The Christmas Truce: Rosalind Brewery Series, #1.5

By Palmer Jones

Business is business until someone changes the rules of the game…

 

Emma Singleton has one goal when she travels to Chicago:  take down Miles Almeida. The bossy, egotistical man might be CEO of his wildly profitable communications company, but he acts like he runs the world. For the past few months, Miles has been a pain in her butt with his around-the-clock demands for perfection. But that stops now.

 

She's ready to prove that she's not a pushover, finish their business deal, and leave. Dealing with Miles and Christmas has her counting down the days until she flies home to Virginia, away from the lights, sounds, and painful memories of the holidays.

 

Miles Almeida wants to finalize the merger with Emma's company and move on with his life. But one glimpse of the beautiful, stubborn woman changes his plans. The hard-nosed businesswoman meets him toe-to-toe at every turn, never giving an inch and driving him absolutely crazy in the process. And when she ends up sick, Miles's protective instincts kick into high gear, and the boardroom is forgotten.

 

He only has one weekend with Emma. Finding ways to help her celebrate Christmas, showing her around his Chicago, is the best gift he can give.

 

Can the two of them call a truce long enough to spend one incredible weekend together?

 

The Christmas Truce is a standalone holiday novella about two people who go from enemies to lovers over one unexpected, steamy weekend.

 

 

Part of the Brewing Chemistry series:
1)    Ava
2)    Reese
3)    Frankie

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sweet Blooms Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Nov 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393836650

Palmer Jones

Palmer Jones writes fun and flirty, romantic fiction. Born and raised in the South, she loves to travel but will always call Georgia her home. With a degree in accounting, she spends part of her day immersed in numbers. The rest of the time is spent with her friends, family, and hiding away in the worlds she creates through her stories.

Book preview

1

T hat’s a damn low-ball offer, and you know it.

Of course, the man would be difficult. Negotiations were supposed to be two-way streets, give a little, take a little. Not much give was coming from his side of the boardroom.

Emma Singleton squinted her eyes against the headache pounding along her temples. She winced as she swallowed, trying her best not to show weakness to her opponent. Why didn’t the damn temperature in the boardroom stay steady? It was either too hot or too cold.

Her face flushed either way. But no matter what, she’d fake it. Who cares if she had a stupid cold? She sure-as-hell didn’t have time to be sick, not sitting across the conference room table from a shark like Miles Almeida. He fed off the vulnerable and weak.

Although, he’d surprised her, not with his charm or fun personality. He was a dud as far as she could tell: no smiles, stuffy office, everything slick and shiny, a class A workaholic, and his rotation of black and navy suits he wore every day proved just as boring.

The producers from The Bachelor would not be at his door anytime soon, but holy hell, the man was gorgeous, not just second-glance gorgeous, either, like third or fourth glance, maybe a long stare, wipe-the-drool gorgeous.

I’m surprised you even thought this was an option, Emma, Miles said, his voice matching the rest of the package. Low and nearly irresistible.

This is your surprised face? Emma asked.

Just like their personalities, their looks were on opposite ends of the spectrum. Her light hair and blue eyes contrasted his dark hair and brown eyes. Right then, those intense chocolate brown eyes looked nearly black at the moment, he was so mad.

She’d not finished the proposal he’d requested before flying into Chicago. Even after a week straight of twenty-hour days, she’d failed to complete his small request.

Emma discreetly wiped her nose with a tissue before shoving it into her purse, sitting at her feet. No. I told you before that we aren’t willing to compromise on the requested bandwidth. We need it. You agreed to it last week.

Miles sighed. It was a sound she’d grown used to at this point. That was before you showed up trying to negotiate for more.

The room spun, and she closed her eyes. She’d doubled up on her cold medicine, not realizing it until a few minutes earlier when the room tipped on her the first time.

Taking a nap?

No. She gritted out the word, somehow making it two syllables. Opening her eyes, she saw a brief flash of concern in his expression before he covered it up again with his game face, as she called it. Why was he even in the satellite communications business? He should be on the front line of a war somewhere, shouting at troops to hold their position under live fire, probably not even breaking a sweat, not the way she was currently sweating.

How was it December in Chicago, and she was sweating? But the idea of walking out into the cold air caused a shiver to course through her body.

This was horrible.

You’re obviously done for the day. Let’s table this discussion. He stacked his papers together. We can start again in the morning. Eight…sharp.

