A Baby For Christmas - A Billionaire's New Baby Romance Page 6

  Seated at the tiny kitchen table in my apartment, I wrapped my hands around my cup of coffee. Snow fell gently outside of my window. I cranked the heat, the extra warmth making me feel toasty underneath my favorite fuzzy blue robe—the one with little cartoon coffee mugs on it. Who would care that I was still in my pajamas on a Saturday afternoon? It wasn’t like I was planning on heading out anywhere.

  Before I could take a sip of coffee, my phone buzzed, the rattle loud and jarring on the surface of my kitchen table.

  I set down my mug and picked up my phone. It was a call from Meg, one of the girls I worked with at Liminal.

  “Hey!” came the chipper voice on the other end. “Merry Christmas!”

  “Same to you,” I said, getting up from my seat and taking a slow walk through the apartment. “What’s up?”

  “Oh, not much,” she said. “Just at my folk’s place in Westchester. We’re finishing up the family stuff. I’m about to head back into town, so I figured I’d see what you were up to.”

  “I’m just at my apartment,” I said. “Getting ready to hunker down with the snow.”

  “Boring,” she said. “Come and have a drink with me and some of the other girls when I get back! We’re going to this really cute place in the Village.”

  I grit my teeth. Though I liked to keep my personal life mostly hidden, it was common knowledge around the office that I spent Christmas alone. Even though that was how I liked it, that didn’t stop coworkers from trying to get me out to various holiday events.

  Normally I’d be down for going out for a drink or two. And I appreciated that they’d thought of me, but for some reason this Christmas I was in something of a reflective mood. Today, the only thing that appealed to me was hanging out by myself, having some coffee, maybe some wine a little later, and working on my projects.

  “That sounds like a blast, Meg, but I’m actually feeling kind of crappy.”

  “Like, ‘sick’ crappy or ‘bummed out’ crappy?”

  “The first kind,” I said. “I think I’ve been pushing myself too hard over the last few weeks, and it’s all catching up with me now.”

  There was a pause.

  “You promise you’re under the weather?” she asked. “And not that you’re hiding from Christmas in your apartment?”

  I hated to fib, but going out was the last thing I wanted.

  “Promise,” I said.

  “Okay,” said Meg. “I mean, maybe this is your body’s way of telling you that you need some rest considering the last few weeks.”

  “That’s probably it,” I said. “I figure that if I take it easy now, I’ll be feeling better for New Year’s Eve.”

  “Atta girl,” said Meg. “Well, I’ll let you go. Take it easy, and merry Christmas!”

  “You too,” I said.

  I hung up, set the phone back on the table, and wrapped my hands around my coffee. Seated at the table, I watched the snow slowly fall, the drifting flakes lulling me into a relaxed state once again. After finishing my first cup of coffee, I poured myself another and sat back down.

  Was this really how I was going to spend another holiday?

  The apartment was still and silent, and the urge to have something fill the air came over me. I flicked on the radio and, of course, Christmas music began playing.

  I sighed, my first instinct being to change the station. But, as the gentle strains of “Let It Snow” filled my apartment, an odd sense of peace came over me.

  Instead of changing the station, I set the remote down and let the music wrap around me like a warm blanket. I couldn’t figure out what the hell was happening to me—I’d always hated Christmas music.

  Before I could give the subject any more thought, the harsh, grinding sound of the apartment buzzer cut through the music. I set down my coffee, wondering who on earth would be buzzing my apartment on Christmas Day.

  I sat still, waiting to hear the noise again. When it didn’t, I assumed that someone had hit the wrong button.

  But then it buzzed again. There was no mistake—someone had come to visit me.

  I set down my coffee and walked over to the intercom and pressed the “talk” button.

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  “Why, Santa, of course,” came the male voice on the other end, the person speaking making his voice cartoonishly deep.

  “Cute,” I said. “But seriously—who is it?”

  “Someone who can hear the Christmas music playing in the background.”

  This time the voice was normal, and I recognized it right away—Colton.

  “Is that you?” I asked.

  “It sure is,” he said. “And I’ve got some Christmas goodies for you if you want to let me in.”

  I froze, panicking. Colton Cooper, one of the richest men in the city, was in the crappy lobby of my tiny apartment building.

  “Sure,” I squeaked. “I’ll unlock the door for you. Come on in.”

  I hit the button to open the lobby door and then unlocked the door to my apartment. I wanted to change out of my silly robe, but I knew I didn’t have time. Instead, I jumped in front of the small mirror to the right of my door and made sure that I didn’t look too much like I’d only recently gotten out of bed.

  A knock sounded from the front door, followed by the handle turning.

  “Ho, ho, ho!” came Colton’s booming voice.

  The door swung open and in he stepped, dressed in the same red-and-white Santa costume that he wore at the Christmas party. His gorgeous eyes twinkled above his fake white beard, and his hat dangled in front of his face. A red satin bag was hung over his shoulder, and his black boots were polished to a shine.

  “Merry Christmas!” he said, reprising his Santa voice. “And, uh, nice robe.”

  A hot blush and a smile spread across my face in unison.

