Christmas with the Billionaire (Christmas in Hope Peak #1)

Chapter 1

Charles

A peaceful silence fills the office, giving us a world record rate of no disruptions. No last-minute meetings. No sudden dip in stocks or visits from the marketing team. Nothing. Just peaceful silence.

A few feet behind me, snow falls gently from the sky, teasing those below with the possibility of a white holiday this year.

With Christmas around the corner, everyone is rushing on the floors below to complete their current projects so they can enjoy the holiday undisturbed. Funny enough, the work ethic is always at a high when a holiday rolls around.

Across from my desk, my personal assistant is on the same wavelength. Her fingers move in a blur as she goes through her email, stopping only momentarily to write notes in her calendar.

Just as I’m watching her impressive multitasking talent, her lips suddenly pinch together, and she lifts her gaze to meet mine. She looks worried.

“Sir, they’re still waiting for an answer regarding that Christmas gala.” Francine hums as she scrolls through her tablet. “Should I tell them that you’ll be attending alone again, or are we including a second party this time around…?”

She pauses, a hint of hope in her voice. All because, just like everyone else who enjoys picking into my life, she wants to see me settle down. To find a woman to return home to, to start a family with.

Another year, another disappointment.

“You wouldn’t want to attend with me again, would you, Miss Gales?” Putting on my best smile that wins over investors, it disappears just as quickly when a scoff leaves her lips.

“After last year? Not a chance. Do you know how long I had people asking me if I was having an affair with my boss? Doesn’t matter how we acted, HR was a nightmare.

” The memory sizzles back up, and she’s got a point as she shivers at the reminder.

“As beautiful as the gala will be, I’ll have to decline politely. So, what should I tell them?”

I don’t want to go at all. Is that an option?

Sighing into my hands, my groan slips through the cracks of my fingers.

“It would be easier just to send in a donation.” Dropping my hands, my brows pinch together. “I don’t know why they insist I show up every single year. It’s the same speech, word for word. Anyone could give it.”

Francine smiles, the curve telling. “By now, you must know. You’re charming, sir, when you want to be. Doesn’t hurt that you’ve helped fund their projects throughout the years. Also, you’re willing to entertain those who wish to tell you all about their daughters.”

I hate that she has a list of reasons at the ready. Why does she have to be right all the time?

“You’d think by now, they’d understand that I’m not looking to date, let alone settle down with any of them.” Sighing through my nose, my chair creaks as I lean back. “It’s exhausting, the whole thing.”

She hums, debating her next words. As someone who’s never shy, I’m not surprised when she doesn’t keep her opinion to herself.

“If you don’t care for marriage, why not just rip the band-aid off and just sign a certificate?

It’ll save you the headache that comes with being a bachelor.

You can find someone to play the part, but not worry about love getting in the way.

At that point, you won’t need to lower yourself by asking your charming assistant to ward off all the single women. ”

Turning my chair, I look out toward the incredible view separated by nothing but a piece of glass. Even if I’ve never been a fan of the snow, there’s something breathtaking about watching it head toward the busy city streets.

I can’t exactly tell her the truth, not when it’s been a curse I’ve dealt with since I was a teenager. The story would take too long and end on a sour note I’ve attempted to forget on so many occasions.

An unspoken farewell. Ignored calls for a year, never looking back. To satisfy my demanding family, I sacrificed the one thing I truly desired—her.

While I could form up a contract and marry out of obligation, and make everything easier, there’ll still be a hole in my chest waiting for a certain someone that’ll never come.

The only woman I’ve ever wanted feels so out of reach now. We’re two people living in two different worlds.

How is Ellie doing, anyway? The question is a torment, haunting me once a day, at a minimum.

Reaching for my phone and scrolling through social media feels like just scratching an itch; I only realize its futility when I check my search history. The name glued to the top is the only one I ever click.

Ellie Dalson.

Inhaling sharply, I click the name, and my screen fills with a beauty with brown wavy hair and light-brown eyes.

Each smile I find on her lips is all of the proof I need to know my heart still works, a frantic, pained thrumming against my ribs that shows I’m not some corporal machine. I’m still human.

I’m a man who hungers with a very picky palate.

Can I be blamed? The woman of my dreams, the only woman I’ve ever pictured putting a ring on her finger, is so far out of my reach that it’s laughable. Pathetic, really. I trace the line of her jaw on the cool glass of my phone. Her mouth forms a welcoming smile, tempting me even now.

