Miss Claus and the Millionaire Read online

  Nicole didn’t have much time to sit around and mope, though, particularly this time of year. Her mornings were spent painting, and her afternoons and evenings were spent behind a cash register selling artificial pine boughs and holly berries, DIY gingerbread-house kits, and all manner of Christmas crafts and decor at the craft store. Not to mention that Saturday was the children’s Christmas parade and she had agreed to help organize the float for the local Big Brothers and Sisters chapter. Nicole knew that something would have to give soon; there simply weren’t enough hours in the day to do everything.She would eventually have to give up something, and she didn’t want that something to be her volunteer work or her art.

  With every hour that passed during her night shift cashing out customers and locating craft supplies, Talisha’s words continued to echo louder in her mind. Working at the craft store had provided Nicole with a constant source of income and a way to get discounted art supplies, so it wasn’t a bad gig as far as retail jobs went. She was comfortable there. However, she couldn’t help but think of all the ways she could spend her days if she didn’t have to work full-time anymore. She had thought she would be stuck in retail hell forever, but now… now there might be a real way out. Getting her nonprofit off the ground was only the beginning of what she wanted to accomplish, and Nicole knew realistically that it was going to take more than hard work and hope to meet her goals.

  As she clocked out that evening and exited into the crisp, wintry air, Nicole began to feel a renewed sense of hope settle in. The outdoor shopping center she had worked at for the last ten years was decked out for the season with no sign of winding down for the night. Die-hard late-night shoppers congregated around the outdoor Christmas tree at the entrance to the mall, some of them taking selfies, their arms loaded with shopping bags. The life of a retail employee during the holidays was brutal and unrewarding at times. Working behind a counter was a fate that she had resigned herself to for so long, but now she could see that there might be a way forward.

  That night as Nicole settled herself into bed, she checked her business savings account one last time. Her balance was higher than ever, but she didn’t know if there could ever be enough money to realistically help her achieve her goals. The dress that Talisha had picked out for her meeting with Roman hung on a hanger draped over her closet door, looking foreign and out of place in her room. Nicole stared at that dress, musing over the promise that wearing it might mean while her mind continued to hum and race until sleep finally found her.

  Chapter Four

  Nicole ran her hands down the length of the green velvet dress, still not entirely sold on her roommate’s styling efforts. Talisha had altered a vintage Jessica McClintock number just for her, but the end result was more form-fitting than she was used to. It was a style she would never have chosen on her own, but she had to admit that against her coppery hair and fair skin, the deep green of the dress looked pretty amazing. Still, for a business dinner, the ensemble felt too fancy, and she would have changed at the last minute if she’d had anything else appropriate enough to wear to an upscale steakhouse dinner.

  The days leading up to her business meeting with Roman Regan were long, busy, and full of questions. Try as she might, Nicole couldn’t uncover much about the man she was supposed to meet for dinner, though she did learn a few things about Ryzhov Enterprises. The company looking to acquire her brand was run by the eighth-wealthiest oligarch in Russia, one Sergei Ryzhov. The company specialized in solar energy, canola oil, and mining, but that was all that she could glean from her brief internet sleuthing. Nicole prepared for the meeting just the same, even though she knew nothing about the man she would be sharing dinner with, or what on earth a company like Ryzhov would want to do with her little hand-painted folk-art operation.

  In another strange turn, Roman had promised Nicole via email that a car would be by to pick her up for their meeting. The gesture seemed odd but not totally unusual, and she accepted the ride without giving it too much thought. It wasn’t every day that she was treated to a fancy dinner and ride service, after all.

  Once Talisha put the finishing touches on her business-dinner makeover, Nicole bade her friend goodbye to wait on the sidewalk in front of her building. Her hair was piled high on her head in a bun that had taken Talisha almost an hour to achieve and she wobbled in her too-high heels as she searched the darkened street for her ride. Naturally, Nicole expected an Uber driver to pick her up. Instead she found herself frowning in confusion as a luxury sedan driven by a uniformed valet pulled up in front of her apartment.

