Million Dollar Christmas Bride - Holly Rayner Page 0,44

perfect.

He remembered the excitement he’d felt, watching her swallow the first sip of her drink. She’d leaned forward and set the glass down on the table. Then, her eyes had turned up to him with an expression of deep desire.

She wanted me, he thought. I wanted her.

How did everything go so sideways?

He eyed the coffee table on which she’d placed the half-full tumbler the night before, then reached for the mug of coffee that was there now and brought it to his lips. The drink was lukewarm and tasted bitter. He set it down again, and then paced restlessly to the glass windows.

For a few minutes, he watched the sidewalk below. Would he see Bianca emerge? Would she hail a cab or walk to the nearest trolley stop?

A sound behind him caught him off guard. It was his housekeeper, talking to Rufus. “Where’s your friend, the pretty golden retriever?”

Though the question was posed to Rufus, Jackson knew it was also spoken for practical purposes.

“The golden retriever went home,” Jackson said. “I’ll take Rufus out in a moment, on my own. Thanks, though.”

Once the housekeeper was gone, he turned his focus to the window again. He watched people move this way and that, but there was no sign of Bianca.

After ten minutes of this, he went into his bedroom. He felt distracted as he showered and dressed. Then, once he’d pulled on a light coat and clipped Rufus into his leash, he headed out the front door.

Outside, the morning air was crisp and cool. With Christmas only a week away, a mention of a possible cold weather front moving in had many Memphis locals buzzing with excitement. The city tended toward mild weather in December, and snow was rare—but possible. The news stations had been playing up the possibility with forecasters and anchormen asking, “will this year be our first white Christmas in nearly two decades?”

Jackson didn’t think it would. Likely just hype, he thought. He knew how the media tended to work—they’d say anything to encourage higher ratings.

He strode down the block, one hand in his pocket, the other holding Rufus’s leash. Rufus pulled slightly, hustling at a rate much faster than usual, and Jackson wondered if his doggy brain was still stuck on Peaches and catching up to her.

We’re not going to, and that’s for the best, Jackson thought. Because what would I say to Bianca? She wants a commitment. I’m not ready to give that.

As he walked pedestrians passed by him, most busily looking at their phone screens while they traveled. Some talked into their devices, and others scrolled. Everyone seemed busy and intent on getting to where they wanted to go, which was likely to work.

Jackson realized it was a Friday. His mind turned to his office and the tasks that awaited him there. It was comforting to know that no matter what was happening in his personal life, he could always go to his office and lose himself in the work of running his business.

Though he rarely walked to work—he preferred the efficiency of driving—he realized that his feet were carrying him in that direction. He felt a deep longing for the comfort of his desk, his employees, his office.

At work, he had power. He had prestige. He was Jackson Wylde: owner, top dog, CEO.

Bianca’s words crowded into his thoughts. “I’m just your employee.”

Of course that’s how I’m treating her, he thought. Because that’s what she is! I hired her to pretend to be my wife.

He took out his phone and, as he did nearly every morning, texted his personal assistant. She was in charge of keeping track of his appointments, and it was his habit to check in with her at the start of the day.

It was soothing to know that the text was nothing but a business matter. Nothing to get upset about. No drama. No hurt feelings, he thought with satisfaction.

A response came in almost immediately, with a detailed schedule. At the bottom, there was a note. “Your Ferrari is due for an oil change. Should I arrange for it to be picked up, serviced, and returned to you?”

The mention of the Ferrari made Jackson’s mind turn back to Bianca. He remembered the first night he saw her, standing out in the dim evening light in her oversized coat, auburn waves barely peeking out from beneath her hood. Her eyes had been bright and animated as she explained her plight to get to work on time. She’d apologized with such sincerity, exuding a