Christmas Billionaire Read online

  As he started the car and pulled away from my building, I could have sworn I saw his shoulders relax.

  “That’s good, because I have to say, Mazie, you look awesome, and I would be honored to have the opportunity to show you off.”

  I giggled and playfully hit his arm.

  “Stop it, Dex. We’re going to dinner.”

  “That’s it, only dinner?” His eyebrows arched as his gaze slid over to momentarily slide down my profile before returning his full attention to the road. “You know,” he insisted before I had a chance to answer, “Just because you caught me in a slightly compromising position isn’t the only reason I asked to take you to dinner.”

  “Oh?” I teased. “I’m sure you’re right. Your father will love hearing all about how you landed yourself on Santa’s throne at the mall.”

  “Jesus Christ!” Dexter exclaimed, “Just because that’s not the reason doesn’t mean that isn’t a reason! Seriously, I thought my secret would be safe with you no matter what.”

  I wasn’t sure if he had caught on to my teasing or not from his immediate response, but if he didn’t, since I didn’t intend to tell anyone anyway, I figured he deserved to sweat it out a little.

  “Alright, Dex…Let’s see how dinner goes before I make any solid decisions.”

  “I really hope you’re kidding,” he offered, trying to sound lighthearted, but I could tell he was slightly nervous.

  “We’ll see…” I jeered, loving the ability to make him nervous. “Dazzle me, Dexter, and you might just get your wish.”

  “You should know by now, Ms. Mazie, you shouldn’t challenge me in such a way.”

  “Oh, I think your mile-high ego can take it.”

  He laughed, and I sat back against the leather seats wearing a smirk and the two of us settled into a silence that should have been uncomfortable but wasn’t.

  When we arrived at the restaurant, Dexter turned to me with a knowing sneer.

  “Will this suit you?”

  Although, I was already grinning.

  “Why do you bother even asking this question?” I asked in a way that I meant to be lighthearted but came out more ungrateful, even though that wasn’t my feeling at all.

  In fact, I was flattered, though I thought it was strange that he had remembered my favorite, obscure upscale restaurant. After everything that I knew he had to remember on a daily basis, it was odd that he had remembered this simple detail about someone he hadn’t seen in two years.

  Easy, Mazie, I thought as I stepped out of the car, readying my palate for delicious, upscale Thai cuisine. He kisses people’s asses for a living.

  However, I didn’t want to think this way. I wanted to think, even for a moment, that I was special to him. I wanted to live in the fairytale of the thought process that had brought me this far; the one that stated we were destined to be together.

  Still, I wasn’t naïve enough to pretend that the wish was anything more than a schoolgirl crush. However, for the moment, I wanted to put my faith in it, even if it was short-lived.

  After all, this was the most exciting thing that had happened to me in a long while, and I wanted to take full advantage of the experience.

  “How could I forget?” Dexter said with a grin as he met me at the front of the car and offered his arm. “Your favorite food is Thai.”

  “Thanks!” I replied, genuinely excited as I wrapped my arm around his.

  We went inside and sat down. The restaurant was quiet, even though most of the tables were full. The ambiance of the dining area was majestic and serene, which was probably part of the reason I liked it so much. Growing up, everything was always hectic, and uncertainty was a daily occurrence. With my father’s job, he could be pulled away at any time so making plans that involved my father was difficult.

  However, this was his favorite place to eat and every month, as a family, we would all go to have dinner, and he would make sure that he was unavailable during the time we were eating dinner.

  When I knew we were coming here, I knew that we would actually be able to enjoy one another’s company and we wouldn’t have to leave in the middle of the meal.

  Thus, it quickly became my preferred place to eat, which allowed us to come a little bit more often.

  Of course, it was doubtful I had ever told Dexter that. He would’ve simply laughed at me, growing up. I was always the sensitive, sentimental one and although my friends understood, that didn’t stop them from teasing me about it, and Dexter was the worst.