  “Miss Myers?” the man asked, stepping out of the car.

  “Are you… with Roman? I mean, Ryzhov?”

  The driver nodded. “Mr. Regan is expecting you.” He gave a warm smile, opened the door, and offered her a white-gloved hand.

  The driver looked like a nice man… the kind of man one might want to have as their father or uncle. Nicole paused and cocked her head to the side, studying his face. It was a bad habit she had acquired over the years: Every time she met a man of a certain age and description, she couldn’t help but wonder if it was him. All she had ever known of her own father was from a grainy photo from long ago. The driver wasn’t him, of course. Still, she searched his features, wondering. Hoping.

  Nicole remembered herself, fixed her expression, and threw her shoulders back. The moments before a big meeting — possibly the biggest, most important meeting of her life — was no time to start dwelling on the past. She plastered on a smile, thanked the driver, and lowered herself into the vehicle as if getting luxury-car service was the most natural thing in the world.

  The moment she entered the car, Nicole's senses shifted into high alert. The interior of the vehicle was pristine and smelled like heaven, and Q105’s holiday station was playing softly on the stereo. The driver was better dressed than she was, and even addressed her as “Miss.” Surely this couldn’t be the norm for a business meeting? Nicole’s instincts told her that something was off about the whole thing, but she pushed the feeling away.

  “Would you like me to change the music?” the driver asked. “How is the temperature?”

  “Oh, no, everything is fine,” she squeaked, her throat surprisingly tight. “I love Christmas music.”

  “Very good,” he said, pulling away from her apartment.

  Nicole gripped her beaded clutch and scrunched her toes in the Steve Madden pumps Talisha had let her borrow. She was suddenly glad that she had deferred to her friend’s style tips, knowing full well that anything in her wardrobe would have been out of place in such a swanky ride. The lights of downtown St. Petersburg glimmering through the tinted windows, and Nicole watched from her comfortable seat as the familiar shops and storefronts whizzed by, each of them decorated in their own way for the holiday season. It was surreal and nice all at the same time to be viewing the lit-up city from a space of privilege, on her way to a venue she knew she was going to feel out of place in. The entire scenario left her feeling like a total imposter.

  Not knowing what to do with her hands, Nicole pulled out the little mirror Talisha had given her and checked her lipstick one last time. She wasn’t used to wearing makeup that often either, but the bright scarlet color Talisha had applied was staying put and she actually found herself liking the effect. The combination of being dressed up in heels and lipstick and being driven in an expensive car to the most expensive restaurant in town made it feel like prom night somehow. Only it wasn’t. It was a business meeting.

  How did this even happen?

  “Here we are, Miss Myers,” the driver said, slowing to a stop. “I’ll come round to help you out.”

  Before Nicole could protest, he had exited the vehicle and circled around to her side. She forgot to wait and was already halfway out the door herself by the time he met her.

  “Thank you,” she said as he attempted to assist her.

  “It’s no trouble at all, Miss Myers.”

  “I’m sor
ry, I didn’t ask your name.”

  “It’s Joseph,” he said, taking her hand. “Mr. Regan is already seated inside. I’ll wait here to take you home when you’re ready.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” she said, rummaging around in her clutch. She only had a couple of twenties with her and hoped one of them would be an appropriate tip.

  “Oh no,” he said, putting his hand up. “Mr. Regan has taken care of everything. Please, enjoy your evening.”

  “If you say so, Joseph,” Nicole said. “Thanks again.”

  “My pleasure,” he said with kind eyes.

  Nicole took a dozen wobbly steps toward the dramatic restaurant facade, praying that she wouldn’t turn her ankle in the platform pumps. Two enormous evergreen trees, expertly decorated and illuminated, flanked the entryway, and a warm amber glow emanated from the glass front door of the Rococo Chophouse. It was easily the nicest restaurant she had ever stepped foot in, and a preliminary scan of the menu online had shown that the entrees cost as much as her usual grocery budget for a week.

