A Billionaire for Christmas

“Of course! It’s the best present ever, too. The. Best.”

“What is it?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Jesse. I’m not gonna blow your surprise. I’m the secret-keeper, remember? Just tell me what it is.”

“No. You’ll steal it. Get your own brilliant Christmas present idea.”

“You’re a dick.”

“You’re a freak.”

“You’re a tabloid has-been.”

“You’re a tatted-up nobody with a dog named Jasper.” Then I point at him. “See, now that would’ve been a great present. A puppy. Everyone wants a puppy for Christmas.”

“Megan got me Jasper. And his name is cool.”

“Well, there you go.”

He makes a face at me. “There I go, what?”

“You have to one-up the puppy. That’s how this works. And that’s gonna be hard, you know? Like… puppy. Such a great present. I hope you brought your A-game.”

I end the convo with Johnny on a high note, George Costanza-style, and mosey on over to the dessert table before Megan eats all the red and green macarons. She’s currently got eight of them on her tiny plate.

Aside from Megan, I might be the only rich person on the planet who adores a good macaron. And if Santa Mila’s red-velvet party favor bag is any indication of her taste in macarons, they’re gonna be better than good.

Megan is just stuffing a green one into her mouth when I come up next to her. Then she self-consciously places her hand in front of her face like this is gonna hide the fact that she’s masticating an entire macaron.

“They’re good, huh?” Then I pop one into my mouth to form a solidarity bond and not interrupt her good time. I’m coy like that.

She takes a moment to chew and swallow, then laughs. Not an uncomfortable laugh, or even an embarrassed laugh. Because she just nods her head and stuffs another one in. “Sorry,” she says with her mouth full. “I’m pregnant. And these are the best macarons I’ve ever had.”

I choke on my macaron. Almost spit it out. She slaps me on the back.

“Sorry.” I cough. “I’m… did you say… pregnant?”

“Yup. I’m so fuckin’ hungry. Like all the time. Excuse me. I need a whole tray of mini-wieners right now or I might starve to death.”

And then she’s off to chase down a waiter with a tray of mini-wieners.

I glance back at Johnny. Man. That dude didn’t waste any time.

But then… I sorta have this feeling like… who is this Megan girl?

Not sure. But I see Emma coming towards me, jingling her jingle bells, and I just add it to my list of things that make no sense about Johnny Boston and focus on what’s important.

Fucking Emma Dumas on her huge CFO desk. Because Huck just started to karaoke I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas.

I take her hand and pull her towards the escalator. “Follow me. Because I’m about to rock your jingle bells.”Chapter Two‘Tipsy’ might be the best word in the English language.

It implies so many good things. It’s a cute word. Unlike ‘drunk,’ which just conjures up images of messy consequences.

‘Tipsy,’ on the other hand, is fun. It implies that you’re rosy-cheeked and happy. It’s a celebratory word. You got a promotion. You won a contest. Cake and other sweet desserts are involved. You’re not drinking out of a bottle, you’ve got special champagne flutes. And there’s music. Not ragey music, either. You’re not drowning your sorrows, you’re rejoicing.

And if your tipsiness comes with holiday songs, it’s like winning the jackpot.

Jesse has my hand as we ride up the escalator to the executive offices. “Come on, Miss Bossy,” he says as we reach the top and hook a sharp right to get in the next one. “I’ve got a special package for you to unwrap tonight.”

“I’m coming.” I giggle. Because I know what’s on his mind. And I’ve got a little holiday party surprise for him as well. But as we rush over to the next escalator I look to my right and pull us to a stop.

Because down below… well. I love Christmas. Just love it. And we go all out at Bright Berry Beach.

Jesse is determined to get up to my office, but he spins back to me like a retracting yo-yo. “What are we doing?”

I let out a long sigh and look down at the executive lobby in all its lit-up glory. “I just want to memorize it for a moment.”

I adore the Bright Berry Beach holiday party. I adore it so much that I’m usually sad the day after. It’s a huge event for us and we spend months planning it and making sure that everyone has a good time. Everyone will go home tonight and thank their lucky stars that they work for us. They will be tipsy too. And they will have party favors, and a bonus, and they will have spent the last several hours with people they care about.