His Gift

By Ashlee Price

This Christmas, I'm going to win her back. For good.

 

The moment Jordan's doe eyes met mine, I knew I had to have her. Hard not to when a gorgeous woman stumbles into your life. After I claimed her sweet innocence, we lost touch and I focused on building my fortune. Seeing Jordan while I was taking a holiday break in a small town was an unexpected surprise. She's everything I want in a woman. Kind. Smart. An amazing mother. But she's different now. Her guard is up. She can pretend to hate me all she wants but she can't deny our magnetic attraction. And her son? He sure does look and act a lot like me. This holiday season, she needs me more than ever. A snowball of expenses doesn't help. It's obvious that her son needs a father figure. And don't get me started on her brother. Let's just say we couldn't have gotten off on any more of a wrong foot.

 

I didn't expect to feel this way. All I know is I'm sure I don't want this to end. When we're alone, I'll make her body tremble with pleasure. I'll make her mine. Despite the odds stacked against us. After all, I have a special gift for her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ashlee Price
• Release date: Dec 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223905011

Book preview

Chapter One

Lance

Two weeks before Christmas

2012

Well done, Lance. You've made another girl cry.

I look up from the screen of my laptop to see Michael standing in the doorway of my office with a sarcastic grin. His arms are crossed over his knitted red sweater, and some golden crumbs are clinging to the yarn. His hand clutches the source - a bag of Lay's Classic potato chips, his favorite all-day snack. He's even more addicted to them than I am to my cigarettes, but as long as he keeps doing his job as well as I do mine, I don't mind.

I turn my gaze back to my screen. I have no idea what you're talking about.

That girl who just left your office - Amy, I believe - she left with tears in her eyes.

I continue typing. That code she gave me was full of errors. I simply pointed them out to her.

And very kindly, as usual.

I stop typing and lean back in my leather chair. It creaks.

Is there something you want from me?

Michael shrugs. Maybe a little warmth, considering it's almost Christmas? You do know that, don't you?

How can I not? I lean on one arm. The whole office is wrapped up in red and green. Your idea, I presume?

He grins, then glances above him. Not the whole office, apparently. Where's the mistletoe that was hanging here?

I got rid of it, I tell him.

Michael frowns.

If you want some warmth, go snuggle with your dog or something, I say as I lean forward to open the drawer of my desk. And stop sounding like my mother. You're my business partner. You do know that, don't you?

He sighs.

I grab my pack of cigarettes, close the drawer a little harder than I need to, and leave my desk.

Where are you going?

I slip the hard pack into one pocket and my hand into the other.

For a smoke.

You know that's not good for you.

Neither is that. I glance at the bag of chips dangling from his fingers. Hold the fort while I'm gone.

Michael lifts the bag and slips his hand inside. As always, boss.

I grab his hand. And don't get crumbs on the carpet.

He chuckles. Who's sounding like a mother now?

I don't answer. I simply slide my hand back into my pocket, step around him, and step out of my office.

I'm immediately hit by the smells of coffee, cheap perfume and hand sanitizer, but thank goodness, I don't smell any cinnamon.

As I pass by the cubicles, the chatter dies down and so does the typing frenzy. In the silence, I hear a song drifting from one of the computers.

Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree.

I frown.

Maybe if people didn't slack off around Christmas, or if they suddenly grew hearts, I wouldn't be against it so much. As it is, I find all the fake smiles, party invitations from strangers, and increased number of calls from home irritating if not suffocating.

Then there's the decorations.

As my eyes wander around the room, I find the gleam of tinsel and colorful Christmas ornaments on every cubicle almost blinding, the boughs of holly on the wall and the reindeer and sprigs of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling too much.

Too bright. Too cheerful. Too desperate.

I hope Michael didn't spend too much on them.

As I open the glass door, a cluster of bells jingle. A few steps later, I spot Amy coming from the restrooms clutching her handkerchief and wearing a fresh layer of makeup.

So she was crying.

Apparently, I make them all cry - the ones who can't handle me in pain and the ones who can in pleasure. Nothing new.

I pay her no attention as I pass her on my way to the elevator. The doors slide open moments after I push the button, and I step in. Even in the elevator, a Christmas song is playing - Frosty the Snowman this time. It almost makes me wish I had taken the three flights of stairs down to the fifth floor.

Thankfully, I only have to listen to a few lines. The doors open and I step out. I go all the way down the hall to another pair of sliding doors.

The smoking room.

Most of the people who come here come for a breather, ironically, or to engage in idle gossip about their boss and colleagues, or even to flirt as that woman in the corner is doing.

I simply come here to smoke.

I take the box out of my pocket and grab a stick with my lips. Then I take one of the lighters on the shelf and light it. With a deep breath, the warm smoke swirls in my lungs and I take the cigarette out to puff some of it into the already nicotine-laden air.

