A Dream Christmas. Кэрол Мортимер

response was sharp, shocked and very loud after the prolonged silence.

      “I can’t work for you anymore.”

      “You said none of this would be a problem,” he bit out. “You said you knew what this was.”

      “Yes, and it changed. I didn’t mean to lie, but I guess I did. I don’t want to work for a man who was inside me, then looked at me like I was something stuck to the bottom of his shoe while he rejected my love.”

      He made a short, incredulous sound.

      “Neither do I want to be with a man who does those French … noises you do. It’s annoying. You’re annoying. I’m not making you coffee ever again. I’m going to eat every peppermint stir stick and scone on your plane and never make you coffee or fetch you a bagel again!”

      She was breathing hard, adrenaline pouring through her. She was mad, she was hurt, but at least she was sure of this decision. And she didn’t care how it affected him. She didn’t care if it was upsetting or disappointing for him, not when it was right for her.

      “You won’t have a job, and you won’t be able to pay your rent. And unless you are marrying Clint—” he said the other man’s name like it disgusted him “—then you’re going to have a bit of a rough awakening.”

      “Don’t care. I have savings,” she said, tugging the peppermint stick from her latte and crunching the end. “I will be fine. Just fine. You on the other hand will have to find another assistant who doesn’t care that you’re a gigantic pain. So good luck with that.” She took another bite of the peppermint and chewed loudly.

      “You’re being unreasonable. And emotional,” he ground out.

      “News flash, that’s because I’m a human being. And humans are emotional. You, sir, are a robot. A cyborg, actually, because you’re part human, but robotic nonetheless!”

      “Amelia …”

      “Don’t talk to me. Unless you want to recant all the horrible crap you’ve said to me in the past eight hours.”

      “I can’t.”

      “Then shh. I’m drinking my latte and pondering a career folding leggings at a department store.”

      She tucked her feet up under her and drank her latte, brooding for the rest of the flight while Luc worked with his head down.

      When the plane landed, she stood. “I’m not going to ride with you,” she said. “After my bags come out, I’m going to the taxi line like a plebeian. Have yourself a merry little Christmas, jackass.” She turned to face the cargo area where the bags were being gathered and started humming.

      Luc didn’t wait for his bags. He simply got into the waiting car. “Goodbye, Amelia,” he said.

      “Bye,” she said, turning back to the plane, blinking back tears. She heard the car door close, and she folded her arms over her stomach to keep from folding in on herself.

      When she got her bags, she started to drag them to the airport door, to the cabs, tears rolling down her cheeks. She drew in a shaky breath and started to sing. “‘Oh, tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy.’” Her voice broke on the last word and she looked down, wiping a tear off her cheek. She swallowed hard. “‘Oh, tidings of comfort and joy.’”

       CHAPTER NINE

      HIS OFFICE HAD a disturbing lack of singing happening in it. And he didn’t like it at all. All of the things he’d relished prior to having Amelia in his life, and things he’d imagine he would enjoy again if she was ever gone, were just not enjoyable at all anymore.

      At the moment, his office was just cold, dark and lacked coffee.

      Sure, he could call someone up from another department and demand they make him a drink. And he could make his own. But it wouldn’t be the same. He’d taken for granted just how much he counted on her.

      And it wasn’t just his office that felt empty. It was his chest. There was a gaping hole left behind by that woman and he had no idea what he was going to do to repair it. If he even wanted to.

      Because if it could be fixed, it felt as if he would be dishonoring what they’d shared. And why should he care about that? Why should what they shared matter? She was one woman, one in a line of several. While not the legendary playboy his brother was, he’d had his share of lovers, and not one of them had affected him like this. Their breakups had always been amicable. Easy. And he’d felt fine afterward. He’d felt nothing, really.

      Marie was the only one to make him feel anything, and that had been nothing like this.

      That had been wounded pride. He’d been the laughingstock of society. Being left right before the wedding for his brother.

      But it hadn’t been this. This had nothing to do with anyone but Amelia and himself.

      He gritted his teeth against the onslaught of pain the thought brought on. Amelia and him. The ache was only for her, and yet the reasons he couldn’t be with her seemed to involve an army of other people.

      He looked down at his desk, staring at the wood grain, one question playing through his mind.

       Why?

      Why did anyone else get a say in what he did? In what he could feel? Why was anything or anyone more important than what he felt than she was?

      They shouldn’t be. And yet, there was too much in the way. Though part of him couldn’t help but wonder if he was just in his own way.

      Anger had always protected him. Anger at his father had kept him from caring too much when the old man had struck him, and had stopped it eventually, as he’d become a man and his father realized that Luc wasn’t to be trifled with.

      Anger had protected him when Blaise had returned to France with a rage matching his own. It had kept him from wanting a reunion, when both of them were so full of resentment.

      It had insulated him, driven him, after Marie.

      But now it was keeping him from something he wanted. It was keeping him from Amelia. Keeping her from him.

      As long as anger was the biggest emotion in him, he really couldn’t ever be worthy of her, and every reason he’d pushed her away would hold true.

      But if he could change it … If he could change himself rather than just making excuses, then maybe …

      She would always be too good for him. Too bright, too lovely and too damn chipper. But he was wallowing in the things of the past, embracing his anger because it was easy, and while his pride rebelled against that reality, it was the truth.

      He pounded his fist on the desk, the only sound that had echoed in the room since he’d come in that morning.

      He knew what his life would bring if he didn’t change. More of the same. Loneliness, a sense of quiet stability, the dull ache of rage and a strange sadness that pushed against his throat when he closed his eyes at night. Whether he was an investor or a real estate developer, if he was ever going to have a different life, changes would have to happen inside him, not just outside.

      But if he chose Amelia, there would be no stability in the everyday. It would be too bright, too fuzzy and rarely quiet. It would be full of songs, and when he closed his eyes, she would be next to him. Warm and soft, smelling like peppermint and pine and being more than he’d ever hoped to deserve.

      If he was going to hold Amelia, he had to let go of some things he’d been carrying for far too long.

      He picked up his phone and scrolled through the numbers. This wasn’t one he had memorized, and that said a lot. Though, he had always kept it. And maybe that said a lot, too.

      He dialed, not