CHRISTMAS COFFEE: A HOLIDAY ROMANCE Read online

  5

  Celyn

  THE NIGHT BEFORE

  I run my hand over my face and glance back at the hotel. “How the hell did you even find me?”

  Quin glances over at me. We’re sitting inside his Hummer. He decked the thing out so it’s solid black and chrome. He smirks. “If you don’t want people to find you, turn off your phone.”

  I pull my cell out of my pocket and glance at it. “I have that feature turned off.” I scroll through the control panel and find the toggle switch for FIND MY FRIENDS. It’s on.

  “Yeah, I turned it on.”

  “Damn it, Quin. Stop screwing with my phone.”

  “You’ll be glad I did, because this can’t wait. I was at Bardenbey and overheard something I shouldn’t have.” Quin drives toward the city—Manhattan—in the inky night. It’s way past business hours and has been for a while.

  “What the hell were you doing there now?”

  He glances over at me, like I have no brain. “This absolutely stunning set of tits wanted me. As if I could deny her.” He scoffs. “We were in a compromising position, and being an honorable guy, I did the honorable thing and let her rush off before she got crowned office whore. I plan on nailing her another night. She likes to work late, if you catch my drift.”

  “Yeah, caught it. What does this have to do with me? Because if you’re just shitting around with me…” My voice trails off. I just walked out on a woman that was beyond exceptional. There’s no way in hell she’ll let me explain or take this as anything but rejection. That’s why I didn’t tell her I was going. Yeah, it was a shitty thing to do, but I couldn’t explain. That would require spilling everything, who I am, what I’m worth, and that I’m going to fucking lose it all if I don’t figure this out.

  “Never. And I said come quick. You could have taken that literally, nailed her, and left.”

  “I don’t walk out on women I just slept with. I’m not that guy.”

  Quin grins. “I am. You should try it some time.”

  “I have and it’s not me, so move on.”

  Quin makes a gesture with his hand and then gets serious. “Tell me everything. Start at the beginning and leave nothing out.”

  I rub my hand over my face, exasperated. “Quin, we already did this.”

  “No, you gave me the drive-by version. Every man alive thanks you for your brevity of words, but I need details so you need to flip on your chick switch and start at the beginning. Tell me about exactly what happened when your uncle called you into his office. Leave nothing out.”

  6

  Celyn

  YESTERDAY MORNING

  I’m standing in my uncle’s office. It’s decorated in opulent woods, all exotic, and every last detail is dripping with wealth. The man spares no expense on anything. When he calls me in here like a goddamned kid, I don’t appreciate it. Uncle Aldrich sits in a high back leather chair with his fingers steepled together, silent. His once black hair has grayed over the last decade—probably from raising me—but the man isn’t weaker. No, if anything he’s grown stronger, more determined to crush me and ruin my fucking life.

  My father dying wasn’t part of the plan. I never had a mother, well not one that I remember. She died shortly after having me. It was the beginning of a life with the Midas touch, but instead of turning everything to gold, I turn it to shit. Investments have gone south and I lost nearly a billion dollars a few years back. I’ve never lived that moment down. It shouldn’t have happened, but it did.

  Shit always happens to me. I single-handedly turned the hottest girl at school into a lesbian. They say it doesn’t work that way, but after that, I’m not so sure. One night with me and she started playing for the other team. I was a master in bed, knew every spot that would send her reeling into ecstasy and then some. She clawed my back, screamed my name. When I bullshit with the guys about it—about her—I say I’m glad she found herself, has a chance at happiness and all that shit, but deep down inside I can’t help but wonder if it’s me.

  I mean, how many things can I ruin? When I was eleven, I was standing next to my golden retriever, Sandy, watching a storm roll in. Big beautiful clouds billowed across the sky turning it into a gorgeous mess. A second later all my hair stood on end and lightning struck. Not in a good way. Sandy got zapped, died in front of my pre-adolescent eyes. Uncle Aldrich said these things happen and gave me a new dog, named her Karma. Even after all this time, Karma gives me a wide birth.

