A Billionaire for Christmas

“You might as well tell me about it,” she says boldly. “Whatever it is, you know you’ll feel better.”

I can’t help it; I laugh. “You really do know me too well.”

“Not a chance, Texas. It’s not possible to know the people you love too well.” She takes another sip. “So spill.”

I give her the shorthand version of the story. My sadness that Frank is missing Christmas. My frustration with Damien—that he went away in the first place so close to the holiday and that now he’s stuck and not getting back until Christmas day. And, of course, the newest straw on my camel’s back—the card from my mother.

“I’ve got to give it to you, Texas. You definitely have it rough.”

I manage a laugh. “Always nice to be validated.”

“I miss Frank, too,” she says. “And I am definitely sorry that I missed seeing him in a Santa suit.”

“Me, too.” I take a sip of my wine, thinking about the slow burn that’s been growing between Evelyn and my dad. “So, um, how’s it going with you two?”

The corners of her eyes crinkle. “A lady never kisses and tells.”

“Just knowing there’s something you could tell makes me happy,” I say. “Seriously, I hope you two work it out. But no pressure,” I add, and we both laugh.

“Between you and me, Texas,” she says. “I hope so, too. Who knows? Maybe there will still be mistletoe when he finally does catch that plane.”

“I’ll make sure of it.” I sigh and top off my wine. “Mistletoe. Cookies. Hot chocolate and carolers at the mall. I hate that Damien’s missing out on all of that pre-holiday stuff. The little things that are the fabric of family memories, you know?”

“I do. But we both know he loves you and those girls more than anything. But his work—well, that’s part of who he is.”

“And that’s why we love him,” I say, clinking the glass she’s extended in a toast. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want him here now.”

“I hear you.” She sets her glass down, then props her chin on her fist as she looks out over the pool toward the ocean. “Maybe you need to look at this as an opportunity.”

“An opportunity?”

“What have you got him for Christmas? That man of ours who’s so damn hard to shop for?”

I make a face. “I’ve got a few things. An engraved watch. Some geeky gadgets he’ll get a kick out of. And two signed Isaac Asimov first editions.”

“Oh, he’ll like that,” Evelyn said, knowing as well as I do how much Damien loves science fiction.

“He will,” I agree. “I’m still trying to figure out that gift, though.”

She nods knowingly. “That’s what I mean. By opportunity,” she clarifies, obviously seeing my confusion. “If he’s gone for a bit, take advantage of that time. Make something with the girls for him. Something he’ll cherish forever.”

I nod slowly. “I know what you mean. I just haven’t figured out what it is.”

She pushes back her chair. “Well, you’re in luck, because I have a few ideas. Why don’t we go in and see those little girls, and I’ll share my ideas with you?”

I stand, too. “I like that plan. Thanks.” And for the first time in a lifetime, it feels like I really do have a mom for the holidays.Chapter Eleven“It’s not like we had a choice,” Frank said, about eight hours after they’d left the airport in the Volkswagen that now belonged to Damien. He’d bought it outright. Under the circumstances, that had been easier than trying to figure out the rental cost and logistics for getting Damien and Frank to Los Angeles in the small car, and then getting the car all the way back to the southern end of Mexico.

Of course, before he’d resorted to acquiring yet another toy for his collection, they’d wasted an hour trying to locate another plane to rent. But they’d ended up running into the same problem they’d had before—with the strike, all available private aircraft had been claimed.

And while their own rental jet was arguably flightworthy, with the damage to the belly and the length of the flight, Damien wasn’t willing to take the risk.

So he’d negotiated to buy the car, and he and Frank had set off, heading north toward the States and his family.

He’d intended to bring Grayson along, but the pilot had insisted on staying behind. “It’s a forty-four hour drive,” Grayson had said. “It’s going to be Christmas Day before you get back. You go on ahead north. If I can wrangle up parts and mechanics, I might be able to fix our bird. Then I fly to meet you somewhere, and maybe shave a few hours off your travel time.”

“Or you could be stranded down here for Christmas.”

Grayson waved it off. “Never been much of one for the holidays. Not since I was a kid. No, I’ll stay and make sure the repairs are being handled right. With any luck, we’ll meet up long before you reach the border. Get you home a little earlier.”