Silent Night Temptation (Billionaire Bad Boy #3)

1. Nyree

Nyree

I diot.

You’re so stupid, Nyree. Why can’t you just do this?

I wish I could think of stronger words to chastise myself with, yet my brain is too fried for even just that.

I'm sitting at my desk, staring at the blank computer screen, feeling like I'm stuck in a never-ending nightmare. It has been weeks now, and I haven't been able to write a single page. It feels like whatever creative fluids I have are completely dried up. The deadline for the book I am writing draws ever closer, and with every day that passes, I am closer to not meeting it. Then again, maybe this shouldn't come as such a surprise. This happens around this time of the year. The holidays are creeping up on me, and I can't shake off the dread they bring.

I still have memories of some point in my life when Christmas used to be a time of joy, but now it's just a painful reminder of all that I've lost.

My dad died on Christmas day when I was seventeen.

Yeah… Death puts a damper on things.

It was sudden and senseless. A car accident caused by a drunk driver. He was trying to rush home since it was Christmas morning… He died on the spot.

It left a hole in my heart that never quite healed, even after eight years. It didn’t help that mom passed away from a heart attack a few months into the new year after I turned eighteen; her love for him was stronger than her interest in her daughter, I suppose.

Yet, it’s not entirely her fault. It mustn’t have been easy, abandoned in this world by her soulmate with the obsessive-compulsive offspring he helped create.

That’s right. I have OCD. Coupled with a crippling anxiety, it tends to be hell.

When she passed away, it felt like the world had crumbled beneath my feet, leaving me to fend for myself.

Ah.

Still, I should not be thinking of this. Not when I have a job to do. I ought to be strong enough to resist the thoughts.

All I need to do is focus.

Focus…

I push back a fallen strand from my black curly hair and instantly feel discomfort wash over me. Like clockwork, my legs propel me upwards, and I find my way to the standing mirror in the corner of the living area.

With a sigh, I let down my huge, thick curls, allowing them to frame my soft features before quickly pulling them back into a slick, tight bun.

Hm.

I stare at myself for a moment after. Something feels different. Perhaps it’s how much lighter my brown skin has gotten due to being away from the sun for so long. Still, I am well accustomed to my winter shade.

My eyes hypercritically find their way down the rest of my body and, as I turn to get a full view of my back, my brows lift slightly.

I have gotten thicker over the weeks. Sadly, I’d been too consumed in struggles with the book to realize. After giving my reflection a commending nod, I make my way back to the work corner of my living room, but not before casting another look to make sure my hair was in place.

The pressure of my looming publishing deadline weighs heavily on my shoulders, suffocating my creativity. Writing used to be my escape, but now it feels like a prison.

And then there is my perfectionism, my ceaseless need to get everything perfect that pushes me to obsess over every word, every sentence, driving me to the brink of madness in pursuit of perfection. It's a never-ending battle against my mind, a war I feel like I'm losing more and more each day.

The fear of making a mistake, of not meeting my own impossibly high standards, looms over me like a dark cloud.

The dim light of my desk lamp casts long shadows, mirroring the darkness that threatens to consume me. Every unfinished sentence feels like a reflection of my fractured self, a reminder of the pieces of me I've lost along the way.

I am surrounded by scattered papers in every corner of my desk. Somehow, I’d expected pen writing might stop the block. Yet, the evidence disarranged everywhere, only deems to drive me further insane.

With trembling hands, I hurry to pick up the papers at last, finding it difficult to breathe, as my brain immediately reminds me of the consequences of endlessly postponing my writing.

Once again, I get lost in the chaos of my mind, feeling trapped in this cycle of doubt and compulsion that dictates every aspect of my life. As I walk over a couple feet to drop the papers in the bin, I feel my heart pounding harder than it would at an attempted marathon.

If only I was not a slave to this relentless beast that devours my thoughts and actions.

Do better, Nyree. Fight.

I hear the knock on my door, and I jolt slightly, my heart skipping a beat, sending a rush of surprise through me. I move from the bin toward the door, preparing to face the unexpected visitor.

Recently, I haven’t been getting a lot of visitors. I wrack my brain in confusion, still I conclude that I have made no orders to my apartment today. I take a deep breath as I open the door.