Good.

Nothing like the warmth of a cigarette on a chilly morning, huh?

My lips curve into a frown. I don't have to turn my head to see who's standing beside me. I know that voice well.

Kevin Watts. The CEO of the company on the floor above mine. A smaller company that dabbles in video games. Children and amateurs.

I put my cigarette back between my lips.

As always, whether in this room or in the elevator where we sometimes bump into each other, I ignore Kevin.

Or maybe the weather doesn't bother you at all, Iceman.

I cast him an icy glare. So what if it proves his point? I hate the man. I hate his perennially messy blond hair and his stupid printed ties. I hate how Michael keeps comparing me to him, saying I should care about my employees as much as he does. And most of all, I hate how he can never take a hint and keeps on talking to me in spite of all the times I've ignored him.

Just kidding. Kevin pats my shoulder. It's the holidays. You should relax.

I shrug off his hand. Aren't you guys already relaxed enough for everyone in this building?

He scratches the back of his head and gives a sheepish grin.

I guess our company is a lot of fun.

I narrow my eyes at him.

Speaking of fun, we're having our Christmas party at the office tomorrow night. Want to come?

No, I answer right away.

Don't worry. There won't be anything with cinnamon, I promise.

I turn to him with a frown. Let me guess. You got that piece of information from that employee you stole from me last week. What was his name again? Damon?

Dylan, Kevin answers. But I'm not surprised you didn't get his name right, since you never even bothered to stop by his cubicle.

Why would I do that?

And I didn't steal him. He wanted to be a part of my company, and I happened to have an opening.

I take another puff. How convenient. You always seem to have openings when people leave my company.

Lucky me, he says. After all, it would be a waste to let such talented people go.

Incompetent people, I retort.

They seem to be doing just fine for me. They've been showing excellent results, actually. It's funny how a bit of appreciation can go a long way. You should try it sometime.

I didn't ask for your advice.

No. You don't ask anyone for advice. After all, you're perfect, aren't you? And you think you can get everything done perfectly all by yourself.

I narrow my eyes at him. As opposed to someone who can't do anything by himself.

He snorts.

Although I guess you have to do some things by yourself now that your secretary's gone. What was her name again? Sharon?

Cheryl, Kevin corrects as he meets my gaze. And don't you dare -

Too bad, I go on. I could tell she would have been at least a bit amusing in bed. But I guess she couldn't handle -

My sentence gets cut off as Kevin swings his fist at my face. I dodge in time, but the tip of my cigarette brushes against his arm.

Shit, he hisses as he covers the burn.

Then he lifts his head to glare at me.

You're a big jerk, you know that? You're the worst kind of boss and the worst kind of man.

I extinguish my cigarette. I wasn't asking for a compliment, but thanks.

Why, you...

Kevin swings his fist again. This time I catch it in my palm as I toss my cigarette butt into the bin with my other hand.

I wouldn't do that if I were you, I warn him. You wouldn't be able to handle the consequences.

He grits his teeth.

Whoa! I hear Michael's voice as he enters the room. That's enough playing, boys. Recess is over. Back to class.

I let Kevin's hand go. He turns on his heel.

Hey, Kevin, Michael greets him. Merry Christmas!

He leaves the room without another word.

Michael turns to me with a sigh. What did I say about being nice at Christmas?

Nothing important, I answer. What are you doing here?

There's a client at the office, he tells me. Wants to meet you.

Okay.

I follow him out of the room.

Merry Christmas, everyone! Michael tells everyone with a wave and a smile before walking out the doors.

I frown. Who are you? Santa?

Actually, I will be Santa for our Christmas party, which I hope you haven't forgotten is three days from now.

Not going.

Michael sighs. Really, Lance, where is your Christmas spirit?

On leave, I answer as I step inside the elevator.

He laughs.

I say nothing as the elevator begins to move.

What's so special about Christmas anyway?

Chapter Two

Jordan

I thought this Christmas was going to be special.

I set my mug of hot chocolate down on my desk and slump in my chair. My arms hang limply from my sides and the pillow on my lap falls. As I pick it up, my gaze falls on the red and white dress I bought a few days ago, still sheathed in plastic and hanging on the wall.

I was supposed to wear that dress two nights from now to a Christmas concert, a date with my boyfriend, Arthur, before he went home for the holidays. I was going to give him a present after the date, too, maybe after we made out in front of the fire. But last night I found out that he was going out with someone else, an old friend of mine to boot. No wonder she hadn't been in contact with me, and no wonder it always felt like Arthur's mind was elsewhere.

I bet that's not all that's been elsewhere.

Let me guess. He probably started fucking her the day after I said I wouldn't let him do it to me right away.

I grit my teeth.

