Million Dollar Christmas Bride - Holly Rayner

Chapter 1

Bianca

“Can you cover for me?” Bianca said into her cell phone as the traffic light ahead turned green. She stepped on the accelerator. “I’m so close—on the corner of Lee and Riverside. I’ll be there soon, I promise.” She peered out at the lane of congested traffic ahead. A light drizzle fell, and the twilight sky was darker than usual.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Nicky said in her usual chipper tone. Bianca had worked with Nicky, another nurse assistant, for over five years, and had never once seen the woman in a foul mood. “You owe me one, though!”

“I’ll stay late for you anytime,” Bianca promised. “You just say the word.”

“Gail’s in a real snit this evening,” Nicky said, her tone lowered. “Something must have happened at home before she arrived.”

Bianca sighed. The night manager at the assisted living home where she worked was always in a snit. “Oh boy,” she said, as she braked to avoid the bumper of the car ahead.

What is all this traffic about? she thought. Usually, on her way in for night shifts she enjoyed the fact that her schedule allowed her to avoid the rush-hour Memphis traffic. Thankfully, she could see the right turn just up the block that would take her into the parking structure adjacent to Riverside Assisted Living.

Nicky went on. “I’ll say you’re already here, helping me out by grabbing wheelchairs from the lobby. Hey, we actually have been short on wheelchairs up here, come to think of it. On your way up, will you see if you can snag a few? I think—”

Beep. Nicky’s voice was cut off by the tone alert for an incoming call.

Bianca frowned. Who could that be? Unexpected calls were not a welcome event—not since her mother’s stroke, several years prior. It seemed that half the time, incoming calls pertained to some form of bad news related to her mother’s health.

Beep.

“Hey, Nicky?” Bianca said, cutting off her coworker’s monologue about the lack of wheelchairs. “I’ve got to take this call. I’ll see you in a few minutes, okay?” She quickly lowered the phone from her ear and glanced at the screen, her heart thudding in her chest with the expectation of bad news.

What is it this time? she wondered. Another fall? Did she aspirate her grits?

Relief flooded her as she saw the number on the screen: a telemarketer.

“Whew,” she said with an exhale. Her eyes moved back to the road ahead—but it was too late.

The car ahead of her, a sleek, brand new, black Ferrari, had stopped suddenly.

Crunch!

Bianca’s old sedan shuddered with the impact of her hood against the trunk of the Ferrari. The excruciating sound of metal against metal filled her ears. Her body shifted forward, but the momentum was stopped by the tight pull of her seatbelt across her chest. A swear word escaped her lips, and she felt a flush of adrenaline heat her cheeks. Something warm and wet splattered against her right side, and at first she thought it might be blood.

It wasn’t.

It was soup.

Warm, just-made chicken noodle soup that she’d been planning to bring to her mother, who was a resident at Riverside Assisted Living.

She looked over to the passenger seat and saw that the container of soup that she’d been transporting had glided right off the seat and into the dashboard of the car, where it had exploded in a fragrant, soupy, splattery mess.

Another swear word escaped her lips, and she wiped a stray splash of soup from her cheek as she maneuvered her car out of traffic. The Ferrari ahead did the same.

Great, she thought. Now I’m going to be even more late.

She thrust the shifter into park, and the flush to her cheeks intensified as she contemplated the damage she’d done to her car, as well as the car ahead.

A quick glance at the Ferrari told her that the driver—male, by the look of his silhouette—was getting ready to get out of his car. He pulled a baseball hat over his head, likely to protect his hair from the falling rain.

Bianca wished she had a hat of some sort, but she knew she didn’t. The parking garage was covered, so she never worried about hats or umbrellas. She did, however, have a windbreaker which she usually kept tucked in the back seat, in case of emergencies.

She rummaged around until she found it. Her cardigan was splattered with soup, so she stripped it off and then pulled on the oversized black windbreaker. The hood’s brim flopped down over