  “You know, Santa, if you’d told me that you were coming over, I could’ve put something nice on to wear.”

  “Bah!” he said in his fake-deep voice, swiping his hand through the air. “Santa loves a fun robe!”

  I pointed at the red sack.

  “What’s in the bag?” I asked.

  “Why, Christmas cheer, of course!”

  I had to admit that I was curious. I shut the door behind Colton, my arms spreading out for a hug. He pulled me in tight, his Santa outfit cool and wet with melted snow.

  “Let me get this thing off,” he said, speaking in his normal voice once again. “Wasn’t expecting to get snow dumped on me on the way over.”

  “You’d think Santa of all people would be prepared for some snow on Christmas,” I said cheekily.

  He gave me a wink as he pulled off his beard and slipped out of his Santa suit, revealing a sharp outfit of a crisp, white button-up shirt and a pair of dark, slim jeans. Over his shoulder was slung a very nice-looking leather briefcase, which he’d had on under the suit.

  “That doesn’t make it any less cold,” he said, then heaved the bag from the floor and set it on the kitchen table. “Ready for your goodies?”

  He opened up the bag, but before he pulled out a single thing, Colton stopped still.

  “Wait a minute,” he said, cocking his head to the side and listening to the music playing. “Is that…Christmas music I hear?!”

  “Um, maybe,” I said. “I just turned on the radio, and it was playing. Hard to get away from Christmas music when it’s Christmas, you know?”

  I spoke too quickly and was sure that I sounded like I was telling tales. Colton flashed me a playfully skeptical expression that suggested he didn’t entirely believe me.

  “If I didn’t know better, I might think my love for the holidays was rubbing off on you.”

  “Uh-huh. And what’ve you got there?” I asked, eager to change the subject.

  After one more skeptical look, Colton turned his attention back to the bag. He rifled through it and pulled out the contents, one thing after another.

  “Just my patented emergency Christmas-in-a-bag kit,” he sai
d. “Think mulled wine, eggnog, cookie-making kit, mini-Christmas tree, ornaments, music—though I think you’ve already beat me to that—decorations, mistletoe…”

  I looked at him, stunned into silence.

  “Now,” he said clapping his hands together and grinning. “Are you ready for Christmas?”

  Chapter 10

  Shayla

  I stepped out of my bedroom after quickly changing into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt to see that Colton was already hard at work getting the decorations put up around my apartment.

  “Sorry,” he said, glancing over his shoulder as he strung up a sparkly line of tinsel over my front door. “I just couldn’t wait.”

  “I’m not even a little surprised,” I said with a grin.

  “Oh, and I heated up some mulled wine for you,” he said, nodding his head toward a filled glass on the kitchen table. “And I’m thinking that we can start by putting up some of these decorations, then after that we can do the cookies. And while those are cooling, we can get the tree all set up.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I said. “But first, I’m going to get at this wine.”

  A few minutes later, glass of mulled wine in hand, I sipped it as I took in the soft, cinnamon and spice scents of the Christmas candles Colton had lit. The light in the apartment was mellow, the tiny flames on the candles flickering here and there. As I let the wine linger on my palate, I considered that as silly as I might’ve thought it was, the few decorations already up actually made the place seem cozier and inviting.

  “How’s the wine?” he asked, hopping down from the small step ladder.

  “Absolutely delicious,” I said as I regarded the ruby-red concoction. “Where’s it from?”

  “I got that bottle the last time I was in Australia,” he said. “There’s this winery outside of Sydney that I just love. I make sure to swing by and order a case of their cab whenever I’m in the area.”

  I raised my eyebrows in mild surprise.

  “Oh,” I said. “I was expecting an answer like ‘this wine shop in the Lower East Side’ or something, but that works too.”

  Colton took a seat at the kitchen table in front of his glass.

  “I spent a semester in Australia when I was younger,” he said. “And I kind of fell in love with the place.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, and I could tell that his next question was going to be “have you ever been?” But he stopped himself when he apparently realized that my humble upbringing likely didn’t provide me with much in the way of international travel.

  “Sorry,” he said. “That was insensitive of me to bring up.”

  “Not at all,” I said. “I didn’t get to do much traveling, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like to hear about it. Tell me about some of the other places you’ve been.”

  That expression of boyish enthusiasm I’d seen so often on Colton’s face reappeared.

  “Well,” he said. “I traveled a ton in college.”

  “What school did you go to?” I asked, sitting down across from him.

  “Harvard,” he said.

  I nodded. “Naturally. Were you in a fraternity, by any chance?”

  He flashed me a smirk. “I was indeed. Alpha Beta Beta. Damn, those guys loved to party. Whenever we got the chance, we traveled to Europe or Mexico or wherever we felt like, getting into all kinds of trouble.”

  His eyebrows flicked up, as if he’d just remembered something.

  “One spring break, my sophomore year, I think, the guys and I wanted to go to Southern France. I was studying French at the time, so it seemed like a natural fit. Anyway, we rented this villa in Nice, and it was about the craziest week of my life…”

  He went on, talking about the crazy antics he and his friends got into during this, and other, trips to Europe. I found I was more interested in the other aspects to his travels, like the languages he studied and the museums he’d visited, but I had to admit that his energy and enthusiasm for the fun he had was more than a little charming.

