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  My eyes popped open. I hadn’t realized I’d closed them. Shit. Not only had I been fantasizing, but I also hadn’t realized how exhausted I was, which was strange. Ever since I’d become a full-fledged New Yorker, sleep didn’t tell me when to go to bed—I told sleep when I was ready to go to bed. Apparently, that had changed.

  “Good evening,” I said, mustering a smile.

  I didn’t know the server’s name, but he placed a covered plate in front of me and lifted the top. The food looked delectable, and the smell that rose to my nostrils was divine.

  The guy took a step back, matching my smile. “You have cracked pepper filet mignon and butter, onion and garlic roasted new potatoes with orange-glazed baby carrots. And would you like white or red wine?”

  There was no use asking him his name, even though I’d won a small hard-fought victory in getting Marta to open up. It dawned on me that there was a reason why I was so insistent on learning everyone’s names—the solitude was consistently getting to me.

  I felt a thickness in my throat as I forced myself to not cry. “Red,” I chirped, pointing at the bottle of wine sitting on the silver serving cart.

  With one hand behind his back, the server stood with perfect posture and poured the red liquid into a stemmed glass. When he left, my shoulders slumped as fatigue grabbed hold of me. I felt the only thing that could energize me was to run upstairs to my palace of a bedroom, pack my things, and get the hell out of that house. But I had no money and would have to call my mother for help.

  I resolved to bite the bullet and was doing just that when my cellphone chimed. I took the device out of my pocket. Once I saw the name on the screen, the tears I’d been holding back rushed into my eyes.

  “Hope,” I said, wiping the tears from my cheeks.

  “Jada? Are you crying?”

  I sniffed. “A little.”

  “But why?” she asked in a soft and sympathetic tone.

  My gaze rolled around the enormous dining room and stopped at the darkness beyond the window. I sighed. “I haven’t even met my boss.”

  Hope gasped. “You mean you haven’t met Spencer Christmas yet?”

  “No.”

  “That’s odd.”

  “I know,” I said with a sigh. “But my room… oh my God, Hope. I have to send you pics. It’s five times bigger than my apartment and feels like a luxury suite at a five-star hotel.”

  “That sounds fun.”

  “Yeah…” I cradled the phone closer to my ear. “But still… I want to go home,” I whispered as if someone could hear me. But there was no one around. I was totally alone.

  Hope remained silent. “Listen, Jada,” she finally said. “You know I love the idea of you coming back to the city. Last night, I went to Red Tar with Rita and Portia, and with all the fucking criticizing, they nearly gave me a brain injury. But are you really ready to give up forty thousand a month?”

  I sighed heavily as I slumped in my seat. “I don’t know. Yes. No. Maybe. It’s not like I have the money to get the hell out of here in the first place. I’m flat broke.”

  “Hello. I’m Spencer Christmas.”

  I sat up quickly and turned to see who had said that. My jaw dropped. Standing not that far from me was the man from all the pictures of Spencer Christmas I had studied—tall and graceful and in real life even more stunningly handsome.

  Chapter Four

  “Jada?” Hope asked, sounding worried. “Are you still there?”

  I kept my expanded eyes on my new boss. “Hope, I have to go.”

  “Wait? Is it him?” she asked, sounding super curious.

  I cleared my tight throat. “Um, yes,” I said in as professional a way as I could, though my voice was hoarse.

  “Fucking shit!” she exclaimed. “Is he hot?”

  “Good night, Hope.” Hell yes—totally hot. “We’ll talk soon. Love you.” I wanted to hang up right away, but it was common courtesy to wait until she said it back.

  “Love you too. And, Jada, call me and tell me all about your first encounter with the phantom of the ranch.”

  “Will do,” I said and finally hung up.

  I scooted my chair back, but before I could stand, he threw up a hand. “Stay seated.”

  I slowly lowered my bottom back to the chair. “Good evening, Mr. Christmas. I didn’t know you were joining me.” My skin tingled all over, and a heavy feeling settled into my stomach. Suddenly, I was so hungry I could eat a horse. I could not look away or banish the surprise from my expression as he took a seat at the head of the table.