  But that’s the past. Every schmuck has a sob story and mine’s no different. I just inherited some of the shitty Ryan luck, that’s all. I’m nearly thirty-five, and due for a course of good fortune. Everything changed for Uncle Aldrich when he hit thirty-five. Same for dad, and now it’s my turn.

  Uncle Aldrich’s face is slack as he puts the tips of his fingers together. His facial expression reveals nothing. Classic Aldrich Ryan. The man can look completely serene and then rip your throat out. It’s hard to say which way this meeting will go. Actually, I figure it’s about taking my seat at the family company next month. Thirty-five years old, MBA, and every box checked to earn my spot on the board of Bardenbey, a multi-million dollar corporation that makes everything from socks to satellites. Dad started the company with nothing before I was born, with the help of his brother who sits before me now.

  Uncle Aldrich holds out a hand, gesturing for me to sit. “How are you, Celyn?” He asks the question with complete candor, but I know it’s not sincere. We don’t see eye to eye on many matters. His job was to keep me alive while I was a child and that’s what he did. I survived the isolation, the lack of affection, and the scorn that trickled off of him every time he looked at me. Uncle Aldrich has always hated me, but I have no idea why.

  When I was a kid, I remember crying at Dad’s funeral, desperately trying to get Uncle Aldrich to put an arm around me, to touch my shoulder and tell me it’d be all right. I would have taken any affirmation he offered, but there was none. Years passed and every failure, every heartache, was dealt with in solitude, deprived of touch. I wandered the great house alone, wasn’t permitted to have friends over or play at their homes—Uncle Aldrich said those children were beneath me. When he caught me playing with the maid’s daughter, three quarters of the servants were fired the same night. I was eight when that happened. No one came near me after that, except Sandy.

  Now that I’m a grown man, we don’t talk much. The mistake put a rift between us, one that should have bled out and died a long time ago.

  I slip into the burnt orange club chair and lean back against the tufted leather, placing each hand on an armrest. My French cuffs poke out from under the sleeves of my sports jacket. I place my ankle on my knee and smile at the bastard. “Wonderful, and yourself?”

  Uncle Aldrich doesn’t return my grin. His clean-shaven face reveals a few more wrinkles than the last time we spoke. The man is stern, harsh, and has been a cold sonofabitch for a long time, but when his wrath faced my direction, well, I’m never standing in that spot again. Which leads to a problem. He’s president of the board. We’ll have to see each other every day shortly, and make nice. Maybe the old bastard is offering an olive branch.

  “Couldn’t be better, Celyn.” He taps his fingertips together once, glaring at me. “I heard about your recent venture. Didn’t go well, did it?”

  Spine stiffening, I resist the urge to take the bait, but when he smirks at me, I lose it. I grip the arms of the chair tight and smirk back. “At least I tried.”

  “Trying doesn’t make a man into a success. You’re weak, Celyn.”

  I grit my teeth and try not to fall into this loop again, but it’s so damn hard.

  Uncle’s gaze narrows as he presses the pads of his fingers together. His voice is steel, colder than ice. “This family has no room for failure, and yet here you are.” He offers a predatory smile, showing the tips of his teeth as he stills his hands and then places them on the top of the desk.

  “You are not infallible,” I growl.
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  “I never said I was, and yet I’m the one sitting here and as I look over your list of accomplishments, it’s difficult to say you’re anything but a disappointment. If you were my son—”

  “I’m not your son.” I can’t believe I fucking said that. Not again. This is a fight we’ve had over and over again since I was thirteen and finally had the balls to fight back. I feel my chest rise as I inhale sharply. Rubbing my palm over my face, I inch forward in my seat and place a hand on the edge of his desk. I swore to myself that I’d do the best with whatever I was given. This man is my only family.

  “Listen, we’ve said everything there is to say on this matter, and burned enough bridges. I’m sure you didn’t call me in here to rehash the same old shit.” The unspoken question hangs in the air, as I wait for him to tell me why he did call me here.