  Still, even as an adult, I ordered the same thing I did when we came here while I was growing up.

  “I’ll have the Pla Preow Wa,” I told the waiter when he came around and ignored the strange expression I received from Dexter adding, “Actually, could you make that two, please?”

  Dexter narrowed his eyes but didn’t speak until the waiter left our table.

  “I can order for myself, you know,” he grumbled, and I laughed.

  “I was only trying to help.”

  Instead of a quip, Dexter returned with a serious, genuine grin.

  “Yeah, you always were the one who was trying to help out of our group. While everyone else was looking out for number one, you were looking out for us all, with little regard for yourself.”

  “Well, it wasn’t like I had a perilous childhood.”

  “No, but you did take the fall for us kids a few times…”

  “With stupid stuff,” I offered as consolation.

  “Still…” Dexter argued, “With how much you watched out for your friends and tried to do the right thing, it’s kind of funny that you’re the one who never fell into the trap of doing what your parents wanted of you.”

  I felt my shoulders rise and fall, unconcerned.

  “Are you kidding, my father has Laura. He’s good. When she proved to be more useful than I was to his legacy, my father was happy to have me out of the house.”

  “That’s not true,” he insisted, but wavered under my hard stare, “Okay, well, I wouldn’t go that far. He is proud of you.”

  “That, I can believe,” I answered.

  “But my point, is that even if Laura hadn’t taken your place in your father’s economical legacy, you still wouldn’t have fallen in line.”

  “How do you know that? You just said yourself that I’m a pushover,” I chuckled.

  “No! That’s not at all what I said,” he corrected quickly, narrowing his eyes playfully. “What I said, was that you took the fall for us so that we didn’t get in trouble. That was oddly endearing. Although, I hope that even if your parents had pushed, you would have had enough sense to walk away.”

  As he spoke, Dexter shrugged, as though he had no idea what he was talking about, but stopped to deeply examine my face. His eyes pierced deeply into my gaze.

  The intensity of his stare only lasted a moment but it was nearly overwhelming. I felt as though he was delving deep into my soul. It felt as though he was searching for something, pulling something from deep inside me, that I wasn’t even aware I possessed.

  It was a strange feeling that caused me to feel bare and vulnerable and yet, the knowledge that it was Dexter’s eyes behind that stare made it fare more bearable.

  “You know,” he added with sincerity as his eyes drew back, finally releasing me from his invasive gaze, “Being a teacher is perfect for you.”

  “Thank you,” I responded cautiously, searching for a way to transfer the subject away from me and on to literally anything else. “So, tell me, what happened that landed you in the Santa suit?”

  He chuckled and leaned back, breaking any remaining strands of serious intimacy his strangely direct stare had established.

  “I was stupid,” Dexter admitted, though his eyes sparkled as though, whatever he was going to say to the contrary, in reality, he wouldn’t want it any other way. “So, do you remember Garrett?”

  Instantly, my heart sunk, knowing where this story was leading before he said another word.

  “Oh G
od…” I rolled my eyes and sank my head into my hands.

  “Yeah...he…um, hasn’t changed a bit and with that said, the two of us were at a bar and he got in a fight after trying to pick up a girl who was already taken. In all fairness, the guy started the fight, not Garrett, but he was damned determined to finish it.”

  “So, of course, you jumped in to help him and the cops ended up showing up?”

  Dexter tried not to look proud but undoubtedly enjoyed having the bad boy story.

  “Yup, and so I had to pull a few strings to get us community service with no other repercussions, but mine was in the mall, as Santa Claus.”

  I tried not to laugh but the memory of him, dressed up as the jolly red guy, now backed by the reason behind it, was too much to stand.

  “Yeah, yeah…” he hissed, narrowing his eyes. “Go ahead and laugh. I would if I were you.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just, the suit and the beard and…why didn’t you do something less…”

  “What? Jolly? Cheery? Maybe I thought it would be fun.”