  He nodded toward my plate. “Would you like something else to eat?”

  My shocked gaze fell on my dinner. I could hardly discern what I was looking at. “Um, no, I’m fine.”

  “Then you should eat,” he said, pointing with an open hand as if inviting me to do so.

  I didn’t want to do anything but study him some more. There was something telling about his face. The skin beneath his eyes was swollen. His eyes were red, and the lids appeared to be so heavy that he could hardly keep them open.

  Finally, I picked up my knife and fork, and more because I was hungry than to appease him, I began to cut into the tender steak. I felt as if I had to say something or else he might disappear into thin air. “So, Mr. Christmas. I’m happy you could join me. It was getting lonely around here.” I smiled from ear to ear.

  His frown intensified as I brought a bite of meat to my lips. I felt he was waiting for me to put it in my mouth, so I did.

  “Your mother is Patricia Forte, isn’t she?” he asked while I was chewing.

  “Uh-hum,” I said, irritated that he would bring her up so fast. That could mean one of two things. The first possibility was that she was the one who’d gotten me the job, which meant she wanted something from him and he wanted something from her. The second was that he’d hired me simply because Patricia Forte was my mother and he wanted something from her and planned to have me mediate.

  I swallowed quickly then dropped my utensils and folded my arms on my chest. “Why are you asking about my mother?”

  He frowned at my knife and fork as if unhappy that I had let go of them. Then his glare found my face again. “You don’t like talking about your mother?”

  I felt my eyebrows squeezing together. “It depends.”

  Silence fell between us, but I couldn’t ignore the fact that we were staring at each other. He was certainly picking me apart. His eyes freely roamed my face and then ventured down the front of my neck. I could tell that he purposely stopped them from dropping farther by the forceful way in which his eyes rose back to my face.

  He skimmed his jawline with his fingers. “On what?”

  I tried not to be hypnotized by the way he was watching me. “Is she the reason you hired me?” If she was, I would be obligated to quit.

  “Yes and no,” he said.

  I stared intently, waiting for an explanation.

  “Mostly, it was your résumé that made me extend an offer of employment to you,” he said. “However, your mother’s been in the public eye since you were very young. It was the same for me.” His right eye narrowed shrewdly. “I’ve seen photos of you at fundraisers with Patricia Forte. Your mother is a powerful politician. She didn’t get that way by not using all of her assets, and you are certainly one of them.”

  I shook my head decisively. “I’m nothing like my mother.”

  He paused to examine me then folded his arms. “What do you think your mother’s like?”

  My mouth was caught open. The answer I had was long and whiny and surely not for him to hear. I would never tell him, or anyone besides Hope, that I thought my mother was narcissistic, which was why I didn’t share much of what was going on in my life with her. My mother still had no idea that I’d been let go from my last job. She would have taken my layoff personally and moved mountains to secure me another position, only it would be a position with one of her friends, donors, or colleagues—one that ultimately benefitted her in one w
ay or another. I couldn’t tell Spencer Christmas that I usually avoided her phone calls and responded to her voice messages with texts that had lots of smiley faces and declarations of how great everything was going even if my life was in the shitter. It was already early December—she would expect me home for the Christmas holiday as she did each year. The thought of gracing her doorstep and sleeping in my old room, where she could easily have access to me, made my stomach queasy.

  “You see?” Spencer Christmas said.

  I blinked to bring his face back into focus. “What do I see?”

  His probing gaze made me chew nervously on my lower lip. What the hell is he looking for?

  Then he shifted abruptly in his seat. “By the way, how do you like your room?”

  I felt my whole body sigh in relief as I welcomed the change in subject. “I like it very much.” I wish he would stop looking at me that way.

  “I see. If you prefer a different room, I can have one arranged for you. I thought you might like the view of the lake.” He paused, but his eyes continued to penetrate me. “I heard you say you wanted to go home.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut as I sighed. “Ahh… you heard that?”