Though I am alone and miserable in a hollow-sounding penthouse, Ellie appears to be enjoying the best of her life.

The photos show her seemingly loving every moment.

There she is, hiking a sun-drenched trail, and I can almost smell the pine, like I’m right there with her.

In another, she is laughing with friends at a café, and I’m haunted by the sound, a melody I can no longer hear for real.

She’s morphed into someone new, leaving behind the shy wallflower I used to know, but no matter what kind of person she is now, I know my feelings won’t change.

My own stress halts momentarily as I consume each recent photo, and I fall into the bad habit of drinking in the old ones, too.

I scroll back, back, back through years I wasn’t a part of, searching for a trace of the girl I knew in the woman she’s become.

I look for a shadow in her eyes, a hint of a sadness that mirrors my own—some pathetic proof that our ending left her empty, too.

But I never find it. She looks whole. She looks happy.

That’s what happens when years pass by without a single conversation. Most people move on. The ones who don’t are like me, clinging to photos.

Last month, it was Ellie’s birthday. Twenty-eight years old now. The number feels like a physical weight in my chest. Twenty-eight. I’ve missed out on ten of them. A decade of candles I didn’t see her blow out, of celebrations we’ve never shared.

In the photo, she’s hugging another woman, someone with a few more age lines. Probably a co-worker, if I have to guess. They’re in her home, celebrating in a quiet place instead of going out. Her home. I scour the pixels, desperate for any updates I can soak up.

Then I see them. In the background, a splash of vibrant color on a kitchen counter.

The flowers. The ludicrously expensive orchids I had sent as a present to her workplace in a moment of weakness.

Happy to see them flourishing in the background instead of trying to survive inside a trash can, my mouth curves enough to catch my assistant’s eye.

It’s a fragile, fleeting victory—a tiny piece of me, accepted into her orbit.

Before Francine can ask, the smile is gone, shuttered away.

She’s gorgeous, just as she is in every photo. No longer the lanky freshman with braces that I remember, a girl all sharp angles and shy grins. She’s got curves now, a woman’s confident posture, and a smile worth showing. Breathtaking.

Back then, I thought she was cute, adorable, even. A fondness, a protectiveness. Now, just looking at her makes my pants tighter, my heart beats out of rhythm—a frantic, stumbling cadence that belongs only to her.

Doesn’t help that every time I soak in a new photo, I’m waiting to see one with a man. One with a ring on her finger. One that gives away any signs that she’s spoken for. After all this time, somehow, she’s as alone as I am.

It’s a miracle, but a haunting tease each time I go through this.

I shouldn’t have any right to stalk her like this. It’s pathetic, but it’s everything.

There’s something about seeing Ellie’s smiling face that does something to my chest, a visceral pull that is equal parts ecstasy and agony. The knot that’s always there only grows tighter, a tangled mess of regret and want.

She’s all grown up now, as am I. She’s no longer ‘Owen’s little sister’, no longer a line I couldn’t cross. That old barrier is dust. The only thing separating our worlds is my own fear at this point.

Can’t even blame my parents on this one. Now that they don’t have to manage this company, they’re retired. Once I stepped into the role I was born for, they stopped micro-managing after the first year.

I have no excuses for keeping me away, do I?

A dangerous, terrifying thought ignites in the lonely corners of my mind.

What if I’m the one to step back over the line? Not as the boy she once knew, but as the man who has never, not for a single day, stopped being hers.

“Sir?” Francine tilts her head. “Your answer?”

Exiting out of the app and pulling up my contacts, I scroll down to stare at her number. Is it still in use? I haven’t received a call in so long, there’s no telling if the number even belongs to her anymore.

Would she answer if I called her? What about a text?

Could I convince her to attend a boring gala and pretend to be mine for a night? Knowing me, I’ll want to drag it out even longer.

“Tell them I’ll be bringing someone.” Brows pinching together, my thumb hesitates over her contact. “An old friend, if they ask.”

Her brows lift in surprise, and I know she wants to ask who, just like others will. Instead, she bites her lip and tries to contain a smile. “Yes, sir.”

If I can’t convince Ellie to agree, then I may have to follow my assistant’s advice. Settle down and move on. I can’t keep holding myself back because of feelings that’ll never be answered.