Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ilaugh because… wait, is he for real?
Obviously not.
Rudolph’s entourage? Hilarious.
That doesn’t even dignify a response.
“Sure.” I finally whisper, because hey, at this point what else am I supposed to do? I already signed. I’m already here. He kisses like a god, more reindeer? Why the hell not?
I think about Grace and her parting words.
I wonder if Stetson is going to turn out to be one of the greatest stories of my life.
Like, will I tell my grandchildren about him?
Will he be part of one of the crazy stories from my younger years fun?
He’ll be the hot, crazy guy I had a one-night stand with and signed some strange contract to do it.
Or will I become reindeer food?
If he wants to introduce me to Rudolph’s entourage, I’m going to go out on a limb and say it’s a strong yes possibility.
“I’d love to meet his friends.”
Stetson laughs and grabs ahold of my hand and pulls me down another hall, down another flight of stairs and then suddenly we’re in a room— scratch that, we’re in a stable (on a yacht) and I really don’t have any words for what I’m witnessing here.
True to his word, Rudolph truly does have an entourage.
There are eight other reindeer besides Rudolph.
Eight. Which makes him nine. Nine reindeer.
On. A. Yacht. Make it make sense.
“Let me guess,” I turn to Stetson and smile in amusement. “Dasher, Dancer, Prancer and Vixen?”
I laugh as I say the words.
Honestly, I’m just praying right now that I’m wrong.
If he named his other reindeer after Santa…
“You’re good at this.” He says it with such dead calm certainty that at first, I think he’s kidding with me.
But then I look over at him and see that he’s dead serious and now I wonder what the hell sort of medication this guy must be on. It really is an Only Fans sex yacht.
Christmas Themed.
The hottest, sexiest guy I’ve ever seen has reindeer named after Santa’s?
“Do a lot of your people have reindeer?” It’s the only question I can ask. And PS— I don’t even know who his people are.
“My people?” Stetson raises a brow.
“I’m assuming you’re Nordic?” I state the obvious.
“I am,” he nods. “And the answer to your question is, I don’t know if ‘my people’ have reindeer. It’s not something I ask people when I’m walking around town.”
I nod and look at the sweet looking deer.
“Well, you do know it’s rather….different.”
Different? Fuck, Charlie! That’s the only world you can come up with? It sounds like he has some sort of learning impediment.
“I’m a different kind of man.” Yeah, because that answer is so much better.
I look over at him in all his glory.
Yes, he most certainly is. Why are all the pretty ones weird? Why must they have strange fetishes or anger issues or randomly cry and shout at lights for turning on—it was one guy a blind date, and I felt sorry for him okay?
“Now that I have the signed clause, I think it’s time for me to tell you how different I really am,” he says.
My stomach drops as our eyes lock.
At least now I’ll get answers, as disappointing as they may be. RIP— the band aid is about to be ripped off. It was wrong to get my hopes up anyways.
“Okay,” I say. “I’m ready to hear it.”
I’m really not, but gotta face the music.
He holds out his hand.
“Now that you’ve met my reindeer,” he says with an intensity in his eyes that I can’t quite decipher.
“Okay?” I don’t know where this is going, I smile awkwardly. “Do you have a Christmas village in the North Pole too?”
I don’t know what he’s about to say.
But I do know that I think he’s really hot and I want more of him. I don’t care if he’s a little crazy adjacent… I mean, who isn’t these days? I’m doing a lot of heavy justifying here. I’m not stupid.
“Let’s go,” he says to me and pulls me out of the reindeer room, up the stairs again and into another room that looks like some sort of control tower that connects to the entire world.
Seriously.
I’ve never seen anything like it.
It’s a room with what feels like a million screens.
Okay, I’m exaggerating. Maybe, like a hundred. Or something close to that—and it’s high tech and super cool and looks like some sort of geeked out sci-fi concoction.
“Holy shit, what sort of recon do you have going on in here? Are you a secret agent?” I gasp out loud as I stare around the room in awe. “Oh is that why I had to sign something?”
I feel so much better. He’s not crazy! He’s not crazy!
He’s in the CIA!
“These are my headquarters on this boat,” Stetson says as he walks to the center of the room and crosses his arms and stares at all the screens.
“Headquarters?” I look over at him, my stomach finally righting itself. “You sell toys for a living as a front then or are you planning on taking over the world with a new version of Labubu?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Definitely not using Labubu’s to take over the world.”
“You do realize this closely resembles something you’d see in a Batman movie? Like in his cave?” I nod. “I always wanted a secret hide out.”
I can tell he likes this analogy.
“You’re closer than you think.”
“Come on,” I laugh then tease. “Billionaire by day and vigilante by night?”
Stetson’s bright blue gaze burns into mine, the tone in the room suddenly somber.
He still hasn’t answered. My smile falters.
“It’s a joke,” I explain.
“But it’s not,” he replies slowly. “Before I continue, I’d like to remind you that you signed the clause. And it is very much in effect.”
I can tell by the look on his face this conversation is about to get serious.
“I think you should have a seat,” he says and motions to one of the comfortable looking black leather chairs that look as though they conform to your body.
“And a drink,” he says and presses some button, and a bar pops up from the floor.
“Holy cow,” I can’t help myself.
“This is my favorite feature,” he admits and proceeds to make me another gin martini.
“I think I’m going to need something to eat,” I tell him since I’m still buzzed from the last.
“I’ll have the chef make something for us,” he tells me as he pulls out his phone and types furiously into it.
I sit in the chair and wait with bated breath. He makes the drink fast and hands it to me.
“Cheers,” he says as he captures my gaze.
We take a sip, and I stare at him in expectation.
“I don’t know if I can take much more of this suspense,” I tell him.
He nods ever so slightly, puts his drink down, crosses his arms and stares right at me.
“I’m a descendent of Nicholas Claus,” he says slowly.
“Nicholas Claus?” I repeat.
“You know him as Santa.”