“Oh, of course.” The mumble leaves my mouth as I take in my best friend, Coco, standing there with a beaming smile.

“Surprise! I was in the area, so I stopped by!” She tosses her hands in the air with a giggle, two bags of what looks like groceries in her hands.

My eyes narrow at the brown bags in her hands for a couple more seconds before returning to her. I can't quite manage to smile, but that's okay; Coco understands me like no one else.

"Hey, Coco," I greet softly before retreating inside.

Her smile falters as she follows me in, calling out, “I brought you a couple days' worth of food. I wasn’t sure if you’d be eating properly, given all you have to do.”

I know she would; but even as much as I know, I still watch her. Coco takes off her shoes by the door and grabs the hand sanitizer I keep on the nearby shelf to disinfect her hands before she comes towards me. It’s one of my many quirks… being too conscious of outside germs not being brought into my space.

Coco always goes the extra mile to accommodate my unusual tendencies, and I'm grateful for her thoughtfulness.

"Thank you for being so considerate," I say. I feel an extra wave of gratitude for just her existence. "It means a lot to me."

She nods, her eyes reflecting understanding and warmth. "Of course, Ny baby. I'm here for you, no matter what." She hesitates and tilts her head to the side. “Now, are you okay?” Her brows arch together as she regards the state of me.

“What?” I subconsciously look down at myself.

I think I look presentable enough, do I not? I always have to.

I'm wearing a cozy, oversized, tie-dye sweatshirt that drapes comfortably over my voluptuous curves, giving me the sense of ease I’m desperately in need of. Paired with soft, stretchy leggings that hug my thick thighs, my feet are snug in fluffy socks.

Coco purses her lips as she stares at me a moment longer. Then she sighs, “You only wear sweatshirts like that when you’re… spiraling, Ny.”

Oh, that.

She is right, of course she is right. That doesn’t mean I am glad for it. I scoff and walk over to take my seat at my desk.

“Maybe I just like the feel of the material? Does everything have to be such a big deal?”

From the corner of my eye, I see my friend’s full lips lift in a smile. “With you? Yes?”

I snap my head in her direction, feeling a self-righteous defense settling over me. Yet, in the face of her ever-warm smile reaching those stark blue eyes of hers, I pull my eyes away in defeat.

“Not to mention those painfully fluffy socks. It’s basically a giant call for help at this point.” I frown as she speaks up again.

“Okay, you can stop micromanaging me now.”

Her brown locks bounce as a light chuckle escapes her lips. I can tell she’s worried, despite the obvious intention to mask it for my sake. She pulls the stool to sit next to me, keeping a decent space away from my desk, as always.

As she continues to speak, her skin is slightly flushed in concentration. I know her just as well as she does me. She’d likely been stressing over what to do about me for a while. I feel guilty that I would present her a cause to worry at all.

“Girl, please. That empty stare of yours gives me war flashbacks, and you know it. Talk to me, Ny.”

I'm pulled out of my thoughts once again as I hear my friend’s pleas for a response. Slowly blinking at her, my heart sinks even further, noting the fixed worried expression on her face.

Managing a smile, I try to assure her, “Oh, yeah, I’m totally fine. Just… I really have to work, you know. I wasn’t expecting to have you here today, so-”

"Nyree, come on. Don't give me that."

I purse my lips. She knows me too well to let me get away with lying.

Sighing, I break eye contact, feeling a mix of gratitude and reluctance to open up about what's been weighing on my mind.

“I can tell something's up today. You can't hide it from me." Her urgent tone causes my heart to thump once again.

“Coco, I…”

“Hey.” Her expression softens, a blend of care and worry on her face. “I don’t mean to rush you to word it all out. I just want you to be fine, you know?”

“Yeah, I know, of course. It’s just…” A heavy sigh escapes my lips as I try to put my feelings into words. "I know, Coco. It's just... There’s been a lot on my mind."

Reaching out, she gently touches my hand. "I’m here if you wanna talk about it, Ny. You know you always can." Her soft tone was nearly enough to get me to unravel my darkest thoughts right at that moment.

Yet, I know it’d be unfair. Coco is not my therapist. I hadn’t been to my therapist in a hot minute too, so it is more hypocritical to think of it. My friend can hardly stomach my spiral thoughts either.

