Million Dollar Christmas Bride - Holly Rayner Page 0,46

so much like him, he thought. But do I really need to follow so closely in his footsteps?

“Jackson, glad you’re here,” a voice said.

He turned and saw a consultant he’d recently hired striding in his direction. “I have the team gathered in the conference room to talk over our strategy for Indiana,” she said. “Will you be joining us?”

Before he could answer, his secretary caught his eye and gave a wave. She jumped up from her seat and bustled over, a stack of mail in her hands.

“Good morning! Here’s your mail,” she said cheerfully, extending the pile of envelopes. “I can put it in on your desk if you like.”

One envelope caught Jackson’s eye. It was square and bright red, like the velvet of the Santa suit he’d just seen.

He accepted the stack, removed the red envelope, and then handed the rest back to his secretary. “Yes, on my desk would be great,” he said to her. Then to the consultant, “I’ll be right in. I’ve had a few ideas on that front.”

The two bustled away. Jackson unhitched Rufus from his leash. As Rufus trotted off toward his usual bed, Jackson opened the envelope in his hands.

It was a Christmas card—one of those custom ones that you could order online.

On the front was a picture of Jackson’s childhood home. The white wood frame was decked out in sparkling Christmas lights. The message, “Happy Holidays, from my home to yours,” was written in cursive font along the bottom edge.

For the second time that morning, Jackson felt like he was being punched in the chest. The sensation of impact was sudden and unexpected. He tried to push it aside as he flipped the card open and read the handwritten note inside.

Jackson. I’m so proud of you. You’ve grown into a wonderful man. Looking forward to your wedding day.

Mom

He closed the card. Well, at least my plan is working, he thought. I may have messed up with Bianca, but if the wedding plays out like I expect it will, Mom has to give me the house.

And that’s what all of this has been about—hasn’t it?

Chapter 16

Bianca

A Week Later

“What do you think?” Nicky asked, shaking the sparkly silver garland so that it shimmied slightly. She’d draped it over the bulletin board in the community room, along with a string of red and green lights.

“It looks good there,” Bianca said. She stepped back and squinted. “Maybe it takes away from the lights a little bit. Hey, how about over here? We could tack it up around the doorway.”

“Perfect. You have an eye for this stuff, don’t you?” Nicky stepped down off of the chair she’d been standing on and walked over toward the doorway. As she passed a table that was filled with boxes and plastic bins of decorations, she swiped a container of thumbtacks. “Give me a hand with this, will you?” She dragged a folding metal chair over to the open door of the Riverside Assisted Living community room.

Bianca abandoned her task of draping tinsel over branches of the fake Christmas tree that she and Nicky had erected just an hour before.

One manager or another, Bianca wasn’t sure who, had insisted that the facility remain holiday-décor-free until the actual day of Christmas Eve. He’d been adamant that the staff not favor one winter holiday over another. The staff, and many of the residents, had rebelled against this policy, and after much back-and-forth, the manager had finally agreed that one room—and one room only—could be decked out. The chore had fallen onto Nicky and Bianca’s shoulders, since both happened to be working that day.

Bianca was glad for the change in routine. She liked playing interior decorator more than running the halls in search of the next filled bedpan.

“I can’t believe you didn’t take today off,” Nicky said through clenched teeth. She plucked a thumbtack from between her lips and stuck it into the silver garland. “Your wedding is tomorrow. You’re insane!”

“Everything’s ready,” Bianca said. “We did a ton of legwork early on in the month, and it’s paying off now. The whole to-do list is done.”

Well, I hope it is anyway, she thought. She really didn’t know if Jackson had managed to tick the last few items off, as she hadn’t heard from him in a week—not since walking out of his penthouse in his button-down shirt. He hadn’t texted to ask for help, so she had to assume that everything was complete. Either he got it all done on his own, or he