

But instead of answering me, she’s taken my phone and is jumping up on the sofa, then she’s off and bouncing around our tiny living room. All the while, screeching and giggling.

Okay, hey! I clap my hands really loud, and it finally gets her to quiet down. Can you please just tell me what the-

Mom! Mom, this is amazing! She comes back over to me. It’s Maddie!

What? The gears in my brain jerk and grunt with the new information.

Maddie and Scott! He finally asked! She was so sure he was waiting for Valentine’s Day, but I guess she was wrong. Oh my God, she must’ve been so surprised. I wonder how he proposed. I have to call her, she says, her words streaming out of her mouth a mile a minute.

And then she bolts in the direction of our bedroom to get her phone, but I grab hold of her coat as she’s about to pass me.

Hold up, young lady. She stumbles back. This is Maddie? Your Maddie?

Julianna nods excitedly, that smile still plastered on her face.

But...but... I give my head a shake as if I’m trying to loosen up the muddled thoughts inside.

But what, Mom? You know she and Scott have been together for like, ever. You must’ve known marriage was in the cards eventually.

I do know Maddie. She and Jules have been best friends for the past four years now. And Scott has even been out with us a few times. I know them well.

It’s not the wedding that shook me, Jules. It’s this. I point out the last name on the quote order.

This gets a huge, belly laugh from her. You didn’t know?

Uh, no. No, I didn’t. Why didn’t you tell me?

She shrugs. I don’t know. Didn’t seem important.

These people are billionaires. She’s practically royalty. That doesn’t sound like an important fact for you to share?

Royalty? Mom, it’s Maddie. You know she’s not like that, she says, digging her hands into the pockets of her jeans.

Oh God. My words come out in a dismayed groan.

I turn on the spot, taking in our hopeless, ramshackle apartment. I think about how many times that girl has been in here, visiting Jules. How many sleepovers they’ve had, staying up late to finish up assignments. How many times we’ve split a Sing Special in this very kitchen. I cringe inwardly.

Okay, Mom, you need to chill, Julianna says, putting on her best adult voice. It’s a stark contrast to the squealing young woman from just a few seconds ago. Then she adds, And I need to go call my best friend and give her hell for waiting this long to tell me the news.

She hurries off, leaving me to drown in my embarrassment alone. So that explains the quote. I couldn’t understand how someone of their social standing would know about me. Well, now I do. And she’s probably doing it as a favor to me because she knows the position we’re in. Not any of the details, of course. But you’d have to be blind not to see that we’re having a tough time keeping our heads above water.

Julianna’s excited voice comes from our bedroom. She’s talking to Maddie. And that’s when the nerves kick in, replacing my embarrassment. Because I’ve only ever planned weddings for my kind of people. Small events on a tight budget. I don’t know the first thing about catering to the rich, let alone the stinking rich.

I look down at my phone again. This selected package alone is enough to set us up with rent for the next few months, including all my missed payments. That’s without all the extra costs as well. With the change, I could buy myself a small island.

Oh God, I say again, sinking down along the refrigerator until I’m flat on the floor. My failure is inevitable.

Chapter 2

Deacon

I prefer winters at the club, I say, swirling the last of my Bourbon in its glass.

The light from the log fire beside our table gives it a warm, amber glow. This is one of the reasons I love winters here. Golfing days become a distant summer memory and we get to enjoy the cozy cigar lounge for business meetings, without the usual hub of activity.

What do you think, Georgie?

George, my attorney and lifelong confidante, nods absently. I know he’s not really listening to me. His nose is buried in the documents in front of him. They detail a formal grievance brought forward by the board of directors at my firm. A grievance against me, no less.

I sigh, and leave him to it. He’ll talk when he’s ready. Scanning the room, I see old Chatsworth move through to the private dining room reserved for diamond members of the club. There’s a gorgeous blonde on his arm who’s definitely not the blonde he came with last week. She’s young enough to be my daughter, which makes her young enough to be his granddaughter. I chuckle softly to myself. Go figure.

The dining room is an exclusive, discreet lounge for people like Chatsworth. And me, on occasion. It’s where you go when you’d rather not have your whereabouts known. For most of the members here, being dogged by work or the media gets old quickly. It’s the perfect hideaway. No press allowed. In the case of Chatsworth though, he needs his whereabouts kept secret from his third wife.

Okay, so here’s where we stand, George says, taking the half-moon reading glasses from his face. Of the twenty-seven board members, fifteen have signed this grievance. Three majority shareholders. He downs the rest of his Bourbon in one go, grimacing through the punch of it.

Is Segel on that list? I ask, curious as to whether my late father’s best friend has also turned against me. My suspicions are confirmed when George gives a solemn nod.

And that’s that, then. If things go the way the board wants, I’ll be ousted as head of the company. Booted from my rightful place as heir to an empire my great-grandfather started with his bare hands, in a tiny shed in his back garden. A ball of red hot anger begins churning in the pit of my stomach.

So what are my options? Bad quarters can happen to anyone. Surely it’s not enough to send me packing.

Well, the way your father ran things—

My father’s dead, I say, the words coming out a little harsher than I originally intended. I’m the one running things, and I’ve been doing just fine for almost a decade.

He nods and holds up an old, knobbly hand to calm me down. The company isn’t all I inherited from my father. George was his most trusted advisor and when Dad died, that loyalty shifted over to me.

Yes, you are, he says, but there were processes put in place long before you were even born that make things like this really tricky to navigate.

So then let’s change the processes.

I’m not going down without a fight. This is more than my pride at stake; it’s my family’s legacy.

That’ll take months to pull through the red tape, and you know that. The vote has been scheduled for next week.

Next week? I straighten in my chair, but when I feel several stares from other club members burning into me, I sink back down again. The last thing I need is news of this to get out. The press will have a field day. This time I’m careful not to raise my voice when I say, George, we can’t let this happen. There has to be something you can do.

Desperate and failing are two characteristics I’d rather not be associated with, but it’s exactly how I feel right now. Which is a whole new angle for someone like me. Someone who’s never had to fight for anything in his life.

I’m sorry, Deacon. But your best bet now is to appeal to the board.

I scoff. Yeah right. The board that wants me out. The same board I’ve been trying to appeal to for months now.

I mean a formal appeal, not watercooler conversation. Trust me. Best case scenario, you swing the key votes you need. They’re not allowed to revisit the case for another twelve months and that will give you enough time to do damage control.

I take a gulp of my drink, feeling the burn as it glides down my throat. And worst case?

He shrugs and shakes his head. He knows he doesn’t have to say it because I know full well what the worst-case scenario is.

Set it up, I say, finishing my drink and slamming the glass on the table. I’ll do the appeal. I’ll do whatever the hell it takes, but I’m not stepping down from something that’s rightfully mine. I grew up there, for God’s sake.

It’s unfortunate, I know.

No, George, coming in low last quarter was unfortunate. This? This is—I don’t even know.

Like treason, he says matter-of-factly.

Yes! I was thinking it, but didn’t want to sound too dramatic.

He gives a soft chuckle