A Baby For Christmas - A Billionaire's New Baby Romance Read online

  With no sound but the low howling of the wind, it was calm and warm and inviting. I understood just a little bit better why Colton went to all the trouble of getting into the Christmas spirit.

  Then I realized that soon this would all be over. Richie and I and the rest of the Liminal team would soon have the project finished, and our time here at CooperWare would be done. We’d go back to work at our offices in Bushwick, ready for whatever projects we’d have lined up for the new year.

  And I knew that however much my heart had opened toward the holidays, it would close right back up without Colton and his boyish, infectious enthusiasm.

  About halfway through my coffee, I decided that I couldn’t stand the cold any longer. I opened the door to the balcony and stepped back inside, letting out a sigh of relief as the toasty heat enveloped me. A few moments later, I was out of my coat, hat and scarf and settled back into my desk chair.

  I went back to work, finishing my coffee as I did. Losing myself in the process, I only came back to reality when I noticed the clock change over to 10 p.m. But I still had a little more work to do if we were going to have everything done on time.

  But before I could get back into the zone and focus, a strange sound ripped through the air.

  I frowned, at first not sure what the hell I was hearing, and stood up, looking around for the source. When another outburst sounded, I glanced over to see that the culprit was none other than Richie. He was seated at his desk, his head tilted back and his mouth wide open, sound asleep and snoring.

  I smiled and shook my head. Richie tried to pull the same long hours that I did, but he didn’t have the stamina for it. This wasn’t the first time he’d zonked out at his desk.

  Back in my chair, I was about to put on my headphones and get back to work when I spotted a figure approaching. It was Colton.

  “You know the snoring’s bad when you can hear it from your office,” he said, coming to a stop at my desk, his eyes on Richie.

  “I usually just crank up the bass on my headphones,” I said. “Seems to do the trick.”

  “Yeah, but I’m thinking ol’ Rich needs to get home and get some sleep if he’s going to be useful tomorrow. Chair sleep isn’t very good sleep at all—believe me, I know.”

  “You want to do it or should I?” I asked.

  “Allow me,” he said. “I’ve woken up more than a few sleeping employees in my time.”

  Colton stepped over to Richie and placed his hand on his shoulder.

  “Up and at ’em, buddy,” he said, gently shaking him.

  The snore Richie was in the middle of was cut off abruptly, and he jolted awake.

  “Huh, what?” he asked, looking around.

  Then, as he realized where he was and what had happened, a look of disappointment formed on his face.

  “Oh, shoot,” he said. “Did I fall asleep?”

  “You sure did,” said Colton. “Which means it’s time for you to head home.”

  “Can’t yet,” he said, shaking his head blearily. “Still gotta fix some GUI issues.”

  “Boss’s orders,” said Colton, patting his shoulder. “It’ll all be waiting for you in the morning.”

  I was expecting Richie to put up a little more resistance, but more than anything he looked relieved.

  “Yeah, some sack time does sound pretty good, actually,” he conceded.

  “I’ll call you a cab,” said Colton. “Go ahead and wait in the lobby.”

  Richie began to gather his things, but before he finished he turned his attention to me.

  “You’ve been here for a while, Shayla. You want to catch the cab with me?”

  Sleep did sound nice, but I had too much work to do.

  “Nah,” I said. “I figure I’ve still got another hour or so left in me before I’m snoring at my desk, too.”

  A look of disappointment flashed across Richie’s face, but he hid it quickly enough.

  “Sure, sure,” he said.

  “Night, Richie,” I said once he had his things and was ready to head out.

  “Night,” he said, shuffling slowly toward the elevator.

  “Get some sleep, buddy,” said Colton.

  The doors to the elevator shut, and I took a look around the office, realizing that Colton and I were now alone.

  “Love the work ethic,” he said. “But I think Richie needs to learn his limits.”

  “No kidding,” I said.

  “He seemed a little put out when you didn’t go with him. What’s that all about?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” I said. “He’s been my boss for a while, and I think he just likes to look out for me. Kind of a protective thing.”

  “Gotcha,” said Colton. “How much work do you have left?” he asked.

  “About an hour.”

  “Same here,” he said. “How about we both finish up and I can give you a ride back to your place?”

  “Sounds good,” I said.

  Colton gave me a nod and a smile before heading back to his office.

  And as he shut his door, I realized that I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to spending some one-on-one time with my charming, handsome, billionaire boss.

  Chapter 6

  Colton

  A rapping at my office door startled me from my concentration.

  “Come in,” I called out, realizing that it couldn’t be anyone other than Shayla.

  Sure enough, the door opened and she stepped in.

  “Holy shit!” she said, her eyes on the window behind me.

  Her hand shot to her mouth when she realized that she’d sworn, but I wasn’t bothered. Instead, I turned to see what had caused such a reaction.

  Outside, heavy sheets of snow fell, coming down hard.

  “Damn,” I said. “Look at that.”