  “I want you to be comfortable while you’re here.”

  I turned my head slightly. “Is that so?”

  He eyed me suspiciously. “I wouldn’t have said it if I hadn’t meant it.”

  “Then why is everyone hell-bent on referring to me as Miss Forte? That doesn’t make me feel comfortable.”

  Spencer Christmas pressed his back against the chair. “When you say everyone, who exactly do you mean?”

  “Felix, for one.”

  “He’s a butler. He’ll only refer to you in the formal way. Who else?”

  “Marta and Theresa seemed as if they were afraid to tell me their names. What’s that about?”

  For the first time since arriving, Spencer Christmas showed me his rendition of a smile, which was actually a smirk—and a sexy, mouthwatering one at that. But the expression faded just as fast as it had made its brief appearance.

  “You left someone behind in New York. Is that why you want to go home?” He enfolded his fingers on top of the table. “Because I skimmed the notes you made today. They’re exactly what I was looking for. So you can do the job.”

  I turned my head. “Are you fucking with me?” My eyes grew wide. I hadn’t meant to curse.

  His smirk made another appearance. “I asked you a simple question?”

  “And I asked you one too.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “You don’t like being referred to as Miss?”

  “No.” I pressed my lips into a hard line.

  “And what do you prefer?”

  “Jada. Just Jada. But why all the secrecy in the first place?”

  Spencer Christmas leaned away from me and grimaced. “My staff is professional, Jada. They’re from some of the most famous households in the country, and their salaries reflect that. They understand they’re being paid to exercise a healthy amount of discretion, especially with houseguests.”

  “But I’m not a guest. I’m an employee.”

  “If you do not reside in the residence permanently, then you are a guest who is working for me under contract.”

  I folded my arms. “I haven’t signed a contract.”

  “Yes, you have.”

  “When?”

  “When you accepted the terms of your six month assignment.”

  I nodded thoughtfully. “Ah, I see. That’s fair.” I smiled to show him that I agreed with him and our back-and-forth about the behavior of his employees had been resolved with my acceptance of his explanation.

  His lips built into a slow but slight smile as his eyes smoldered. My nerves tingled, which surprised the hell out of me. I wasn’t the sort of girl who got this flustered by every good-looking Adonis of a man.

  “And now, Jada…” His voice was so sexy. “I want an answer to my question.”

  If only I had conveniently forgotten what he’d asked. But I remembered. It was stuck in the forefront of my mind, but I hadn’t been able to come up with an answer.

  I stopped bouncing my knee. “Are you asking if I left behind a boyfriend in New York?”

  I held my breath as he gave a gentle nod.

  I chewed on my lower lip as the word virgin lit up in my mind like the marquee above Times Square. My skin warmed as the truth wanted to gush out of my mouth like a confession.

  And again, he gave me a look I couldn’t interpret. I cleared my throat. “Um, only friends. No boyfriends.”

  I could feel him watching me intently as I cut a piece of steak and popped it into my mouth, operating under the assumption that as long as I was chewing, I didn’t have to speak. Finally, Spencer Christmas grunted intriguingly. Just the sound sent a warm sensation through my thighs. Never had such robust sexual responses gone off inside me.

  “But you’re very beautiful,” he said almost as if it were an afterthought.

  Keep your composure, Jada, I kept repeating to myself. His tone and the way he looked away when he softly spoke those words made me feel as if I was the most beautiful girl in the world. The fact that I wanted to leap out of my seat, jump on his lap, and beg him to be my first also shocked me. I had guarded my virginity like a pit bull, perhaps because it was the only thing of mine that Patricia hadn’t tried to blatantly control. I figured she never liked to picture me having sex, so she stayed away from the topic.

  He stood abruptly. “Enjoy your meal.” His curt tone matched his frown.

