Page 40 of The Holidays with Mr. Mitchell
“God, I hope not. At this point, it’s less about winning and more about the hilarity. Everything Jim deserves for trying to screw everyone is his company on the holidays this year.”
“It’ll make headlines,” Ash said.
“Cat made sure of it.” I laughed. “NDAs all around until he steps into the Christmas Carol world.”
I sipped my wine, smiling. This was better than I’d imagined. It wasn’t even about beating Jim anymore; it was about surprising him. About turning him into the characters he hated being compared to since he started all this shit with his cheap gift for everyone in his company this year.
And while he was gone in Madrid, I had all the time in the world to get the work done, without him sneaking up and figuring me out.
SIXTEEN
Jim
It wasmidnight in Los Angeles by the time I’d finally settled into the back of my Bentley and Alastair was driving me home. I leaned my head back against the headrest, still shocked that it’d taken the de la Vega family until seven in the evening, Madrid time, to finally meet the necessary requirements of providing me signatures—morethan just the fucking handshake deal they kept trying to do—to land this deal.
“I trust the flight home was smooth, Mr. Mitchell?” Alastair questioned as he took the exit that would lead us to my home in the Hills.
“It was, and I have to say, Alastair, I do not know why you’ve not retired on me yet after all the shit I put you through,” I smiled at him, taking one last glance at my phone before tucking it away.
“Well, last I checked, I was a bit more dependable than Blake, sir,” he chuckled.
“That’s the damn truth,” I laughed, reminded of my former driver who’d gotten married and resigned after his young bride couldn’t stand him being at my disposal instead of hers.
I understood completely, though. This life wasn’t easy for those on my personal staff, like Alastair, or even for my family. It took grit to sacrifice your own needs for another rich bastard’s, and I didn’t take it for granted that men like Alastair were able to hang with my high demands, even though they were compensatedvery wellto do so.
My mind drifted to my family and how they’d managed to thrive in this world with me. We all missed each other in the same way, but somehow, they managed to get through these tireless trips while I was away from them without a single complaint. Sometimes, I felt like all of this was harder on me than it was on them. They were the ones keeping me going on the other side of the world with their phone calls and excitement, filling me in on their days.
When Alastair turned into the Hills, the ache sharpened. The house rose up from the dark, glowing with the kind of warmth you couldn’t buy.
I walked into the foyer, and the scent of cinnamon and mulled cider met me the moment I stepped inside, wrapping around me as a perfect welcome home. As I moved further into the house, I glanced over at the living room, seeing it glowing with a towering tree, its thousands of twinkling lights throwing reflections across the windows. Garlands twined up the staircase, intertwined with gold ribbon and dotted with soft white lights.
I hadn’t given Christmas a single thought in Madrid. There was absolutely no space for it between contracts and selling points. But here? Now? It hit me straight in the chest. A calming and soothing reminder of peacefulness in my own home.
I climbed the stairs slowly, savoring the hush of the house. Garland was wound around the banister, catching the soft glow of lights strung throughout it, and I paused at the landing to peek in on the girls. Their steady breathing was all I needed, proof that they were sound asleep, safe and warm.
For a long moment, I stood there, seeing every part of my home already dressed in Christmas and filled with my family’s presence. Instead of overwhelming me, it was easing something inside me.
I wanted to go straight to bed, hold my wife’s body closely into mine, and finally let go. But my body still thrummed on Madrid time, and I knew I’d never rest until I washed it all off.
I loosened my tie, kicked off my shoes, and slipped quietly into the master suite, not wanting to wake Avery. I slid the door to the master bath shut, turned on the lighting to a low ambiance, and walked over to our enormous shower. The panel to turn on the water flow lit up at my touch, with an amber glow spilling across stone and glass.
I’d redone this bathroom a couple of years back—oversized slate shower, jets, rainfall heads, even a waterfall cascade with streaming aroma therapies. Overdone? Sure. But right now, it was the only thing keeping me upright.
I set it to eighty-two degrees. Steam rose instantly, carrying that sharp bite of eucalyptus. My clothes hit the floor, and a second later, I stepped in, and the hot rush of water slammed into me, beating Spain off my shoulders and easing the knots in my spine. For the first time all week, I let myself relax.
I closed my eyes, lathering shampoo into my hands, ready to scrub it all away, when I felt her small, familiar hands sliding around my waist and smoothing across my stomach.
I jolted, turning in the steam, and found Avery there. Her hair was already dampening, her smile wicked and knowing.
“Thought you could sneak in without waking me?” she teased, pressing herself against me.
“I was trying,” I rasped, my voice rougher than I meant. “Didn’t want to drag you into my midnight jet lag.”
“You don’t drag me,” she whispered, fingertips tracing slowly up my chest. “You never have.”
The heat of the shower was nothing compared to her. I pulled her in, her slick skin soft against mine, and kissed her. Slow at first. Then, deeper, starved, pouring days of absence into her mouth. Steam curled around us, and I pressed her back against the glass, lifting her as her legs wrapped tight around my waist.
She gasped into my mouth, the sound unraveling me.