  Uncle Aldrich smiles and glances at his watch. The timepiece set him back over half a million, but every rich old man has a closet full of watches, Aldrich is no different. For every major success, he buys another. I have one watch that was given to me when I graduated with my MBA. He handed me a box with a Jaeger LeCoultre. The little piece was worth fifty grand. After I opened the paper and pulled it out, I looked at the inscription on the back.

  Written on the silver disc were the words:

  I’m very proud of you. –Uncle Aldrich

  I was so choked up that I couldn’t speak. But before I could put it on my wrist, he reached for the gift and took it back.

  He said, “You need to do something worthwhile to earn this accolade. In the interim…” he handed me a different gift.

  Confused, I silently opened the paper and stared down at the plastic casing. A black plastic Timex watch was perched within, price tag still attached: $9.99.

  When he saw the expression on my face he said, “That is the gift that matches the magnitude of your achievement. You’re nothing until you prove otherwise.”

  I was the salutatorian, second in my class at Harvard. I busted my ass and missed valedictorian by a fraction of a point. But that was then. Years have passed and I never saw the watch again. There were no birthday presents or cake. Simply being born wasn’t an achievement worth celebrating.

  Aldrich sits back in his chair and places his hands on his desk, his expression unreadable. “I’ve a bit of bad news for you.”

  I brace myself, steel my expression, and remain silent. I nod and raise a brow, waiting for him to spill whatever he wants to say.

  The corners of his lips rise slightly, making his mouth look like a bloated snake. “After careful consideration, your seat on the board has been revoked.” Aldrich spits out the words like nails, not buffering a damn thing.

  “You can’t do that.” I’m the sole heir to my father’s fortune. Dad split up the payments and when I could take control of the company. My first million paid in at eighteen years old, then another chunk when I got my MBA. I had to follow in Dad’s footsteps, become his legacy, to get the family fortune. I did that. I checked every box, crossed every t, and dotted every i.

  “I can, actually. Your father left Reginald Palmer, esquire, with a list of provisions. If certain conditions were not met,” he twirls his wrist as if this entire conversation is beneath him, “then your seat would be forfeited and with it your stake in the company.”

  I’m on my feet, seething, hissing through my teeth. “Why didn’t I see this paper before now?”

  “Sit down, Celyn,” he snaps at me like I’m a dog.

  “No, I’m going to see Palmer and straighten this shit out.”

  “The man is already here. I knew you’d want to see him.” He presses a button under his desk and the door to the side of the room opens.

  Reginald Palmer is ancient, with snowy hair and timid blue eyes. He’s always looked like he was one hundred years old, but today he looks older.

  Uncle gestures to me much in the same way he did when I was eight. “Come in, Reginald. Explain matters to the boy.”

  I stand there, frozen. This can’t be happening. This is crazy. I manage to calm myself and sit back down. I incline my head toward Reginald. The guy has always been kind to me, from the day he read my father’s will through forming my first corporation. He’s patient and kind, which is a rarity for someone in his line of work. Most of his peers are monsters made to devour people, and win at all cost.

  Reginald clearly doesn’t want to be here. He sits in the seat next to me, tension lining his pasty body. His pin-striped suit fits him well, but then it should. The guy is loaded. He handles all the Bardenbey legal needs.

  He clears his throat, but it still sounds raspy. “While I was preparing your father’s estate to fully transfer into your hands, and drawing up the paperwork for Bardenbey, a time-sealed letter from your father came due. I remembered drawing up the papers prior to his passing, but years passed and I never thought it’d be an issue.”

  “What would be an issue?” I ask, not understanding his implications.

