A Dream Christmas. Кэрол Мортимер

      “We shall,” she said, smiling far too brightly as she walked with him to the elevator. They got inside and when the doors slid shut, she rounded on him. “What the?”

      “I could have corrected them, but to what end? We’re here for a day, to look the place over and to try and get the best deal possible. Forging something of a … personal relationship with the Fleischers is obviously the way to go. And will make my somewhat low offer look okay.”

      “This is awkward. Like … fourteen-year-old boy walking by the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition in public, while wearing sweatpants, awkward.”

      “That is some kind of awkward.”

      “Isn’t it?” she snipped.

      “Amelia, you and I have worked together for four years, I’m sure we can sleep in close quarters for an evening without being terribly bothered by it. Unless you’re bothered by it.”

      “What? Me? Pfffft.” She blew out a breath. “Bothered. Why would I be bothered?”

      “You seem bothered.”

      She crossed her arms under her breasts and determinedly stared the elevator doors down, as if that might make it move faster. “Nope,” she said. “Not. Bothered, that is. Not even a little. You’re my boss and … and … a friend kind of, when you aren’t being a grumpy…. Well, you’re grumpy most of the time but … why would it be weird? It’s not weird.”

      “Then everything should be fine. I just saw no need to rock the boat.”

      She took a deep breath and let it back out again, everything suddenly kind of unsteady. “But you lied. About us. And I don’t … I don’t really like that.”

      “Why?”

      “Because. Just … you know, forget it.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “It doesn’t really matter.”

      “Fantastic,” he said.

      The doors slid open and Luc walked out without waiting, then strode down the hall to the room, punching in the code quickly. She followed, trying to process why exactly she was suddenly in annoyed territory, rather than just slightly uncomfortable territory.

       Shades of Clint?

      No. This had nothing to do with Clint, and all the garbage happening with him. That was a separate drama and would have to wait to be dealt with. Probably while they were all spending Christmas together. His parents and hers, and … just great.

      Anyway, for her to be bothered by Luc’s little lie on that level would sort of require her to have feelings for Luc. And for him to be tricking her into thinking he had feelings for her. Which was not what was happening. So really, it was nothing like Clint. So she should just chill.

      She walked into the suite and breathed a sigh of relief. It was large. With more than one room. There was a couch right in the main room, and there was what she assumed to be a bedroom off to the left. There was another door to the right that might just be another bedroom.

      “There,” he said. “This will actually be quite convenient, because if I need you for anything, you’ll be right there.”

      She nearly choked over the image that put in her head. Of Luc needing her. In the night. His big hands, dark on her pale skin as they skimmed her curves and …

      “Yeah,” she said. “For work stuff.”

      “What else would I mean?”

      “No … personal stuff.”

      He arched a dark brow. “Amelia, does this make you uncomfortable? Because the last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable.”

      “No,” she said. “I’m fine. It’s a nonissue. We’re adults. We can manage.”

      “Let me tell you,” he said, dark eyes blazing as he took two steps closer to her, his expression intense. “I know some men just take what they want, with no thought to how it might affect other people, but I am not that man.”

      “I know,” she said, feeling breathless now.

      “That is for men like my brother.”

      She swallowed hard, her heart beating fast. “Yes, I know. Your brother the fiancée-stealing jerk.”

      “Have you heard the story?” he asked.

      “From you? Only every time his name is mentioned in the news. I also read the article in Vanity Fair about The Wedding That Wasn’t.”

      “You didn’t even work for me then.”

      “No, but I read that kind of thing. I’m interested in society and pop culture and it was … a big deal.”

      “I know, Amelia, it was my wedding. Trust me, I know.”

      She blinked. “You must have loved her a lot.”

      Luc paused, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking at Amelia, who looked especially wide-eyed, yet again, since their encounter with the Fleischers downstairs. Not that he could blame her, especially.

      It had been a definite change in direction, but as he’d said to her in the elevator, he saw no reason to correct Don, not when it might work to their advantage in some way. He had no way of knowing, and it would be best if he could simply give himself every tool to work with.

      Of course, somehow, all of that had led to a shared suite, and to her asking questions about Marie.

      “No,” he said, his tone harsher than he’d intended. “I did not love her a lot. I daresay I didn’t love her much at all. It was a business arrangement.” Which was partly true. But she’d been the woman he was prepared to spend his life with and, in the end, she’d betrayed him.

      And even more painfully, his brother had betrayed him. Yes, he knew Blaise had his own baggage. Raised mainly in Africa with their mother, Blaise’s life had been completely different from Luc’s. Luc had spent his childhood in a mansion in Paris.

      And in his mind, he’d always seen Blaise’s stealing Marie before the wedding as some kind of revenge. Revenge for a charmed life that had never been as charmed as Blaise had imagined. As anyone might have imagined.

      His father had been—was still—a tyrant. A mean drunk. Distant at best and violent at worst.

      But all anyone ever saw was the facade. The mansion. The man in the suit.

      Luc knew differently.

      And while he’d paid lip service to forgiveness, while he’d told Blaise years ago to just forget it, forgiveness had never truly taken root in him. Because Blaise couldn’t return what he’d stolen. Because Luc could never forget.

      “Well, if you didn’t love her then …” Amelia looked at him, pain in her blue eyes. “I hope she knew, Luc. Because I think it’s pretty bad form to use a woman like that. To use anyone like that.”

      “She knew,” Luc said. “Though, in the end she said it wasn’t enough. The day before the wedding. Do you suppose she could have come to that conclusion faster? Do you suppose she might have … ended things with me before she jumped into bed with my brother?”

      Amelia frowned. “Fine. Point taken.”

      “I was not using her. I believe I just pointed out to you that I’m not one who does that.”

      “And … your brother was using her?”

      “My brother is with someone else now.”

      Blaise and his wife, Ella, had been married for four years. Surprisingly, or rather not, Luc had not attended the wedding.

      “I know,” Amelia said, pointing toward her breasts. At least, that was where his eyes went. “This dress is hers.”

      “You’re wearing one of