Men.

No. Boys.

Just then, my phone's ringtone pierces the miserable silence. I pick it up and glance at the screen, even though I already have an idea who's calling.

Arthur. No doubt he wants to apologize. Again.

Hasn't anyone told him it doesn't matter how many times he apologizes if not one of them is real? He's only sorry he got caught. Besides, no amount of apology can undo the past or the pain.

I can't forgive him. I won't.

As my phone rings again, my fingers tighten around it. I'm seized by the urge to throw it into the trash bin in the corner where Arthur's present already is, along with whatever feelings I had for him. Instead, I draw a deep breath and turn off the phone. Then I get off my chair, throw myself on top of my bed and stare at the pale pink ceiling.

I don't care if it's Christmas, the season of giving and forgiving. That asshole can rot in hell.

Jordan? The voice of my brother, Kevin, barges into my thoughts.

I sit up on the bed and hug the pillow to my chest. Come in.

He enters with a wide, warm smile. It's that same smile that used to send me off in the mornings before I'd go to my school and he'd head over to his. It's that same smile that accompanied the pats on the head he used to give me as he congratulated me for winning another race or breaking another track record. It's that same smile he always shows me when he's wiping a speck of flour of my cheek and encouraging me to try baking one more time in spite of the disaster I've just experienced, the same one he gives as he munches on what I've baked, no matter how unsuccessful.

As always, no matter how rotten I'm feeling, I find myself smiling back.

Kevin stands close to the bed and looks around. I didn't interrupt something, did I?

Just my thoughts on the best way to castrate someone, I answer.

His eyebrows furrow.

Just kidding, I tell him. Did you see the brownies I finally finished making?

Kevin sits on the edge of the bed. Yes. I tasted one of each kind, too. They're great. I especially love the hazelnut ones.

I knew you would.

And I'm sure my employees will love them. He reaches for my hand and squeezes it. Thank you.

You paid me for them, remember?

He leans back. And speaking of parties, are you sure you don't want to come to the office Christmas party tonight?

I shake my head. Nope.

Partying is the last thing I'm in the mood for.

Oh, come on. He looks into my eyes. Everyone will have their families with them. What will they think if their boss is all alone?

Don't do that. It's -

I stop as I see the burn on my brother's arm.

I inspect it more closely. What happened to you?

Kevin pulls his arm away. Nothing. Just a cigarette. I was clumsy.

I frown. Maybe now you'll stop smoking.

Maybe I'll consider it if you come.

I rest my head on the edge of the pillow in my arms. You don't mean that.

You know I only started doing it so I could mingle with my colleagues and my employees a bit more.

I raise my eyebrows. And you don't need to do that anymore?

I'll find other ways.

I say nothing.

He nudges my shoulder lightly. I hear the brownies at this party are the best in town.

Of course they are, I tell him.

Then will you come with me?

I don't answer.

He tucks a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. I know you don't feel like celebrating and all, Jordan, but it's Christmas and it only comes once a year.

I wish it could be like old times. You know, with the whole family together.

You mean with all our aunts and uncles and cousins?

Exactly.

Well, there will be a lot of people at the party tonight, Kevin says. It's just like a big family.

Just then, I hear a beep from the laptop on my bedside table. I glance at the screen, which tells me I have a new email, from none other than Arthur James.

Shit. I forgot that he has my email address, too.

The bed heaves as Kevin gets up.

Well, I can't force you to come if you don't want to, he says. I'm sure you've got better things to do. In fact, why don't you just give Arthur another chance? It's Christmas, after all.

I narrow my eyes at him. You can't mean that.

Kevin shrugs. If you'll forgive him, I will.

And if not?

I could punch him for you the next time I see him. If I see him.

I grin. That sounds better.

Does it? Will that really make you feel better?

I keep silent.

You know what they say, he goes on. The best revenge is to be happy. You're already making him suffer. Why should you suffer with him?

He glances at the dress on the hanger. Besides, it would be a pity to waste such a pretty dress.

I glance at it as well.

But like I said, I'm not forcing you. I'll just -

Wait, I cut him off.

He stops just a foot away from the door and glances over his shoulder expectantly.

I let out a deep breath. Fine. I'll go.

Sure?

I touch my neck. You're right. It would be a waste not to wear the dress and to spend my holidays sulking. Besides, I want to see for myself how much your employees really love my brownies.

Kevin shrugs. Fine by me.

Consider it an early Christmas present, I add.

Again, that smile appears on his lips. Just like that, I know I've made the right decision.

Then it seems like it's going to be a great Christmas.

Chapter Three

Lance

Great. Just fucking great.

The insides of the vending machine rattle as I give it a good kick. The sound bounces off the shadows of the empty hallway.

It still doesn't give me any coffee, though. And I badly need some.