  Uncle Aldrich cuts in. “Your financial failures—specifically that little stunt where you nearly made the pharmaceutical arm of Bardenbey hemorrhage a billion dollars with your snake oil, RequimX. Remember that? Well, I certainly do. Your father put a failsafe in place to protect the company. In the event that you were not interested, or were unable to fulfill your duties as a member of the board of Bardenbey, he adjusted the will to bequeath the remainder of his estate, including all assets and Bardenbey, to your uncle. The thought was that you’ll be very comfortable with the sum already bestowed upon you and—”

  I’m on my feet again, fingers clenched to fists, palms sweating. My heart slams into my lungs, stealing all the air. I can’t breathe. I can’t fucking believe this. Everything I did to get to this moment is being torn away. Silently, I manage to pad to the massive window at the far end of the room and try to steel my nerves. It’s hard to stand here and let someone fuck with me like this. The pharmaceutical blunder should have never happened. We did everything we were supposed to do, but we got caught off guard. It cost people their jobs when the cancer cure turned lethal. People died because of me and I’ve had to live with that. Uncle said it was my youthful zeal that blinded me, the eyes of an idealistic youth deceived me. That mistake haunts me to this day. The money wasn’t the worst of it, it was that I robbed people of their last few moments with their families. It’s something I could relate to so much, that I wanted so badly. If I could give them a way to live a little longer, then it’d be worth it. In the end, it was my lowest hour and I’ve paid for it ever since. RequimX was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. Now it’ll cost me any chance I had at making amends. Well, amends beyond monetary restitution. I already did that, without Uncle’s knowledge. It’s why I’m broke, save the few status symbols that prove to the world that I’m a Ryan—my car and my clothes.

  Staring out the glass pane to the city below, I ask, “Is it true, Reginald? I lose everything?”

  Reginald’s voice, once booming, is now a timid whisper. “I’m afraid so, Celyn. It could be deemed that you’re incapable of serving the company in the way your father desired. Your spending, though not lavish, is beyond modest. And in business, most of your companies have failed to be successful. Unfortunately, if your uncle challenged the court to hear the case, I believe he would win.” The old man brushes a piece of lint from his suit, avoiding my eyes. “He could challenge your competency.”

  “And there’s nothing to be done? No way I can prove to you that I am capable? That I can fulfill my father’s wishes?” I turn on my heel and beseech the old man.

  Uncle scoffs, “You’ve less than forty-five days. How on earth could you prove a thing by then?” He stands, shoves his hands in his pockets and mutters something about this being utter nonsense.

  Reginald doesn’t agree though. I see it in his old gaze. He nods to me slowly, “I could arrange a task, terms of which are pre-agreed upon by both parties. Should you achieve the desired results, then your inheritance proceeds as planned
. However, if you don’t meet the terms of the agreement—there will be no question about the succession of the company to your uncle.”

  Uncle Aldrich blurts out. “How, Reginald? There are only forty-five days. What could he possibly do in so little time? There’s no way.”

  Reginald pulls a legal pad from his attaché case and starts scribbling. I’m rubbing the scruff on my jaw and trying not to glare at Uncle while we wait. A moment later, Reginald hands me the legal pad. “That would more than prove the issues at hand: frugality, competence, and a solid work ethic.”

  I blanch when I see what he’s written down.

  Uncle snatches the pad from me and looks it over. The man starts laughing. “Are you serious? You’re giving him five grand for a holiday start up?”

  Reginald isn’t deterred by Uncle. “Certainly. Most retailers earn over seventy percent of their income in this one month. Thanksgiving is tomorrow. It gives him a few days to get set up.”

  “What about employees?” I ask, while completely ignoring the pittance offered for the start up. There’s a bigger obstacle in the way. “How will I hire people in that amount of time? Management searches take months.”

  “We’ll provide your employees. You decide everything—rate of pay, position, etc. We’ll tap into Bardenbey’s personnel department to fulfill employee placement, but you have to take care of payroll.”

  “With five thousand bucks?” I look out the window and consider it. The city is gray today, the sky covered in thick clouds, plump with unfallen snow. There’s a sharp chill in the air that makes the pedestrians scurry faster, keeping their chins tucked tightly as they clench their coats at the neck.

  Most of the businesses we’ve started through Bardenbey had a minimum of fifty grand to start up. Petty cash usually has twenty grand. I’d have no money for rent or inventory. I couldn’t get most items delivered in a few days anyway, because it’s too late in the season. This seems impossible.