Christmas Billionaire Read online

  I grabbed one of the bigger guys by the shoulder, tore him around, and socked him in the mouth. He went down immediately, but my involvement now prompted two others to think they could take me.

  Dodging them both easily, I was able to get to a point where I used their momentum against them and banged their heads together, causing the two to stumble backward.

  I roared with humor and triumph as I gazed around the bar, looking for someone else to hit when suddenly, everything got quiet.

  Everyone in the bar stopped what they were doing and backed away as though they hadn’t let the animalistic need to conquer overtake them.

  I turned around to see what authority had prompted the bar patrons’ return to civility and noticed that the police were swarming the bar. By that point, the only people who were left screaming were the policemen, demanding who had started the fight and the bartender, trying to hurriedly explain what happened.

  Low and behold, it didn’t take long for everyone in the bar, including the dick who had attempted to throw the first punch, to oust Garrett and me for being the troublemakers.

  To be fair, the bartender was trying to tell the story appropriately, but since Garrett scared the hell out of everyone there, it was the two of us that the police decided to take into custody.

  “You and you! Come with us!” the lead policeman called as another one grabbed my arm.

  Not wanting any trouble with the police, I easily put my hands up and allowed the officer to lead me outside where Garrett and I were handcuffed and read our rights.

  “You are being arrested for public intoxication and disorderly conduct,” the police officer explained as we were guided into the squad car.

  “Damn…” Garrett insisted when the door slammed shut behind us, “That was fun! I hadn’t had a good brawl like that in years.”

  “Yeah…We kicked ass too!” I offered, even though the sobering reality of what we had done started to kick in, before being washed away by another wave of intoxicated giddiness.

  “Hell yeah, we did!”

  Dammit! My dad cannot know about this! I thought, but in my drunken stupor, knowing that we had won the fight, I knew there was nothing more I could do now, so I might as well sit back and enjoy the ride.

  Chapter 2

  Mazie

  I awoke to the sound of my cat, Mittens, purring in my ear. She was a lean kitten, despite her affinity for food, but the way she sat on my stomach made her feel like a weight bearing down in exactly the right area to cause extreme discomfort.

  Mittens was a spoiled cat but she was all mine, and I loved her dearly.

  However, on this particular morning, I was far too tired to want to get up after working late grading projects of my second-grade class.

  I had put off grading until the night before I wanted to hand them back and swore, once again, that I would never do that again.

  Sleepily, I swatted my hand toward Mittens, who took it as an invitation to play and caught my fingers.

  “No…” I moaned, rolling over and letting out a heavy breath, which incited a hiss of protest from Mittens. “Alright, alright…I’m getting up,” I told her lazily as I felt her swat at my hair and run her long body against me, purring with encouragement.

  I grinned and opened my eyes. The cat was only inches from me, staring at me intently.

  “Good morning to you too,” I insisted, shaking my head and sitting up.

  Sweeping my feet off the side of the bed, I slid into my slippers, grabbed my robe, and fastened the satin belt around my waist before making my bed.

  Mittens purred in an aggravated fashion as she strolled back and forth across the covers, swatting them with annoyance and trying to undo everything I was accomplishing while I tried to make it perfect.

  I was a stickler for perfection, and perhaps that was a bad thing. I knew that my insistence caused a lot of unneeded stress in my life, but having the ability to make something look nice was a virtue to me.

  I huffed, pounding my fists into my sides before grabbing the cat and putting her on the floor.

  “Just a minute, Mittens. The quicker I get this done, the quicker we can eat.”

  As if she understood what I was saying or, more likely, was tired of waiting for me, she meowed loudly and ran out of the room.

  I turned my head to watch her nearly silent form scurry away and shook my head before returning my attention to my still unmade bed.

  Once my bedroom was finally back to my satisfaction, I walked into the kitchen.

  I grabbed the cat food out of the cabinet, took the measuring cup out of the bag, scooped out the exact amount of her allotted food, and set the bowl down inside its holder.

  Mittens nearly attacked the bowl as though I hadn’t fed her in weeks.

  I rolled my eyes and looked at the clock. I was right on time, so I hurried to the laundry room to empty the litter box before starting my coffee and taking a shower.

  When I had finished getting dressed, I returned to the kitchen to see that Mittens was already fast asleep in her designated spot by the bay window. Since she was always there when I left as well as when I came back, I figured it was a safe assumption that she sat there waiting for me.

  I wasn’t sure if she even moved throughout the day, but it didn’t matter. We had our routine, and it seemed to suit us both.

  After watching the news while enjoying my coffee and a blueberry scone, I checked the calendar to make sure I wasn’t missing anything important, returned the television remote to its rightful spot and grabbed my keys off the hook.

  “Goodbye, Mittens…I’ll be back later,” I called to the cat as I left the house.

  Mittens didn’t seem to care.

  It took exactly fifteen minutes to drive from my small house in a quiet, residential development to the school.

  I made it there a half hour before classes started and used the time to organize the room, set up for the day’s activities and mentally prepare to be the best educator I can be.

  Ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to be a teacher. I enjoyed learning myself, and as soon as I was able, I started to tutor others. I loved the ability to help people learn since school came so easily to me and wanted to share the wonder I felt with the world.

  After college, I bounced around a few grades, ranging from kindergarten to fifth, but eventually settled on second grade.

  That was a few years ago, and I had never once desired to teach anyone else.

  Every day I went to work was a positive experience.

  I enjoyed the age of the kids as well as the subject matter I taught them. The wonder and exhilaration for learning were inspiring.

  The transformation I watched take place in the children, year after year, was amazing and after working with a range of ages, I was sure that I wouldn’t be able to get such satisfaction from trenching any other grade.

  After the classroom was settled into what I deemed a satisfactory state, I went to my desk and started to take the projects I had graded out of my satchel.

  The children did exceptional on the project, and I was excited to give them back.

  In my opinion, if I taught something and my students could recreate it in their own artistic way, I had done my job. I felt that not only did they understand what I taught them, but they were also able to think about it critically enough to form their own rendition of the events. Sometimes the facts weren’t exactly right and for some, creativity strays from the truth for the sake of art, but even still, I appreciated the effort and the imaginativeness that went into the project.

  Therefore, it was a joy to return the projects to the children.

  It was rare that I had to give a bad grade, and thus, I hoped that each returned project encouraged the children to think for themselves, creating something unique from the information they were given.

  As I was finishing up organizing the projects on my desk, a fellow teacher came in.

  “Good morning, Sharon,” I responded to her knock.
/>   “Morning, Mazie,” Sharon answered, walking into my classroom, “Well, you look busy this morning.”

  “No,” I replied honestly, “I’m just getting a few things settled before the kids come in. How about you?”

  “Ugh!” Sharon huffed, rolling her eyes and buckling her knees as though the response she was giving caused her stress, “I am trying to stay afloat until vacation.”

  I grinned, though I didn’t share her enthusiasm for the upcoming winter break. While I enjoyed Christmas, and was looking forward to the holidays, having time off from work was not something I was counting down to.

  I enjoyed my job. Perhaps it was because I was still young and eager to change the world, as I had been accused of by a particularly bitter teacher, but I genuinely enjoyed coming to work.

  “Do you have any plans?” I inquired, trying to stay in the conversation.

  “Yes, I plan to not step foot in this school for two weeks. That is cause enough for celebration,” Sharon insisted, but when I didn’t answer her, she continued, “So, what are you doing?”

  “I plan to spend time with the family, enjoy Christmas traditions, and relax.”

  “Only two and a half weeks!” she grinned as she headed back to the door, “Well, I’ve got to get back to my classroom before the children arrive.”

  With another eye-roll, she strutted down the hallway.

  As she walked away, I returned my attention to my organizing, shaking my head and wondering how anyone could ever do this job if they were so overly-eager to leave it.

  After all, I loved being with the kids. Of course, there were challenges and not every day was perfect, but my job was fulfilling.

  It didn’t take long for the kids to start arriving, and their presence drew me out of my thoughts.

  I greeted the children one by one, and once they were settled, I started our day.

  After the morning routine, I returned their projects, which happened to be about family traditions during the holidays.

  I wanted to get a feel for what the kids looked forward to during the holiday season in hopes that they would be eager to share. I enjoyed this particular lesson because it gave me insight into the children I was teaching, while it also provided an opportunity for the children to share some unique traditions.

  “All of the projects were extremely creative. It sounds like all of you have some fun traditions to look forward to,” I told them, “Would anyone like to share what they wrote with the class?”

  A few of the regular participants raised their hands, and I chose one of them to get up in the front and break the ice for the rest of the class.

  Most of the kids talked about baking cookies, decorating, and spending time with family, but it was interesting to see the differences in the specifics of their traditions.

  When nearly the whole class had presented their projects, the school principal, Mrs. Neilson, burst into the classroom excitedly.

  “Good morning, class, Ms. Lawson,” she called as she arrived.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Neilson,” the class responded altogether.

  “Good morning,” I grinned, “How are you?”

  Mrs. Neilson was the woman I aspired to be. She was a compassionate, successful principal who had dedicated her life to the education system and never lost sight of what was important. Unlike many of the teachers that I come across, Mrs. Neilson always maintained a passion for her job.

  While I wasn’t sure if I would ever have ambitions that extended beyond my second-grade classroom, I hoped that I would be able to maintain my own passion for whatever job I ended up in.

  “I am wonderful!” she exclaimed, “I am going to all of the second-grade classrooms to tell them of the wonderful news. Next week, we are all going on a field trip to see Santa Claus!”

  The enthusiasm Mrs. Neilson portrayed was contagious. I felt myself getting giddy right along with the kids as they burst into elated chatter.

  “I’m giving you this news now so that you all remember to be especially good for the rest of the week. Mind Ms. Lawson and your parents because Santa always knows,” she beamed, “And besides, it never hurts to put in a little extra effort around this time of the year.”