I lean against the wall and glance at the watch on my wrist.

It's only half past ten, but I've been working at the office since before everyone else left at six. That means I've been staring at my computer screen, coding for nearly five hours straight. Already, the numbers and symbols are starting to blur in my head. Any more and it might shut down.

I close my eyes and press the heels of my palms against my eyelids.

I'm not complaining. The client that came in yesterday, William Marsh, is big, the kind of big I want to be in a few years. He owns a few companies, the latest of which is a shipping company that he wants me to create some proprietary software for. He wants the design before New Year's, no less.

Of course I said yes. It's the biggest project my company has ever had. And I will get it done even if I have to do it myself.

But first, coffee.

The thought of getting out of the building and walking to the Starbucks around the corner crosses my mind, but the sight of snowflakes blowing almost horizontally in the frigid wind beyond the glass window dismisses it. I consider going home and taking my work with me, but then something else occurs to me.

There's a coffee vending machine in the employee lounge.

I've never been there, mainly because I know it's even more crowded than the smoking room. I know about the machine, though, because I've seen some of my employees returning from there with steaming cups of coffee.

At any rate, it's worth a try.

I step into the elevator and press the button for the sixteenth floor. I'm expecting it to be a quick ride at this time of night, but to my dismay, it stops at the ninth floor. No one gets in when the doors slide open, but I catch a glimpse of twinkling lights and hear the loud music streaming from the doors across the corridor.

Right. Tonight is Watts's company's Christmas party. The one he invited me to, though I doubt the invitation is still open after that burn I gave him.

Not that I want to go.

I press the button to close the doors. Thankfully, there are no other stops. I step out on the sixteenth floor and make my way to the room at the end of the hall.

It's deserted, just like the rest of the building except for that bustling ninth floor, and dark, except for the moonlight flowing in through the glass panels and the glowing vending machines, one of which has the word COFFEE.

I let out a sigh of relief and walk over to it. Just as I'm about to put my coins in, though, I turn my head and realize I'm not alone as I previously thought.

A person's silhouette is painted against the glass window.

As I step towards it, I realize it's a woman sitting on the arm of the couch. Her back is turned to me but I can see her hair coiled at her nape, the bow at the back of her dress and the golden bracelet around one of her wrists. I see a pair of high heeled shoes on the carpet as well.

My eyebrows crease.

What is a woman doing here all by herself at this hour?

Only one answer comes to mind.

Shouldn't you be on the ninth floor? I ask her.

She jumps off the arm of the couch and turns around. As soon as she does, her doe eyes hold mine.

Large brown beads shimmer with innocence in the darkness. They widen in surprise and fascination. Then, as her gaze travels elsewhere, they narrow just like her lips.

Shouldn't you be? she throws the question back at me.

I don't work there.

Neither do I.

I step forward as I study her.

Should I believe her? She looks a bit familiar, and yet I can say for sure that I've never seen her before.

A model that I've seen on the cover of some magazine? Maybe. She certainly has the face of one. And the body, too. Tall and slender. Her white dress with splotches of red lace hugs her firm breasts and her tiny waist perfectly. It extends beyond her knees, but the slit reveals half of a smooth and shapely thigh.

But what would a model be doing in this building? A guest of Kevin's, maybe?

I doubt it. That man may be able to charm his employees, but a woman like this requires more than just charm. Although, if she is Kevin's guest, that makes things even more interesting...

I take a step forward. You look bored. Shall I amuse you?

The sound of her laughter, gentle and melodic, travels across the quiet room.

I cock my head to one side. It seems I've already amused you.

I'm sorry, she says as she stops laughing. I couldn't help it. Do you say that to every girl you find alone?

No, I answer.

Not those exact words, at least.

You're the first to hear them.

She nods. Of course you'd say that.

She sits down on the couch.

And I suppose I should say 'Yes, please' and take off my dress? Is that what happens next?

It would save us both time, I tell her as I sit on the other end of the couch.

She snorts. Unbelievable. You men all think you're God's gift to women, don't you? You think you can do with us as you please?

Not all men. Just me. I move closer to her, close enough to smell her sweet perfume. And if I did what I wanted to do with you, I wouldn't be the only one pleased.

Again, she laughs. I catch a whiff of the alcohol on her breath. Wine, most probably.

I frown and stand up.

Where are you going? she asks after me.

I don't play games with drunk women, I answer before turning on my heel.

Boring.

I stop in my tracks.

And here I thought you'd be more fun. Didn't you say you were going to amuse me? Please me? I guess you're all talk. Then again, aren't all you guys like that? All bark and no bite. All liars. All disappointments.

I turn around. Did you just call me a liar?

Isn't that what you call a person who promises something but doesn't deliver?

I scowl.

She grins as she pats the space next to her.