  The maître d’ took her name and immediately escorted her toward the back of the restaurant. With every step, she felt the knot that had twisted its way into her stomach tighten. She wasn’t supposed to be in a place like this. This level of luxury wasn’t for people like her. This was supposed to be a professional business meeting and she was going to end up looking like a fool for using the wrong fork. But it was far too late for her to turn back now.

  Each corner of the main dining room featured a private alcove, and with every step, Nicole began to realize that the maître d’ was heading toward the most prominent seat in the room. The circular VIP dining spaces featured plush booths, dim lighting, and heavy maroon swagged curtains. A familiar face was already waiting in one of those darkened private booths… a face that nearly took her breath away. Nicole straightened her back, commanded her ankles not to turn in the too-high heels, and steeled herself for the biggest dinner deal of her entire professional adult life.

  ***

  Roman Regan looked up from his favorite booth at his favorite restaurant and couldn’t help but smile. When he’d met Nicole Myers at the Christmas market only a few days before, he hadn’t been expecting someone so beautiful and unique. Truth be told, he’d been hoping that the owner of Miss Claus & Co. would look more like someone who would have been married to Santa himself. Instead he’d been astounded to see that the folk-art business he wished to acquire was owned by a ravishing redhead who — as he was discovering tonight — was equally beautiful in a pair of jeans or a velvet dress.

  Back at the market, it had occurred to Roman that Nicole Myers might be one of those women that didn’t care about how beautiful she was. She’d been unfazed by his charms that day, though it might have been due to the crowds or the fact that he’d ambushed her. Even though she’d given him a chilly reception at first, the artist and business owner he’d been pursuing had still caught his eye in more ways than one. The memory of her simple braid and clear, shining eyes had haunted his dreams and dominated his thoughts over the past few days. Now, as she approached the dinner table with her hair done up and a dress that hugged her in all of the right ways, it became clear that he wasn’t going to be interested in her artwork alone. With one look, he realized that keeping this transaction “just business” would prove to be harder than he’d thought.

  “Nicole, thank you for joining me,” he said, rising from the booth.

  The combination of the green dress against her red hair paired with shockingly scarlet lips made his business-dinner date look like the embodiment of Christmas itself. As Nicole approached the table, Roman realized that she was slightly taller than he’d remembered. Her cheeks were flushed pink and her hazel eyes were sparkling and bright, but her smile — that smile — that was what really did him in.

  “Thank you, Mr. Reg… Roman,” she said.

  Roman blinked and realized he was staring in a way that was inappropriate for a professional meeting. He wanted to embrace her and feel the texture of her evergreen velvet dress. He wanted to sniff her hair and see if it smelled like vanilla or gingerbread or whatever those baked goods next to her Christmas-market stall had been. Instead he outstretched his hand in a very professional, very businesslike manner. She accepted with a firm, cool shake that didn’t last nearly as long as he would have liked.

  Get it together, Roman, he scolded himself.

  “I see Joseph didn’t get lost on the way to the restaurant,” he said with a nervous laugh. A moment of silence passed between them. His attempt at humor fell flat and he cleared his throat. “Did you have a pleasant ride?”

  “Yes, that was quite a surprise,” she said, sinking into the plush booth. “I was expecting to get picked up by an Uber or something.”

  “Oh, Joseph is our company driver,” he said, his cheeks heating up. “Mr. Ryzhov always sends someone to pick up all of our potential business partners.”

  Roman covered his face with the massive menu to hide his embarrassment.

  Of course I should have sent an Uber, he realized. Why don’t I know these things?

  “Have you ever been here before?” he said, changing the subject. “Their osso buco is amazing.”

  “No, never,” she said, scanning the menu.