  I blinked rapidly, shocked that he was leaving. For some reason, I felt we should be together every single moment as long as I was in the house. It was crazy, of course, but I couldn’t help feeling that way. I also noticed he was wearing camouflage cargo pants. They were over washed and dusty looking, so different from the clean black T-shirt he wore. The pants threw me off. He seemed so cultivated, the sort of guy who wore Armani or Brioni and never got dirty and certainly didn’t wear the sort of clothing men wore to do manual labor.

  All I could do was nod.

  He made for the exit and then turned back to face me. “By the way, have you read the book?”

  My thoughts froze. “What book?”

  His eyes narrowed. “The biography about my family.”

  “Oh…” Now I remembered. “No. I haven’t.”

  “I prefer that you don’t,” he said and continued out of the room.

  I pressed my hand over my heart, feeling it race. Then I looked down at my crotch. Holy shit. I was certain my panties were soaking wet. A giddy energy raced through me as my curiosity about Spencer Christmas burned like a forest fire. I had to know more about him. He hadn’t said not to read the book. He’d said he preferred that I not read it. There was a difference. I certainly had to read it now. I vowed to order the e-book version before going to bed.

  Chapter Five

  My alarm blared, and I groaned as I pressed the most comfortable pillow I’d ever slept on over my face. I’d set it for seven-thirty after taking a shower and sliding into bed the night before. Once I got myself settled between the soft sheets, I was too tired to order the book The Dark Christmases. Also, it cost $14.99, and my bank account was overdrawn by $263.76 because an automatic payment to a credit card I hadn’t accounted for had gone through. I felt so inadequate. I was pretty sure Spencer Christmas would rather bang and date women who could afford a $14.99 book. I’d decided the best thing I could do was go right to sleep, knowing that one day soon, I’d be able to pay off that credit card and all the others.

  I reached over to the nightstand, grabbed my phone, and turned off the alarm. Then I forced myself to sit on the edge of the bed to gather my bearings. An overwhelming feeling of being a loser swept over me as I remembered the red numbers showing negative $263.76.

  “Maybe I should ask Mr. Christmas for an advance,” I said, rubbing my eyes. Then I recalled every bit of our conversation from the previous night. “No.” I sighed t
hen jumped up and headed to the closet to get dressed. I would not ask him for an advance or request that he be my first sexual partner, even though I wanted both.

  I put on a pencil skirt and a tight V-neck sweater. I felt so shameless, hoping he would come down to the office that day and notice the boobs I was showing off. I stared at myself in the standing mirror in the dressing room.

  “What the hell are you doing, Jada Forte?” I whispered. Get a grip. I had to get my hands on that fucking book.

  I quickly checked the time on my wristwatch and then switched my pencil skirt for a more sensible pair of black slacks. I debated whether to change my sweater but decided to keep it on. Then I rushed back into the bedroom to use up some of my extra minutes to call Hope for advice on how to handle my new boss, should he decide to join me in the office. She answered on the first ring, as she did whenever she was available.

  “I’ve been waiting for you darling! What happened last night? Did you fuck him?” she said excitedly.

  I rolled my eyes as my buttocks clamped down on the foot of the bed. “Are you really asking me that?”

  She paused. “You’re right. I would’ve fucked him, not you. But nevertheless, what happened between the two of you?”

  I chuckled as my heart soared, remembering the dopamine hits I got just from being near him. “Not much. I ate dinner, and he asked me questions.”

  “Wait, he didn’t eat with you?” she said, although I wasn’t sure why that mattered.

  “No,” I said, hoping she’d explain.

  “That’s strange.”

  “Is that your complete take on the situation—it was strange—or do you detect that he chose not to eat for another reason? And is that reason written in the book The Dark Christmases?” I said it so fast that I had to take a breath.

  “Wow, Jada, you’re really hopped up on adrenaline. I’ve never heard you this way before.”

  I shot to my feet. “What? Yes, you have.”

  But she was right. I’d never felt this out of control in my life, not even when I was down to my last couple of dollars. Not even while I was stuck in the airport, smelling not so good and desperately trying to figure out how to get myself on the first flight to Jackson Hole.