Memories of her wailing even more than me whilst trying to provide comfort flashes in my mind, and I chuckle inwardly.

I look up at her, emotions swirling within me. I had to provide a suitable answer.

"It's just... everything feels overwhelming right now," I admit at last, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I know, Ny. You're not alone in this. Let’s figure it out together, okay?” Her words struggle to stay a beacon in the pessimism that overtakes me.

I lower my head to keep her from seeing the lack of belief in my eyes. Figure things out? What can be done?

We are both avoiding the elephant in the room. The anniversary of my parents’ death causes such a toll on me every year. Nothing can ease such pain.

Noticing my subtle fidgeting with the edge of my sweatshirt, Coco reaches over and hands me a fidget toy she keeps in her bag for moments like these.

My eyes lift to my friend as I try to keep back the water dams attacking my eyes. Effortlessly, her actions continue to speak volumes about how well she accommodates, and considers, my needs.

As I take the fidget toy in my hands, a sense of relief washes over me, grateful for such an intuitive gesture. The texture and movement of the toy offer a calming distraction, allowing me to focus on our conversation without being overwhelmed by intrusive thoughts.

“How about you come stay with me in Shadow’s Bend for the holidays?” After a brief silence, Coco’s sudden suggestion causes my brows to raise.

I hesitate. "Shadow’s Bend? That's a bit out of the blue. Why there?"

With a reassuring smile, she explains, "It's peaceful, the perfect place for you to focus on your writing." My brows furrows only to encourage her further. “Plus, we'll have each other's company. You know how bored I get by spending time with my father. It’s a win-win."

I mull over the idea. Shaking my head, I say, "I don't know, Coco. It's not that simple. I have a lot going on here." My mind races with conflicting thoughts.

“Exactly that!” determined to sway me, she appeals, “You might just have too much going on here, Ny. It’s no wonder you’re in fuzzy socks.”

I shake my head again, a chuckle escaping my lips. “Can you drop the matter of my socks, please?”

“Look at the state of this place.” Coco responds by narrowing her gaze at my apartment. “As I suspected, you’ve been holed up in here far too long. The windows are shut, curtains are closed,” her nose scrunches as she breathes in the air with a look of disgust, “and the place stinks of fast food, Ny!”

I fold my arms defensively. “I like the dark when I work. Nothing wrong with that. And fast food is easy.”

"Ny, I can see through that excuse. You need this break, and I need to make sure you're okay. Plus, I don’t wanna be stuck alone and bored by my dad for too long.” She shrugs. “We always have the best time together, remember?"

Her words resonate with the memories of our past adventures at her family’s vacation house, and I reluctantly crack a smile.

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

"Okay, Coco, you win! I’ll go to Shadow’s Bend with you," I concede, unable to resist the infectious excitement dancing in her eyes.

Her face lights up brighter than a Christmas tree. "Yes! Nyree, you won't regret this. It's going to be so much fun! I promise!"

“Remember, I’ll still have to work.” I chuckle at her exuberance. "You're like a kid on a sugar rush. I hope you filled those grocery bags with those disgusting protein bars of yours to help me keep up with your energy."

She playfully nudges my arm. "You know I did. Your writer's brain is working overtime. Remember, last time you almost forgot to eat for nearly two whole days!"

I wince and can’t help but laugh, recalling the incident she mentioned. "Okay, okay! I'll keep my brain fueled this time. Can't have my brilliant ideas disappearing into thin air because I forgot to eat, right?"

Coco's expression softens, her eyes reflecting a mix of joy and concern suddenly. "Nyree, I'm just glad you agreed to come. Last Christmas was tough, and I couldn't bear the thought of losing you,” her laughter hitches as it comes out. “I need my partner in crime around, causing mischief and writing stories about me."

Guilt flashes by my gaze as I recall her expression, fixed in my mind; walking in on me to find an overload of pills and alcohol on my bedside table.

I reach out, squeezing her hand gently. "I'm here, Coco, and I'm not going anywhere." I sniffle, laughing to lighten the mood. “We're like a dynamic duo, remember? I keep you grounded, and you keep me laughing. Together, we can conquer the world.”

I squeeze her hands again with a smile. “Even a spontaneous trip to Shadow’s Bend. "

***