  “Have you ever been out of the country?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Not even once. Coming to New York from upstate was about the biggest and only adventure I’ve ever been on in my life.”

  “Hey,” he said. “That’s nothing to scoff at. Plenty of people would be scared to death by the idea of moving from a small town to a place like New York. For you to do that is impressive, to say the least.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “But it doesn’t feel that way. I just followed wherever the jobs were.”

  I sipped my wine again, thinking.

  “I want to hear more about school,” I told him. “What kind of stuff did you learn? What were your favorite classes? Were there any teachers that changed your life—all of it.”

  Colton raised an eyebrow.

  “Sure,” he said. “But I can’t help but notice you’re asking about this like someone who’s never been to college. Did you go?”

  My stomach tightened at the subject.

  “Kind of,” I said, tracing a circle on the table with my fingertip. “There’s a program in New York where if you’re a foster kid you can get a free ride to community college. So that’s what I did, up in Briarwood.”

  “And how was that?” asked Colton.

  “Nothing special,” I said. “The teachers were great, but the campus was nothing to write home about. Nothing like Harvard, obviously.”

  “Does this bother you?” he asked, his voice soft. “You seem like just the type who’d be at home on a college campus.”

  Before I could answer, Colton was up on his feet.

  “I want to hear all about it,” he said. “But talking is always more fun when there are cookies involved.”

  He picked up the cookie kits, which were those fancy kits where all of the ingredients were layered in mason jars. “I’ve got gingerbread and old-fashioned chocolate chip. And I can’t decide, so we’re going to have to make both.”

  I smiled. “Sounds good to me.”

  Colton stepped behind the kitchen counter and began assembling the necessary tools for the work. With a nod, he gestured for me to go on.

  “I loved every minute I was on campus,” I told him. “And I got to work with some awesome instructors who really helped guide my development as an artist. But I’d always wished I could be one of those girls who got to go to art school—I felt like it was an experience I missed out on.”

  “But now you’re here in the city,” he said. “There’s nothing but culture here.”

  “You’re right, and it’s great. But I’m always so busy with work that I never have the chance to check out museums or meet other artists or work on my own projects.”

  “You don’t have other artists at Liminal?”

  “Sure, but we’re always working. And when you’re making art for someone else, it seems to fry your brain.”

  “Interesting,” he said. “At CooperWare I always make sure to give the artists time to work on their own projects. Other bosses always think I’m crazy when I tell them that, but you’d be surprised how much more effective artists can be when you let them thrive instead of wringing out all their creative juices. And it shows—the creative team at my place is like a family.”

  “Sounds nice,” I said.

  It really did. Richie had his pros as a boss, but for him it was all work, work, work.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I feel like sometimes that time is just slipping away. I’ve always had a love for learning and art and all that, but my life is my job. And that’s that.”

  Colton finished mixing the two bowls of dough and passed one with the gingerbread ingredients toward me. Together, we began forming the dough into little balls and placing them on separate trays.

  “So,” he said. “You love to learn, but you don’t have the time to travel, study, or keep up on it all the way you’d like, right?”

  “That’s right,” I said.

  “Then I’ve got some really good news for you,” he said.<
br />
  I crinkled my brow.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “One more present. But you’re going to have to wait; we still need to get these cookies going and finish up the decorations.”

  “You’ve got me curious,” I said. “I’ll admit it.”

  “Then let’s not waste another second.”

  The trays loaded down with cookies, Colton and I put them into the warmed oven. Once they were in, the two of us went back to the decorations, covering the apartment in tinsel and garland, along with a few boughs of mistletoe here and there. As we did, the smell of baking cookies mingled with the scent of the candles, wrapping me up in comfort.

  Soon, the cookies were done. I took them out of the oven as Colton continued on with the decorations.

  “Make sure you give them some time to cool,” he said, raising an eyebrow at me from where he stood on the stepladder.

  “They smell so good,” I said, using all my willpower to not gobble up one of the chocolate chip ones.

  “See?” asked Colton “Aren’t Christmas treats more fun than whatever Chinese food you were going to order tonight?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But Lee’s on the corner makes a mean General’s chicken.”

  Colton flashed me a warm smile as he turned back to the decorations.

  Over the course of the next couple of hours, we finished decorating the apartment, snacking on cookies and wine as we went. Soon, the garland and tinsel were all up, and all that was left was the tree. We cleared off a spot on my coffee table and set it up, Colton bringing over the small box of ornaments when we were ready.

  “Now,” he said when we were almost done, “I told you that putting the star on top was usually my job when I was younger. But I think you’re the right woman for the job this year.”

  He handed me the star, which was a gorgeous metal ornament decorated with a beautiful, intricate design.

  “No pressure,” he said with a wink.

  Carefully, as if I was holding a priceless antique, I placed the star on the top of the tree. Colton flicked the switch for the lights, the green and white and red lights glowing with warmth.