  This excuse didn’t help the attempt to take this whole thing seriously and so I giggled into my hands and closed my eyes, trying to stop.

  “Dex,” I breathed when I was certain I would be able to gain control of myself. Grinning widely, I placed a hand over his and brought it closer to me. “Seriously, this is Mazie you’re talking to. There is no universe where you would think that would be fun. I’m sorry, but jolly and cheery are some of the last two words I would ever use to describe you.”

  At this, his brow furrowed and he pulled his hand out of my grasp.

  “Wow…” Dexter teased, “I might not make the best Santa but damn, I didn’t realize I was the grim reaper.”

  “I’m sorry but you know I’m right,” I allowed my shoulders to rise and fall carefully, trying to lessen the blow of my insult without conceding to make him feel better. “And I didn’t say grim reaper. I said not jolly. You have other qualities…” I could tell by his mocking expression that he wasn’t letting me off the hook for that one, so I changed the subject instead. “So, what’s the real reason you wanted to do this? Specifically, and why can’t I tell your dad, or my dad?”

  Instead of acting continuing his joking persona, now he turned serious. His eyes shifted nervously and his jaw tightened.

  “That’s the reason, Mazie. I didn’t want anyone to recognize me. My dad is being a real hard-ass lately.”

  “Lately?” I inquired suggestively, which caused Dexter to crack a grin.

  “Yeah, well, it seems like no matter what I do, it isn’t good enough, so if he finds out about this, I’ll never hear the end of it,” he grumbled and shook his head, leaning back in his chair before coming back to the table and continuing in an aggravated tone, “It pisses me off that I have to hide this from him because it’s no big deal. I’m guilty by association…mostly, and I’m not a fucking child.” He shook his head. “And you know, if he was trying to make me a better man, or hell, even a better businessman, that’d be okay but ultimately, it’s all about him.”

  “Yes,” I sighed, “Unfortunately, your father has always been very selfish. It was strange, though, because growing up, he always talked about you as his heir, his ticket to retirement. It seems strange that he even stuck around this long.”

  “I know, right?” Dexter grumbled, “I don’t know if he actually thinks I’m incompetent or if he really likes to be an asshole and he knows once he retires, he’ll have far less opportunities.”

  I chuckled, realizing that it was strange for Dexter to be opening up like this. He never was this way and from what Laura told me, he hadn’t changed a bit. However, I could notice a change but I didn’t want to dwell on it.

  It was probably only wishful thinking.

  “So…long story short, I took the Santa gig in an attempt not to see anyone I know; which as you can see, worked out wonderfully,” he rolled his eyes.

  “Hey, listen, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Your secret’s safe with me.” This time, it was me who made it a point to stare directly into Dexter’s eyes as I swore my allegiance to him, “I promise.”

  Seeming as though he believed me, his expression relaxed and he changed the subject to something lighter.

  The rest of the evening was wonderful and I was sure that Dexter genuinely had as great a time as I did.

  We talked and laughed, both about our childhood memories as well as our present lives, and he didn’t even seem to mind me telling him stories about my classroom and my cat.

  When I drink, I feel the need to be funny. Unfortunately, my strictly regimented life is not funny, and therefore, I improvise, poorly.

  However, it was refreshing to be with someone comfortable enough with me to not only understand that but also call me out on it.

  Even still, while I would have liked to believe that we were making a connection that rekindled what I believed to be genuine friendship when we were younger, I was hard-pressed to believe it implicitly. After all, he was a masterful conversationalist and could simply be putting on a show for me.

  While I didn’t want to believe it, the cynic in me couldn’t help but wonder.

  Still, when the night was over, Dexter walked me to my door like the true gentleman I knew his mother raised him to be and we stopped to say goodbye as I searched my purse for my keys.

  “I had a great time tonight, Mazie. It was so great to catch up with you,” Dexter explained, “And I would like to see you again.”

  By this time, I found my keys and stared at him, pretending to contemplate what he had asked.

