The Billionaire's Christmas Bride (Big Bad Billionaires #3) - L. Steele Page 0,24

stiffen; my head instantly clears. "Of course not," I huff.

He nods, "Also…you’re welcome."

I blink. No, no, don’t react. Don’t say anything to this obnoxious bonehead. He pauses a few inches from me. Sweat breaks out on my forehand. "For what?" I force out the words, knowing I shouldn’t, but wanting to know what twisted notion his very clever mind has thought up.

"For accepting my invitation to the most exclusive private New Year’s Eve party in London."

I open my mouth to refuse, but he shakes his head, "Think before you say anything. Trust me, you want to be there. The kind of contacts you’ll make there will give you a lead over your nearest competitor."

I firm my lips together, mind racing.

"The list of guests is a who’s who of the well-connected from around the world. It’s perfect to build contacts, invaluable for a fledgling business like yours."

I peer into his face. Is he making fun of me? Trying to undermine my efforts as a business person? But his features take on a sincere expression. Hmph. Not that I am buying it, but he has a point. It won’t hurt to be there. Invitations to those kinds of events…are like gold dust. Of course, I could work hard…but being at the right place, at the right time… Well, that’s when things get interesting.

"I…guess…that makes sense," I venture.

He nods. "If we last until then." He smirks.

"Is that a challenge?"

"No, it’s a fact. Do you think you can get through our time together without walking out in a huff?

8

5 mins later

Weston

"OMG, you’re such an ass."

She marches out of the house, slamming the door behind her. The crash reverberates through the living room. Max whines and runs to the exit. He scratches at the door, then barks and jumps up onto it.

"Hey buddy." I amble toward the puppy and scoop him up. He stares up at me with soulful eyes; a small whine catches in his throat.

“What?" I growl. "Why are you making those moony faces at me?”

What the—? Am I talking in some kind of puppy lingo with him? I mean, seriously. I scowl at him. "Don’t go thinking you can soften my heart or anything." I frown.

He blinks at me.

I angle my head.

He tips up his head and licks my face, my mouth…

"Hey—" I arch my neck, but am no match for the little guy’s persistent slobbering. A chuckle rumbles up my throat. Who’d have thought I’d be giving in to a mutt, of all things?

"You want me to go get her, huh?"

He licks his chops, and I swear, he jerks his little head.

"What the—?" I frown, ”You can’t understand me, can you?"

He pops his head on my shoulder, gazes at me with those soulful brown eyes, pleading, asking… Something hot stabs at my chest. That…is probably my ego having a cardiac. The fuck am I thinking? And I am supposed to be a heart surgeon. Duh. If anyone knows the ins and outs of that particular organ, it’s me, and here I am, imagining all kinds of ridiculous things. Blame it on the pup. Blame it on that sassy, little Buttercup, who had taken one look at the bedroom…and the queen-sized bed in there, and had thrown up her hands in disgust. She’d marched right out—still holding onto her handbag and that infernal satchel-like bag over her back, and banged the door shut.

"It’s not my fault. You know that, right?" I address the puppy. "She should have asked if there was a second bedroom. Hell, she could have asked to inspect the premises before agreeing." I frown. "Why hadn’t she?" I muse. "Why had she agreed so easily to the arrangement? I mean, sure, six mil is a lot… " I glower at the little dog, who stares back, unblinking. Had I wanted her to turn it down? Show me that she was different from the other women I’d dated so far? And what? I’d expected her to throw it in my face and walk out? I raise my shoulders.

Well, my conscience is clear, at least. I am more than compensating her for her time... Which begs the question, "What the hell had I been thinking when I’d asked her to stay? And accompany me for the Christmas visit to my family…?" I ask the mutt. It had seemed like a brilliant idea—two birds, one stone, and all that. And the little fact that we’d have to share the bed? Hell, I hadn’t thought of it until she’d walked into the room,