  Roman pretended to study his menu, still unsure of exactly what kind of deal he was going to offer this woman for her business. He hadn’t really given any of this much thought; he had just seen something he wanted and gone for it, like always. Now that he was here, and she was here, Roman began to realize how inappropriate the whole situation was. A cold sweat broke out on his brow and he dabbed at it with his cloth napkin.

  You should tell her now, he scolded himself.

  Roman casually peered around the side of the massive menu and glanced at Nicole, suddenly feeling a total heel. She wasn’t a date. She was a potential business partner, and yet he had absentmindedly given her the same white-glove, red-carpet treatment he’d used to try and impress dozens of women before her. He had set the entire night up without even realizing what he was doing, and how easily he had misled her. Now that he had her here and saw her soft smile, he knew he couldn’t be dishonest with her. He couldn’t be the same Roman Regan he had been with everyone else.

  Tell her who you really are before this goes any further.

  “Nicole, I…” he started.

  As Roman opened his mouth to confess, a scene began to unfold before him, interrupting his thoughts. A server with a very large silver platter stumbled past their table and a small eek of surprise escaped his lips. Roman froze in horror and could only watch as the server careened in slow motion toward their table. Before he could brace himself or move out of the way, a waterfall of oysters on the half shell, lemon wedges, cocktail sauce, horseradish, and ice spilled down on his head and into his lap. Roman’s wool houndstooth jacket was completely and utterly ruined.

  “Oh, Mr. Regan….”

  “Sir, we’re so sorry…!”

  “Our apologies….”

  Roman’s mouth hung open in a silent scream of surprise as servers rushed to clean up the mess around him. Something thick and cold and slimy slid down his forehead and plopped onto the plate in front of him, causing the silverware to clatter loudly in the now silent restaurant. A single raw oyster stared up at him as a cube of ice edged its way down his back. Then, from across the table, a burst of laughter cut through the quiet and snapped him back to attention.

  Nicole’s eyes were open wide, a strand of red hair winding down the side of her face. Her cheeks were bright red, and a hand was clamped firmly over her mouth, clearly stifling another outburst of laughter. Normally Roman would have been embarrassed and annoyed in a situation like this… not necessarily because a $3,000 suit jacket was ruined, but because he’d been made to look like a fool in front of a beautiful woman. But Nicole’s smiling eyes and gunshot-like laughter had a strange effect on him. Something rose up out of his
chest and burst forth in an explosion of pent-up feeling and sound.

  A giggle?

  Roman Regan didn’t giggle.

  But he was. And she was. They were both laughing.

  And just like that, Roman didn’t care that he was completely drenched and covered in seafood and sauce anymore.

  Chapter Five

  “This is much better.”

  Nicole lowered herself onto a park bench and kicked off her heels, sighing contentedly. Roman joined her on the bench and happily munched on a fully loaded hot dog. A canopy of white lights illuminated Straub Park all around them, and in that moment, Nicole realized there was nowhere else she would rather be.

  “Do I still smell like seafood?”

  Nicole leaned over and sniffed, then shook her head. “No,” she said, laughing. Roman had ditched his ruined jacket as they fled the restaurant, wearing only a white undershirt, designer slacks, and a crop of hair still wet from the men's bathroom sink. She regarded him in the soft glow of the white Christmas lights overhead and realized she rather preferred him this way.

  “I’m sorry our dinner was ruined,” he said, taking in the scenery. “I have to admit, this is a lot nicer though.”

  “Yeah, I think so too. Have you ever walked through the park at Christmas?” she asked, taking a bite of her hot dog.

  “No… I’m not really big on the holidays,” he admitted. “My personal assistant Janeane loves the holidays. I just can’t get into it.”

  “A personal assistant?” she exclaimed around a mouth full of food. “Ryzhov must be pretty fancy if they give their marketing executives personal assistants.”

  “Yeah, about that…” he said, scratching his head.

  “I have to admit, I don’t know why Ryzhov is interested in my little company,” Nicole cut in, sitting up straight. “But I’m glad that they are. I’ve decided that I’m willing to accept a buyout under a few circumstances.”