  I let the heavy silence drag on between us for a long moment before finally, I flashed a grin.

  “Of course! That would be great!”

  With that, I hugged him and hurried into my house.

  Chapter 11

  Dexter

  The next morning, I awoke feeling as though I had a hangover, although I had barely drunk anything.

  Still, I knew there was a reason for the dragging sensation in the pit of my stomach, but immediately after waking up, I was lost to what it was.

  It didn’t take long to figure it out, however.

  When I looked at the date, my tepid headache blared and the sinking feeling I was experiencing nearly swallowed my heart whole.

  Wincing, as though in actual pain at both the reminder of why I felt so drained and the subsequent actions that needed to be taken because of this day, I squeezed my eyes shut and groaned.

  “Shit…” I grumbled aloud as my alarm blared in my ear. Growling at it, I rolled over and almost knocked it on the floor in the angered pursuit of turning it off.

  While I was purposefully slow to get ready, apathetic about starting this day, I was eager to be done with it.

  The only mercy I had left, I figured, was that today’s events would pass quickly, without leaving much room for anything more than paying our respects and leaving.

  Yet, the idea of spending the entire day with my father was daunting, if not downright torturous.

  However, trying to be the good son that I more often than not failed to be, once I was finally dressed, I slunk down to the garage and unlocked a black Sedan that I deemed morbidly appropriate for such an occasion.

  On the way to my father’s house, I grabbed a bouquet of flowers and tried to put the reason for buying them out of my mind.

  Afterward, I got back in the car and drove the rest of the way to my father’s house, dreading the destination more with every mile.

  By the time I parked out front, my father was waiting.

  He was dressed in an expensive black suit with tasseled loafers and a dark silk tie.

  Standing there, with his closely cut white hair and the large blanket of flowers he held tightly, probably in an effort to look worthy of my pity, he looked as though I should be paying respects to him.

  When I parked the car in front of him, got out, and approached him, he snarled and narrowed his beady eyes.

 
“Can you ever make it anywhere on time, Dexter?” he spat, but before I was able to say anything in my defense, he shook his head and continued, “Doesn’t matter, I suppose. Today isn’t about you. Please, open the trunk.”

  In lieu of retorting, I simply let my nostrils flare in anger and did as he requested.

  By the time my father put the flowers in the car, I was already in the driver’s seat, ready to go.

  My father, now relieved of the grave blanket, opened the door, got in the car, and was situated without a sound.

  I didn’t instigate, knowing that wouldn’t solve anything, and simply started the car.

  The drive from our house to the cemetery was only an hour, but in the deafening, strained silence, it felt like an eternity.

  I hated the day of my mother’s death simply for what it was, but after three years, having to share the ride alone with my father was by far the worst part.

  I missed my mother every day, but instead of grieving like a normal widower, my father insisted on making this pilgrimage to my mother’s grave on the day of her death, like it was supposed to mean something.

  If he had chosen to do this on any other day—her birthday, Christmas, Easter, or even Valentine’s Day—I would have understood far more than him picking this day. Why he wanted to remember my mother on this day in particular, without even breathing a word about her any other day of the year and scorning me if I ever dared to try, was beyond my comprehension.

  The cynic in me insisted that he chose this day simply because this was the day he lost my mother, and he doesn’t like losing. Therefore, by being with her today, he is in some way showing the universe that not even death could force him into an absolute reality that he didn’t want.

  However, even for my father, that was a little pretentious. Although, aside from that, I couldn’t imagine why the hell he would want to visit her on this day.

  Instead of getting up and making this trip, I would rather spend today, which I considered the anniversary of the worst day of my life, in bed, or drunk, so I didn’t remember it.

  Yet, my father insisted on celebrating it, as if my mother cared.

  I chose to believe that she knew who truly missed her and how they chose to remember her. My only hope for my father was that, whatever his reasons were for wanting to do this today, they were for my mother and devoid of any crazy vein of selfishness that he regularly associated himself with.