She sighed. I’ll be here, for more abuse, mental work abuse, the same as it’d been yesterday after her flight from Virginia, where she lived, where she wished she was right then, in her sweatpants, dying in the comfort of her own apartment surrounded by used tissue.

The moment she stood, the room tipped again. She flattened her hands on the table, steadying her body before she fell over. She didn’t need this now, not with Miles standing there, judging her every weakness.

Are you all right? His low voice, too close, jerked her back into reality.

Fine. She sniffed, avoided eye contact, and marched out of the conference room. She could make it to her small hotel room and then crumble. At the end of the hall, she glimpsed over her shoulder.

He stood in the same spot, watching, always watching, waiting for her to screw up.

Then, he’d get her job.

Stop it, she muttered. She’d fight like she’d been doing. She didn’t love this job, but she worked hard. Besides, Miles owned Selkie, LLC. He didn’t need her lowly job. All she needed was to sleep before the cold medicine made her say something she’d regret—like the truth.

The trek down the elevator proved trickier than expected. She slapped a hand on the wall of the elevator as the whoosh almost sent her to her knees. When it opened, Emma stumbled into a set of strong arms.

You’re not all right. What’s wrong? Again, Mile’s voice was too close, his arms too tight, his scent, the cologne that had distracted her for the past ten hours, too powerful. He cradled the side of her face like the man might kiss her. Although she nearly hated him, the prospect intrigued her.

Damn, Emma, you look awful.

Scratch that cold-medicine-induced fantasy.

Where are you staying? he asked with the same command in his voice.

She pushed him back, needing to breathe, but didn’t accomplish much distance. How did you make it down here so quick?

Ran down the stairs. I didn’t know if you’d pass out in the elevator judging by the way you staggered your way onto it. Where are you staying? he asked with a little more force.

Why? So, you can criticize that, too? The whine in her voice embarrassed her. Her body involuntarily pressed against his, seeking out the heat and comfort.

He sighed as his arms tightened. I probably deserve that, but for right now, let’s call a truce.

Emma met his gaze. For the first time, those dark eyes didn’t look so cold. She rattled off the name of the boutique hotel a block away. Why was he still holding her? She needed to push away, but her arms wouldn’t work. Traitors.

You’d end up underneath a car if you tried to meander down the sidewalk in this condition. He chuckled. Then who would I argue with tomorrow?

The medicine in her system made that deep, rich laugh send shivers over her skin. Wait. Miles could laugh?

Are you cold?

I don’t think so. She looked up then.

His full lips tilted into a small smile. She’d have to think of the awkwardness between them later. Right then, she only wanted to crawl under the covers and not emerge for the next ten hours.

Let me help you to your hotel.

Great. In the past year, Miles was the only man to have said anything remotely sexy like that, and it was because she was at risk of a DUI for cold meds walking down the street. He didn’t want her. He didn’t want her to be roadkill.

What happened to you?

She sniffed. I took a double dose of this. She pulled the bottle from her purse.

So, you’re drunk?

It’s more a mix of drunk and tired and woozy.

A combination of the drugs and alcohol, I’d assume. He took her laptop bag from her shoulder and wrapped an arm around her back, his hand landing just above her hip.

She didn’t miss how they fit together. Suppose she slipped her arm around his waist? They’d look like a loving couple instead of arch enemies who’d apparently waved the white flag to keep her from being flattened in downtown Chicago. She wouldn’t make the best Christmas decoration in town.

Were you sick before you left Virginia?

I’m not sure. I had a headache, but I think I caught something on the plane. She tilted her head, letting his shoulder prop it up. To hell with not using him to survive. He’d offered.

The fingers near her hip tightened for a fraction before relaxing again.

They shuffled through the building’s lobby, past the expensive but tasteful Christmas decorations accented by the low volume of traditional holiday music. She blinked, refusing to cry over the loss. It’d been three years already, but losing her family hit her harder at Christmas. This trip was supposed to be a distraction.

What time is it? she asked, the streetlights already lit.

They rounded the corner of his building, a sharp, cold wind slapping her in the face. She huddled closer, ignoring all propriety. Cold, drunk, sick Emma didn’t care at the moment.

Seven-thirty. Do you want me to have some food delivered to your hotel, so you don’t have to go back out?

"No. I’m on this