Fairytale Christmas with the Millionaire

“I’m sorry.” Regret filled her eyes. “But being away from New York at Christmastime doesn’t work for me.” She extended her hand to shake his. Baffled, he took it. “Thank you, though, for thinking of me for this opportunity.”

With that she was out the door. He stood behind his desk, in front of the magnificent view of the Manhattan skyline, the proof that he was at the top of his game. Not someone to be refused.

He heard the elevator doors open, then close, and his flummoxed thoughts cleared. She’d regretted turning him down, but she had turned him down. What the hell could be so important that she’d refuse him?

He grabbed his overcoat from his private closet and strode past his assistant’s desk. “Have my car downstairs when I reach the street.”

“Yes, sir.”

He pressed the elevator button and one of three sets of doors opened. He hoped to catch Erin in the lobby. If he didn’t, he had his coat and could follow her wherever she walked on this cold late November day. If she walked too fast, he would have a car.

That’s the kind of guy he was. His plans had plans and those plans had contingency plans.

He didn’t lose. Especially not someone as important as Erin. She was the preeminent party planner in Manhattan, but he’d used her all over the United States. If anyone could bring to life his memories of Christmas Eve at the Harrington Park Hotel, it would be Erin.

He caught up to her at the curb. When she saw him suddenly beside her, her blue eyes widened.

“We never talked money.”

She frowned. “There’s no reason to. I’m booked.”

“For a bunch of office Christmas parties?” He made a pfft noise. “What if I agree to pay three times your normal rate?”

A taxi pulled up. She walked over and opened the back door. “I’m sorry, Mr. Harrington. The timing doesn’t work for me.”

She got into the taxi and the blasted thing drove away. Hugo jumped into his limo. Though it sounded like something out of a bad movie, he said, “Follow that cab.”

He expected Erin’s car to stop in the business district. Maybe at one of the high-rises housing the offices of one of the clients for whom she’d be working in December. Instead, it kept going. It seemed as if they turned every few blocks, and after forty long minutes, including driving through a tunnel under the Hudson, Hugo found himself in Jersey City.

Jersey City?

The taxi stopped at a modest four-story building. Hugo instructed his driver to hang back until Erin made a move.

After enough time passed for her to pay for the ride, she exited the vehicle, ran up the front steps and disappeared inside. He jumped out of his car and raced after her. He didn’t reach her in time, but saw the elevator stop on the third floor.

When it returned, he followed her up. The doors opened and he stepped out cautiously, glancing around like Dorothy in Oz. He didn’t expect Munchkins to pop out at him. He’d simply never seen an office building like this with white doors with two-digit identifiers. These couldn’t be businesses. The doors had to lead to...apartments?

He knocked on the first one. An elderly woman in a housecoat answered, confirming his suspicions. He winced. “Sorry, wrong flat.”

She laughed. “Flat?”

Baffled that he’d forgotten to shift his British slang to Americanisms, he apologized again and moved to the next door. No one answered. He knocked on the third door and a little boy opened it. The kid couldn’t have been more than three.

Hugo froze for a few seconds, then said, “Sorry. Wrong...apartment.”

“Noah! What are you doing answering the door?” Erin stepped out of a kitchen area, drying her hands on a towel. When she saw him, her mouth dropped open.

Well, she could join the club. Now he didn’t feel like Dorothy in Oz. He felt like a man who’d inadvertently overstepped some boundaries.

The little boy had Erin’s coloring—red hair and blue eyes—but a totally different face and eye shape. The flat behind them was simple, including an old-fashioned floral sofa that sat in front of a big window with plain beige drapes, and a kitchen without modern cabinets or shiny granite countertops. The cupboards were stained oak from another era. God only knew the material of the countertops.

Confusion and disbelief battled. From her familiarity with the home, he assumed she lived here. But why? He paid her a small fortune.

And the child who had her coloring—

It couldn’t be—

Could his top-performing, always-there-for-him, executive-level event planner be...a mum?