  “That is going to be so much fun!” I replied, pleased to see the excitement and wondrous expressions on the children’s faces.

  “Yes, indeed!” Mrs. Neilson agreed, “Well, I’m off to spread the good news to the rest of the second-grade classrooms.”

  With that, like a flurry, she was gone.

  I turned back to the now supercharged children, their excitement contagious, and continued to pump them up for the big day.

  I handed out the permission slips that Mrs. Neilson had left on my desk while they chatted amongst themselves.

  Although I was certain that it would take a little while for the kids to settle down, I didn’t mind. I remembered how wonderful it was to go see Santa.

  Having no children of my own and with this being the first year the kids had the ability to do something like this, I hadn’t gone to see Santa in years.

  Therefore, I had a feeling it was going to be every bit of an adventure for me as it was going to be for the children.

  I couldn’t wait!

  Chapter 3

  Dexter

  It had been a long, rough weekend.

  Even though the details were fuzzy, the pounding in my skull from the moment I regained consciousness to the swishing of my stomach told me that I still wasn’t completely over whatever the hell had reduced me to this state.

  As the fog of the first sleep I’d had in over twenty-four hours lifted, my mind started to sketch the details of why I felt like shit.

  I might not be drunk anymore, but I was still dehydrated…and hungry.

  Did I even eat yesterday? I wondered, finally remembering that I had spent most the day talking to lawyers and trying to get Garrett and myself out of jail as smoothly as possible.

  After the fight, we were thrown in the drunk tank, but the damn bastard had chosen to press charges, so we were booked and taken into custody.

  That sucked.

  Eventually, though, I had gotten out of the worst of the charges by agreeing to do community service, and since my father was a friend of the judge, he promised to keep this under wraps.

  As a favor to me, which I knew I was going to owe one day but didn’t care all that much about, the judge was also going to keep this information from my father, or so he said.

  I hoped he was telling the truth, but as I cursed the sun streaming through my window and nearly threw the alarm clock through the glass, simply so it would shut up, I knew that wasn’t my main focus.

  Whether the judge kept his end of the deal or not was now out of my control. Currently, I had other things to worry about, and that was to look sharp for the meeting I had today.

  Thankfully, I had finished my presentation Saturday morning but I still needed to be presentable, and so, I mentally prepared myself before even opening my eyes.

  When I finally decided to get up, I threw the covers off me and sat up. I groaned and massaged my temples before swinging my feet around to find my house shoes. With one broad stroke, I found them and chased after the missing one until they were both on my feet.

  Once my feet were warm, I shuffled through the dirty laundry and possibly women’s lingerie that littered my bedroom floor, making a mental note to have the maid come back to clean.

  I was too busy for household chores after all, and as a bachelor, I needed someone to take care of the necessary, but painfully revolving tasks.

  I slunk past Garrett who was passed out on my couch and went into the kitchen where I could smell the automatically brewed coffee.

  Garrett was snoring loudly, and it was annoying, so I threw something at him so that he would shut up. I knew it was only a temporary fix but between my level of stress and intense aggravation, Garrett should count himself lucky I didn’t smother him, especially before I’d had my coffee.

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bsp; I poured a cup, not caring whether my friend woke up or not, and started breakfast.

  After all, unlike Garrett, I had to go to work today, and what was worse, was I had to conduct one of the biggest meetings of my life relying on Visine and Red Bull.

  This is going to be fun, I thought sarcastically as I blundered around my kitchen, looking for some pots and pans to make my breakfast. I was in the mood for something greasy, so it didn’t take me long to settle on a pork roll and egg sandwich.

  I would have preferred to get it from the deli up the street, but I didn’t have the time or patience to worry about interacting with people before I was properly fed and fueled by coffee.

  I did have an image to uphold, and even though I had yet to catch a glance at myself in the mirror, I was certain that image was severely lacking from my current appearance.

  As I finished creating my sandwich, I heard Garrett groan at the commotion I was making, but since he didn’t wake up completely, I continued right along with my business.

  After draining the coffee pot of the coffee and polishing off a large breakfast sandwich, which oozed delicious grease and grime, I returned to my room to take a shower.

  By the time I had finished my shower, I felt much more presentable. I stepped out of the steam with a new perspective, now mentally charged to take on my day.

  After trimming my perpetual five o’clock shadow and adorning an expensive splash of cologne, I walked out of the bathroom and into my closet where my dry-cleaning still hung in bags. I tore the plastic away, along with the paper across the hanger wishing for me to have a nice day, and pulled out one of my sharpest suits.

  The azure suit jacket and complemented my eyes and the white-collar shirt always formed perfectly to me, showcasing all the work I was doing at the gym.

  After all, if no one sees it, what’s the point of having it?

  The loafers I chose to wear were shiny and more expensive than they should have been, considering you walk all over them. However, in business that was an old-world consideration whose roots are far too embedded into the culture not to take into account when planning the closing attire.