Christmas with a Billionaire: Billionaire under the Mistletoe / Snowed in with Her Boss / A Diamond for Christmas

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

Billionaire Under the Mistletoe (#ulink_e184c461-a8ce-579d-a45f-69ef908c4a38)

USA TODAY bestselling author CAROLE MORTIMER was born in England and currently makes her home on the Isle of Man. Happily married to Peter, they have six grown-up sons, so Christmas was always a fun-filled but busy time of year, she reports. Carole has written nearly two hundred books for Mills & Boon and divides her time between the Mills & Boon

Modern™ and Mills & Boon

Historical lines. Carole loves spending time with her family, travelling and reading. Visit her website at www.carole-mortimer.com (http://www.carole-mortimer.com) for news on upcoming books and more.

PROLOGUE (#ulink_581a4e19-c6fc-5a58-939d-69dadf912c5d)

‘IT’S A SIMPLE enough request to make, surely, Sally? After all, you are my PA and—Why are you laughing?’

‘Wasn’t I meant to laugh?’

‘Hell, no!’

‘Then you were actually serious when you asked me to have Christmas delivered to your apartment by Friday morning?’

‘Does it look as if I’m joking, Sally?’

‘Oh.’

Sophie had arrived slightly early at Hamilton Tower for her lunch date with her cousin, Sally; she certainly hadn’t intended to find herself standing transfixed in the plush hallway outside her cousin’s office, inadvertently eavesdropping on Sally’s conversation with her boss, Max Hamilton, billionaire CEO of Hamilton Enterprises.

Although she understood Sally’s humour and disbelief: who on earth had Christmas delivered?

The super-rich Max Hamilton, apparently.

As far as Sophie was concerned, Christmas had always been a time of traditions, built up over years and years of family holidays spent together, with decorations kept and treasured by generation after generation.

Obviously, Max Hamilton had missed that particular memo …

Sophie knew from what Sally had told her that her cousin’s boss was something of a workaholic. Just as Sophie also knew, from reading about him in the tabloids, that the man appeared to play as hard as he worked, changing his women as often as he changed his no doubt designer label silk shirts—daily, if not twice a day.

Having seen photographs of him, Sophie wasn’t in the least surprised. Tall, dark and handsome didn’t even begin to describe the thirty-four-year-old owner and CEO of Hamilton Enterprises. With overlong and fashionably tousled dark hair, mesmerising green eyes, high cheekbones, sculptured lips above a strong jaw, he was sex on long, long legs.

He also had the most seductive voice Sophie had ever had the pleasure of listening to—a mixture of molasses and gravel, honey over satin, with just the right hint of husky.

Although the subject of his conversation still seemed slightly bizarre.

‘I thought you were going skiing this Christmas, as usual?’ Sally prompted uncertainly now, as she obviously realised her boss wasn’t joking, after all.

‘I was. Notice the past tense.’ Max Hamilton sighed, showing his irritation. ‘My sister and her husband are having marital problems, and she telephoned me last night to say she thinks it’s a good idea for her to join me in England for Christmas this year, along with my five-year-old niece, Amy.’

Ah, that explained part of his dilemma.

But not all of it.

Having Christmas delivered just seemed … Well, it was just wrong.

Admittedly, Sophie was spending her own Christmas alone this year, while her cousin, aunt and uncle went to Canada for two weeks so that they could all meet Sally’s in-laws-to-be. They had very kindly invited Sophie to accompany them, but she had preferred to stay in England and cat-sit for Henry, Sally’s spoilt but adorable pet.

There were very legitimate reasons why Sophie’s own Christmas was going to be so different this year, and it certainly wasn’t through choice. Max Hamilton just sounded as if he was too busy—or perhaps considered himself too important?—to trouble himself bothering to organise Christmas for his sister and niece.

Though, to his credit, he was changing his plans to suit his sister and his niece’s needs, and was no longer going skiing, as he apparently usually did, but he obviously had no idea how to go about providing the rest of Christmas for his small family.

‘Which reminds me, I’m also going to need more presents than the ones I already sent to them in the States,’ the man continued distractedly. ‘Lots of them. Under the tree, for Amy and my sister to unwrap on Christmas morning.’

Okay, now he had gone too far! I mean, really, couldn’t the man even be bothered to personally pick out the necessary presents for his niece, at least? A little girl who was no doubt already seriously emotionally distressed by her parents’ problems.

Obviously not.

‘And I’ll need a cook,’ Max Hamilton added.

‘A cook?’ Sally echoed slowly.

‘Well, I have no idea how to cook a Christmas lunch, and it doesn’t seem fair to ask Janice to cook for all of us when she’s so upset about the separation.’

‘You do remember that I’m flying to Canada the day after tomorrow?’ Sally reminded him softly.

‘I also know you’re the best damn PA in the world.’

Oh, yes, let’s try flattery when all else fails, Sophie noted disgustedly.

He might be ‘tall, dark and handsome’, and have a seductively sexy voice to go with it, but, from what Sophie had overheard, Max Hamilton was also manipulative. Clearly a man who believed, when all else failed, that he could charm his way out of a problem.

‘I know that and you know that,’ Sally answered him drily.

‘But …?’

‘But I have to admit, best PA in the world or not, that I have no idea how to even begin ordering Christmas to be delivered, let alone find someone to cook for you over Christmas at such short notice.’

‘Aren’t there party organisers, agencies, who provide this type of thing?’ Max Hamilton muttered irritably. ‘I don’t care what it costs, Sally, as long as it’s all in place by Christmas Eve, when Janice and Amy fly in to Heathrow.’

‘I’m not sure any amount of money can provide all of Christmas, and a cook, in just five days!’

Neither was Sophie. And it really was just all wrong, anyway.

Her own childhood Christmases had been a time of family and warmth, of those traditions so integral to the season. Her father had died in a car accident when she was nine, but that hadn’t stopped her mother from continuing with all the Christmas traditions that had been such a part of their lives prior to that; if anything, it had seemed even more important that she do so.

Even since her mother had become terminally ill four years ago the two of them had always made the best of the situation, putting up the decorations as usual and exchanging presents. Sophie had been the one to cook the traditional roast turkey dinner and Christmas pudding, alternate years with her aunt and uncle and Sally as their guests, and spending Christmas Day at their home with them on the intervening years.

Not so this year, as her mother had finally succumbed to her illness six months ago, which was why Sophie had been only too happy to distract herself this Christmas by house-sitting and taking care of Sally’s cat. But her aloneness was down to circumstances, rather than choice.

Max Hamilton obviously usually preferred to go skiing over the holidays, rather than spending time with his family. No doubt having his entertainment, food—and women!—provided for him, with as little inconvenience to himself as possible.