  “I heard there was supposed to be a snowstorm coming up,” said Shayla. “But I’d heard it was going to be later in the night.”

  A thought occurred to me.

  “How far away from here are you?” I asked.

  “I’m down in Bushwick,” she said.

  “That’s what, about twenty minutes from here by train?”

  “Yeah, but if this keeps up it’s going to be a hell of a lot longer.”

  “How about this,” I said. “I’m about five minutes from here, and I don’t want you trying to make it home in this weather, especially this late. Why don’t you come to my place? I have an extra bedroom, and you can ride back with me in the morning.”

  She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, considering it. Her eyes fixed onto the snow outside, and I could tell she wasn’t thrilled about the idea of heading home in a New York blizzard.

  “You sure I wouldn’t be putting you out?” she asked.

  “Not in the slightest,” I said. “And it’d make me feel better to know that you were someplace out of the cold.”

  “Okay, sure,” she said. “But only because I make sure to keep a spare set of clothes in my desk for occasions like this. Otherwise it might look bad showing up to the office in the same outfit.”

  The implication of what she’d said must’ve occurred to her—because her face turned a deep red.

  “Um, just a minute,” she said.

  She hurried off to her desk and collected her things, meeting me at the elevator. We went down to the garage, where my silver sports car was waiting for me.

  The drive was quick, the snow picking up by the minute, and it wasn’t long before we pulled into the parking garage of the waterfront tower where I lived.

  We took the elevator up to the penthouse floor, the doors opening and revealing my large, spacious apartment beyond.

  “Wow,” Shayla said, stepping into the open living room and looking around. “You could fit, like, ten of my apartments in here.”

  “I’m not here much,” I said, taking off my coat and hanging it up. “But it’s a nice place to relax when I am.”

  Shayla took off her coat and purse, letting out a lau
gh as she took in all of my Christmas décor.

  “I should’ve known that your place would be even more festive than the office,” she said with a smile. “Nice tree, though.”

  “Thanks,” I said, turning toward the massive pine near the fireplace. “It’s not Christmas without the most stupidly big tree you can find.”

  I turned on the fireplace, the flames roaring to life and filling the living room with a warm ambiance.

  “Care for something to drink?” I asked.

  “You know—a glass of wine would actually be really nice.”

  “Easy enough,” I said.

  After pouring us both a glass, I returned to the living room where Shayla stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the East River and Manhattan beyond.

  “Nice view, even with the snow,” she said, taking the wine.

  She sipped her drink, turning back around and regarding the Christmas decorations.

  “Okay,” she said. “What’s with the obsession with Christmas?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “You think I’m obsessed just because I enjoy the holidays?”

  She shook her head. “You’re way more into them than most guys I’ve met. I thought Richie was crazy for Christmas, but you make him look like a casual fan.”

  I led her over to the couch near the fireplace, and the two of us took a seat.

  “Hmm,” I said, sitting back.

  Truth be told, it was hard for me to focus. The gentle flickering of the fire playing on Shayla’s gorgeous features was more than a little distracting.

  “Well,” I said, “the holidays have always been a happy time for me, I suppose. One of the highlights of growing up.”

  “Really?” she asked. “Let’s hear it. I’m curious to know more about where the great Colton Cooper is from.”

  “I grew up in the city—the Upper East Side, to be precise.”

  Shayla looked impressed. She’d evidently been in the city long enough to know that the Upper East Side meant money.

  “Both of my parents were CEOs, believe it or not—my father in charge of an engineering company, and my mother the founder of her own public relations firm.”

  “That must be where you get it,” said Shayla, tucking her slim legs up underneath her.

  “You’re probably right about that,” I said. “Anyway, as you can imagine, they were busy as hell the majority of the year. They were warm and loving when they were around, but that wasn’t very often. Most of the time I was left in the care of nannies and tutors.

  “But when the holidays came around, that all changed. My parents were lucky enough to both have their downtime around the holidays, so this is when they would both take some time off. Thanksgiving marked when I’d finally be able to spend time with the parents that I’d been missing all year.”

  Shayla sipped her wine, her attention fully on me.

  “And they more than made up for it. We’d start with a two-week vacation—Paris one year, Tokyo another, Bali the next—taking the time to relax and be in one another’s company as we explored a new part of the world.”

  “That sounds amazing,” Shayla said, and her sincerity was clear. “You still travel?”

  “Rarely,” I said. “Too busy with work, nowadays. Anyway, once we’d arrived back home and rested up, we’d take a day trip upstate to this little farm where we’d pick out the biggest, most beautiful tree we could find. Then we’d bring it back home and spend the evening putting on the ornaments, my parents always having me set the star on last.”

  “Sounds nice,” said Shayla.

  “It was. And we had plenty of space in our home, so we’d have family from all over the country come to visit. We’d spend the holidays seeing the sights of the city all decorated for Christmas. We’d skate in Central Park, go shopping for presents, and always be back home in time for a wonderful dinner.”

