A Billionaire for Christmas

Maybe he should have told her. Hell, maybe he’d never know what the right decision was. All he knew was that he wanted to bring Frank home for Christmas. For Nikki. For the girls. For their family.

But he couldn’t stand the thought of Nikki getting her hopes up only to have them shattered again. And so he’d stayed silent.

At first, of course, he’d tried to find a pilot already in Mexico or nearby Guatemala who could fly Frank back, but because of the strike, every possible rental had been spoken for. And renting a car wasn’t an option since the drive was so long.

He could have sent someone in his place—hell, Ryan had offered—but why ask that of someone else, especially during the holiday? After all, Ryan hadn’t seen his wife for two weeks.

Ultimately, Damien had made the decision to come himself. In a jet, the trip there and back was only about ten hours in the air. Even with the additional drive time to and from the plantation where Frank was holed up, they should end up taxiing back to the rental jet’s hanger at LAX well before ten on the twenty-third.

Plenty of time, and with all of Christmas Eve still spread out in front of them like a bright, shiny blanket of stars.

This would work. Emergency landing or not, this trip was going to work.

He stayed quiet as Grayson spoke with the tower. But as soon as the pilot rattled off a slew of instructions, Damien jumped to the tasks, following each to the letter.

Damien was a licensed pilot, and he flew often enough. His skills were sharp, and he wasn’t a man who crumpled under pressure. On the contrary, pressure brought out the best in him. And right now, his best meant doing exactly what Grayson said.

Soon enough, they’d dumped most of their fuel, adjusted altitude, brought the plane in toward the assigned runway, and slowed their airspeed.

“Are they ready for us down there?” he asked as the lights of the airport got bigger and bigger in the window.

“They are. TGZ’s a solid nest for our bird,” Grayson added, referring to the Angel Albino Corzo International Airport in Chiapas, Mexico.

Fortunately, they were making their emergency landing at their expected destination. Unfortunately, Damien still had a five-hour drive through the night to the remote coffee plantation. Assuming that the rental car Ryan had lined up for him was standing by as requested.

Assuming the landing didn’t disintegrate into one giant cluster fuck.

None of that.

“Almost there. Almost there.” Grayson mumbled the words, more encouragement to himself than information for Damien.

He held his breath, trusting Grayson, but his fingers still itching for the controls, even though his mind knew damn well the right man was making the descent.

Lower and lower, until the buildings became clearer despite the night, and the lights of the runway stretched out in front of them, the ground roaring up to meet them.

This was the moment, and it was Nikki who filled his thoughts. His wife. His children. The risk of fire was real. So was the risk the plane could roll. But if—when—they walked away safe, Damien would be even more certain that he’d get Frank home.

Get through tonight, and he could handle anything.

The force of the impact slammed him back in the seat, and he held his breath, his hands clutched on the armrests as he fought the urge to take control. A horrible metallic screeching split his ears, lights flashed outside the windows, and the plane lurched, as if it was trying to rip itself out of Grayson’s control.

And then, suddenly, it was over.

For a moment he just sat there imagining Nikki in his arms, her presence soothing him. Centering him.

And then he stood up.

He’d made it to Mexico.

Now he just had to get to his father-in-law.Chapter NineDamien woke to the sound of his phone alarm blaring. He snatched it off the passenger seat of the battered, fifteen-year-old Volkswagen Clasico that had been the only vehicle available to rent when they’d finally descended from the jet to the tarmac. Even then, it wasn’t an official rental; instead, it was the second car of one of the airport’s on-duty firefighters.

He opened the door and stepped out of the car, looking out as rays of light from the rising sun cut through the lush greenery. A small operation, the Finca de Hermosa plantation was nestled far from the more well-known and touristy coffee plantations that dotted the western part of the state. Surrounded by verdant hills, the area looked more like a pristine jungle than a plantation.

His body ached from sleeping in the car, but he’d arrived at the plantation gate at just before six after a five-hour drive from the airport. Since that was far too early to bother the residents, he’d pulled off the road, put back the driver’s seat, and dozed.