Page 6 of Christmas With A Billionaire

“Girl, please. We all know your heart’s been booked since college.” At my sharp look, she held up her hands. “Just saying, a certain hotel mogul might have opinions about you dating other men.”

“Tyson doesn’t get opinions about my dating life.” The words came out sharper than intended. “We’re friends. Business partners now, with this new project.”

“Mmhmm.” Latisha’s skepticism was evident. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Before I could respond, the Stevenson representatives approached, all handshakes and portfolios. I pushed the thoughts of both men aside, focusing on the familiar rhythm of negotiations and artistic value assessments.

But later, alone in my office, I found myself staring at Marcus’s number on my phone. He was handsome, successful, and committed to the community—the kind of man my mother would love. He asked for what he wanted instead of dancing around decades of friendship and unspoken feelings.

My phone buzzed with a text from Tyson:“Dinner at the hotel site tonight? I need your eye on the gallery space.”

I looked at Marcus’s number again before replying:“I can’t tonight. I have a deadline for the spring exhibition.”

A lie. Well… it wasn’t entirely a lie. But it was a half-truth and a step away from whatever was building between Tyson and me. Maybe that was for the best. But it didn’t rest well in my soul.

I placed my phone face down on my desk and turned to the window. Chicago stretched out before me, all steel and stone. Tomorrow, I would wear my favorite black dress - the one that hugged every curve - and have dinner with a handsome man who hadn’t known me since childhood. Who didn’t carry twenty years of history in every look, and every touch.

It was time to stop waiting for presents I wasn’t sure I’d ever be brave enough to unwrap.

My phone buzzed again. Tyson:“Miss you already, partner.”

I closed my eyes, breathing in the silence of my office. Outside, winter wind whipped between buildings, carrying snowflakes in a whirlwind – while inside, the whirlwind was inside my head and my heart.

Chapter 4

Autumn

Desta Ethiopian Kitchen wrapped me in warmth as I stepped through the door, the rich aroma of berbere and coffee filling the air. Marcus stood from his table, and I smiled - his black suit fit perfectly across his broad shoulders, the crisp white shirt setting off his dark skin.

“Right on time,” he smiled, taking my coat. His fingers brushed my shoulders, and I caught a hint of his cedarwood cologne. “You look beautiful.”

The black dress had been the right choice. It hugged my curves without trying too hard, the hem hitting just above my knees. “Thank you. This place smells amazing.”

“Wait until you taste the food.” He pulled out my chair. “Have you been here before?”

“No, but I love Ethiopian cuisine.” I settled into my seat, arranging my dress. “My college roommate used to make the best doro wat.”

“Ah, a woman who knows her Ethiopian dishes.” He sat across from me, his warm brown eyes catching mine. “I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be impressed yet. That’s the only dish I know by name.”

His laugh was rich and deep. “Then allow me to expand your culinary horizons.”

The waiter appeared with menus and wine recommendations. As Marcus discussed vintages, I relaxed in the moment. This was nice—a simple, straightforward attraction. It was something I could get used to.

“So tell me about this spring exhibition you’re planning.” Marcus gave me his attention, genuinely interested. “I heard whispers about some controversial pieces.”

“Not controversial - challenging.” I took a sip of the wine he’d selected. “Art should make people think, push boundaries.”

“Like that piece in your lobby last month? The one about gentrification?”

“You noticed that?”

“I notice everything about—” His phone buzzed. “Sorry, let me silence this.”

“No, please. I know how it is with client’s emergencies.”

“No emergencies tonight.” He turned off his phone completely. “You have my full attention.”

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