  I went on, getting more and more wrapped up in nostalgia.

  “And then when the big day came, all us kids would wake up to find the tree loaded with presents from Santa, and we’d tear into them while the adults drank eggnog and watched us enjoy ourselves. Then the rest of the day would be family and fun and toys and everything else.

  “Then when our extended family all went back to where they came from, my parents and I would ring in the New Year at one of their company’s fancy parties. I remember the two of them looking so glamorous—just larger than life.”

  “And do you still see your family for the holidays?” Shayla asked.

  “Of course,” I said. “It wouldn’t be the same without them. And our extended family is even more spread out than they were before, but we make sure to get together when we can. The holidays are usually the best time for that.”

  I took another sip of my wine, letting my gaze drift to the fire.

  “Christmas just means so much to me—family, surprises, and quality time with loved ones. And it was all made a little sweeter by the fact that I knew it wasn’t going to last. Until next year, that is.”

  Shayla nodded, rubbing her arms and looking away. I could sense that there was something amiss, that what I’d told her had made her uncomfortable.

  At that moment it became clear to me that there was more to her dislike of the holidays than just a simple preference.

  There was something deeper.

  “But I can see that you don’t feel the same way,” I hedged.

  Shayla shook her head as she set down her glass of wine.

  “I don’t really like to talk about it,” she said quietly.

  “That’s fine,” I said. “I won’t force it out of you. But know that if you want to get anything off your chest, I’m here for you.” The words tumbled out, surprising me as I said them. But they were true—opening myself up to Shayla, sharing my joys with her made me feel closer to her. I wondered if she felt the same way.

  “It’s just that holidays have always been rough for me,” Shayla began, her voice rough. “I’ve never really told anyone this before, but…”

  Chapter 7

  Shayla

  I couldn’t believe that I was about to tell Colton about my past. I’d always managed to keep it all hidden deep down, vowing never to share it with anyone. But there was something about him, something about the way he looked at me, that made me feel as though I could tell him anything.

  I braced myself with a quick sip of wine, hoping the alcohol would ease my nerves.

  “The first thing you should know about me is that I’m a foster kid.”

  “You were adopted?”

  I shook my head. “Nope. Never adopted. My parents died in a car accident when I was young—some teenage kid who’d only had a driver’s license for a week shifted into the wrong gear and freaked out. Ended up running a red light and driving through an intersection, slamming right into the side of my parents’ car.”

  I broke off. Even as good a listener as Colton was, it was hard giving voice to memories that I only ever resisted thinking about.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” Colton said, his eyes heavy with sympathy.

  “Thank you,” I said. “Sometimes I think the worst part about it is that I have no one to blame. The kid just screwed up. And the poor guy has to live with the fact that his mistake cost two people their lives. So who can I direct my anger at, you know?”

  I shook my head and took another sip of wine, wanting to get off the subject as quickly as I could.

  “How old were you at the time?” Colton asked.

  “I’d just turned five,” I said. “Barely old enough to remember them. And I didn’t have any other family who could take me, so when they passed I went right into the system. I started out at a group home, spending those first couple of years hoping some kind, loving family would come adopt me. But getting parents to adopt kids over the age of one or two is tough, so I stayed in the system.”

  I paused, listening to the fire crackle, enjoying its warmth. Colton continued to watch me with attentive eyes.


  “When they can’t find a family for you, they end up putting you with temporary foster families. Most of them were kind enough, but all of them knew that our arrangement was just a temporary thing, and so never went out of their way to get too attached. And when the holidays showed up, they just reminded me of how alone I was.”

  I swallowed, finding it difficult to continue. But something about the way Colton looked at me emboldened me to go on. It was strange; no man had ever had this effect on me before.

  “And that’s what I remember about all of my holidays. Maybe getting a small present here or there if I was with a family, or spending Christmas at the group home with all the other kids, none of us having anyone except each other. And people came and went all the time—I never really got the chance to make friends.”

  And that was that. Silence hung in the air as Colton processed everything that I’d told him.

  “I can’t even imagine what that must’ve been like,” he said finally. “To have no one there for you, especially during the holidays. Especially when you were a kid.”

  “Yep,” I said. “I always wondered when I was little what it’d be like to be one of those kids that got to wake up in the morning in a warm, cozy house—to run down the stairs and see my family waiting for me, a fire in the fireplace and presents under the tree. Kind of like what you had.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he said, shaking his head, “like I was bragging about my good fortune.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” I said. “I’ve come to terms with it all, for the most part. I’m not frustrated or bitter about the hand life dealt me. But that doesn’t mean I like the holidays.”

  “And why would you?” he asked. “If I was in your position, I’d hate them too.”

  “It always makes me feel like the odd woman out,” I said. “Everyone’s having fun and enjoying themselves, and meanwhile I’m trying to hide my feelings and hope no one asks why I look so glum.”

  “I’m sorry, Shayla. I feel like I forced it out of you.”