A Billionaire for Christmas

“Yes, well, I wanted to be within walking distance of both Aaron’s home and school.” I hadn’t thought particularly much about the borough except that it suited Ellen—snooty and elitist. I’d focused so much on that angle that I’d forgotten there were charms to the city that were untainted by my ex.

Audrey began an earnest inspection of the building, circling around me to take everything in. “First impressions are good. The lobby is clean, well-furnished. Both a doorman and a security desk—that’s a nice touch.” She frowned suddenly. “It’s strange that they have a reprint of John Constable as the major focal point.”

I tilted my head at the hanging art. I hadn’t noticed the familiar piece before she pointed it out, and I wouldn’t have remembered the artist’s name without her mention of it. The original was hanging in the National Gallery, if I remembered correctly. It depicted a man with his hay cart and horses in the River between Essex and Suffolk counties. There was a peace and beauty in the image that I couldn’t put into words.

“You don’t like it?” I was surprised at her indignation at such an unsuspecting painting.

She turned her frown on me. “John Constable? I love his work. He’s quite a snob about your homeland, but he showed that landscape images are not just beautiful but also powerful. I’m just curious why a luxury building would choose a cheap recreation of a famous art piece—albeit in a rather hefty frame—rather than purchasing something unique and original by a local artist. It would definitely class up the place, and it seems that is what they’re going for. Maybe I should give the suggestion to the doorman.” She’d already taken two steps toward the door before she finished talking.

Who did that? Who had thoughts on everything—lovely thoughts and bold thoughts, on art and luxury apartment buildings—and then proceeded to share them with no inhibitions?

Who was this woman?

And what was she doing in my life?

“Audrey, why are you here?”

My question halted her task. She spun around in my direction. “Hmm?”

“Why are you here?” A simple but pressing question.

Slowly, with a subtle grin, she strode toward me, her heels clicking on the marble floor. “You invited me. Don’t you remember?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how that went.” My eyes searched aimlessly over my shoes as I attempted to recall how we ended up there together. It all happened so quickly, my hands responding to her texts without giving my brain a chance to weigh in. “No, you lured me.”

“I lured you? How is that possible when I’m the one who has joined you on your day’s plans? It seems, Dylan Locke, that you may have lured me.”

Her expression was so convincing, I momentarily doubted myself. “No, no. I most definitely didn’t lure you. You lured me with your talk of fate and finding out what it had to do with us.”

“Kismet,” she corrected.

“Yes, that’s right. Kismet. You dangled the word out in front of me the way a fisherman dangles a—”

“Hook?” she guessed.

I narrowed my eyes. “Lure.”

Her smile widened. “That’s amazing that a simple text message could hold that much power over you. Why do you think that is, do you suppose?”

And that was the real question, more important than why she was here. The question about why I was tempting myself with something I was never going to believe in. About why her particular lure was so irresistible. The question I’d hoped she’d be able to answer because I was at a loss.

A question that wasn’t getting answered now either because the estate agent I had an appointment with was currently walking toward me with his hand stretched out.

“Mr. Locke? Jeff Jones, nice to meet you.” He finished his handshake with one hand and immediately his other passed over a business card, which I immediately pocketed without looking at. I knew everything I needed to about the man from our encounter thus far. He was a salesman, a charmer. Trendy with his trimmed beard and fitted suit. Good-looking, perhaps, but if I’d had my guess, he’d had work done. His jaw was too square. His nose too straight.

All that mattered was that he had the ability to put in a competitive offer, and the ambitious air surrounding him suggested he could.

“Sorry I’m running a tad bit late,” he went on, talking in that fast New York style I still hadn’t become accustomed to even after the years I’d lived here. “I had a closing this morning that ran long. There are no showings on the books today for this unit, though, so we’ll have plenty of time to spend in the apartment.”

His focus turned to Audrey then, and his voice suddenly shifted in tone. “Well, hello there…?”

“Audrey,” she said, offering her hand in greeting.

“It’s a pleasure, Audrey.” The smarmy way Jeff Jones held Audrey’s hand, said her name, and stared too long made me want to sock him in his too perfect nose. He was too old to be flirting with her. Jeff Jones had to be at least…