The Unexpected Holiday Gift

‘And I’ll be there too. I won’t leave again.’

‘And when we both screw up?’ Jacob asked. ‘Because I have it on good authority that we will. Things won’t be perfect all the time.’

Clara shook her head. ‘They don’t need to be perfect. We just need to try. And when we screw up, we’ll try harder. Together.’

‘Together,’ Jacob echoed. Then he smiled. ‘Look,’ he said, nudging her chin upwards. ‘Mistletoe.’ She smiled. Apparently Merry had known what she was doing when sh e’d insisted on hanging it in all of the window alcoves.

‘Well, you’d better kiss me then,’ Clara said, her heart full to bursting. ‘And then we’ll go and tell Ivy that she just gained a family.’

‘She had us all along,’ Jacob said. ‘I just didn’t know it yet.’

‘And now that you do?’ Clara asked, in between kisses.

Jacob grinned down at her under the mistletoe. ‘Now...’ he said. ‘This is officially my perfect Christmas.’

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from A MISTLETOE KISS WITH THE BOSS by Susan Meier.

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A Mistletoe Kiss with the Boss

by Susan Meier

CHAPTER ONE

WHEN THE ELEVATOR bell rang in the lobby of the upscale Paris hotel, Kristen Anderson’s heart thumped. She spun to face the ornate wrought iron doors, her whole body shivering in anticipation—

Two middle-aged American women got out.

She didn’t have time to sag with disappointment, because someone tapped her on the shoulder and asked her a quiet question.

In French.

Which she didn’t speak.

She turned around to see a man dressed in a suit, undoubtedly the desk clerk.

Speaking English, because her native Grennadian was nearly unheard of, she said, “I’m sorry. I don’t speak French.”

The elevator bell dinged again. Her head snapped toward the sound.

In perfect English, the desk clerk said, “May I ask, mademoiselle, your business in our hotel?”

She pointed at the tall, broad man exiting the elevator. “I want to see him.”

She took two steps toward Dean Suminski, chairman of the board and CEO of Suminski Stuff, but the clerk caught her arm.

“No, mademoiselle.” He shook his finger like a metronome. “You will not disturb a guest.”

Walking toward her, Dean Suminski shrugged into a gorgeous charcoal-gray overcoat. His eyes were down. She guessed that was his way of ignoring anyone who might be around him. But she didn’t care. Getting him to visit Grennady and consider it as the place to relocate his company was her mission for her country. Approaching him was also practice for when she had to deal with men like him on a daily basis after she started her charitable foundation. One desk clerk wouldn’t stop her.

“Sorry, Pierre.” She pulled her arm out of his short, stubby fingers. “Someday I’m going to build schools in third world countries. I have to learn to be brash.”

She spun away from the clerk and shouted, “Mr. Suminski!”

He totally ignored her.

“Mr. Suminski! I know that’s you. I’ve seen your face on the internet.”

He walked to the door.

She scurried after him. “I just need two minutes.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the clerk point at a man behind another discreet desk. He nodded and bounded toward her. But Suminski walked out the door and she stayed on his heels, catching him when he stopped in front of a limo.

“Seriously. Two minutes. That’s all I need.”

In the silence of the crisp early December morning, at a hotel set back, away from the congestion of Paris’s main thoroughfare, she heard his annoyed sigh and was surprised when he faced her.

“Who are you?”

With his dark eyes locked on her face, Kristen froze. His black hair was perfect, not a strand out of place. His high forehead, straight nose and high cheekbones could have made him a king.

When she didn’t answer, he said, “Fine,” and began to turn away.

“I’m Kristen Anderson,” she said, her voice coming out louder than it should. She sucked in a quick gulp of air and calmed herself. When she spoke again, it was quieter, smoother, and with authority. “Gennady would like you to consider moving your company to our country.”

He faced her again. “Prince Alex would know I wasn’t interested.”

Prince Alex was the husband of Kristen’s boss, Princess Eva. As executive assistant to Grennady’s future queen, Kristen knew Alex had immediately said no to considering Suminski Stuff as one of the tech companies being recruited to boost their flagging economy. But their options had run out. Dean’s was the only company left.

“So that’s why you weren’t put on the list?”

He smiled. But the movement wasn’t warm or friendly. More sarcastic. Almost frightening. “There’s a list?”

“There was. It’s dwindled.”

“To no one, I’m guessing, if they sent you to barge in on my day.”

She swallowed. Those black eyes were just too intense—like they saw every damned thing going on in her head. She’d read that he was shrewd, uncanny in his ability to judge his opponents. Orphaned at four, raised by a cold grandmother who hadn’t wanted him, he’d played video games to amuse himself. At fourteen, he’d gone to business school because he’d taught himself to code and didn’t need any more instructions in computers. He was brilliant. He was arrogant. He was also their last chance.

She opened her hands in supplication. “If you could give me two minutes of your time, I could persuade you to visit and make an assessment about whether or not you might consider, perhaps, moving your company to Grennady.”