Chapter Five

Lance

Two weeks before Christmas

2018

"Mr. Crowley called to say the new software is working perfectly," Erin announces as she stands a few feet away from my desk. "He sends his thanks. The company lawyer, Mr. Stafford, said that RavSys has agreed to a settlement..."

"As they should," I say as I sit back in my chair.

"Ms. Dawson, an editor for Forbes, sends season's greetings and says she'll be at Aspen for the holidays..."

Expecting me to join her, no doubt.

"And the new equipment for the corporate gym arrived this morning." She lowers the tablet in her hand and pushes her glasses up her nose. "It's being assembled and installed as we speak."

"About time." I clasp my hands on my lap. "Anything else?"

Erin glances at her tablet. "Oh, and Mrs. Sutton called."

My mother.

"She said you should definitely spend Christmas with the family this year."

Of course she did.

The family, huh?

I suppress a snort.

She means her family.

"Did it sound like a threat?" I ask Erin.

"No, sir." Her dangling golden earrings dance as she shakes her head. "But she did sound insistent. I have a feeling she'll be upset if you don't comply with her wishes."

The corner of my mouth twitches.

No doubt she will be.

"Thank you, Erin."

She nods and turns around. Her heels clatter across the wooden floor as she heads out the door.

I leave my desk and walk over to the shelf in the corner. I pour myself a glass of brandy from the decanter and take a sip. The amber liquid leaves a blazing trail down my throat.

As I swirl the rest out of habit, my gaze goes past the glass. Beyond the veil of falling snow, I catch a glimpse of the buildings in the distance, some dressed up in red, green and gold.

Ah, yes. It's that time of year again.

I take another sip as I walk to the leather couch.

So my mother wants me to come home this time, huh?

Home? No. She means that house she shares with her husband and their children. And why should I go? George clearly doesn't like me. Neither do his children. Neither does my half sister, Elaine. Why spend the holidays with people who don't like me and who I don't like?

I rest my head on the back of the couch as I hold my glass by the rim.

I'd rather spend the holidays alone, away from the rest of the world.

The creaking of the door as it opens draws my attention. Michael steps in.

"Still don't know how to knock, do you?" I tell him. "And here I thought the doors were imposing enough."

"They are, which is why no one else from this building but Erin and I goes through them." He sits on the couch and looks around. "Everything about this building of yours is imposing and over the top."

"Well, maybe I'll show a little restraint with the next building I buy."

Michael chuckles, but then he turns to me with a frown.

"Drinking so early in the day?"

"I've given up smoking. At least I should be able to drink when I want to." I offer him my glass. "Would you like some?"

He waves his hands in front of him. "No, thank you."

I take another sip.

He taps his fingers on his thigh. "I take it your family has been calling."

"What family?"

"Your mother."

"What makes you think that?"

"Well, it's nearly Christmas. And you're drinking earlier than usual."

I frown. "She has been calling, but I don't intend to answer, nor do I intend to spend the holidays with her."

"Of course. That habit of yours hasn't changed." Michael sits back. "So where are you spending Christmas this time? The Caribbean again? A cabin in the Alps? Australia?"

I shrug. "Maybe some place not too far but far enough away from..."

"...the maddening crowd," he finishes my sentence. "I know."

"I just want to take a break."

"And you deserve one," he says. "You've had a busy year. Cover of Time, Forbes, even a spread in People."

I frown at the mention of that last one.

"And how can I forget that this was the year you finally bought an entire building for the company? Or that you finally made your first billion?"

"It's all thanks to our hard work," I tell him.

Michael chuckles. "And here I thought you were going to take all the credit."

"Have I ever?"

He picks up the pen on the coffee table and starts to fidget with it.

"It's all thanks to William Marsh, really. All those projects we did for him brought in a massive fortune to the company."

"And don't forget his friends."

"Yes, his friends." Michael nods. "We owe Marsh a great deal."

Just then, a fist raps on the door.

"Come in," I say almost automatically before I finish the contents of my glass.

Erin enters.

"Mr. Marsh is here to see you," she announces.

My eyebrows arch.

"Mr. Marsh?" Michael sounds surprised as well. "Well, what do you know?"

I set down my glass. "Well, what are you waiting for? Send him in."

"Yes, sir."

She disappears, and in the next moment William walks in. I get to my feet to greet him.

"William, now this is a surprise." I walk over to him. "To what do we owe the honor?"

"Oh, I was in the area, so I just came to see your new office," he says as he looks around.

I place my hand on his shoulder. "And?"

"It's nice," William says.

Michael chuckles. "I don't think 'nice' was what he was going for."

I cast him a warning glance.

"Also, I thought I'd say Merry Christmas," William adds.

"Merry Christmas," Michael replies. "Spending the holidays with the family?"

"Yes, of course."

Michael casts me a meaningful glance. I look away.

"What about you?" William asks him.

"Oh, you know the wife doesn't want me around unless she needs something," Michael answers. "So I'll just wait for her to call."

"I see." William nods before turning to me. "And what about you, Lance?"

I shrug. "No plans."

"Oh."

"He just wants to take a break for the holidays," Michael explains. "You know, away from everyone else. But he doesn't want to go too far."

"I don't want to be out of reach in case we have a repeat of what happened last May," I say.

"It won't happen," Michael assures me.

William touches his beard. "Well, in that case, why don't you spend the holidays at my house?"

My eyebrows rise.

Michael touches his arm. "Um, William, I did say away from everyone else, didn't I?"

"Oh, not with my family. No. They don't want strangers around." William glances at me. "Not that you're a stranger."

"No offense taken," I answer.

"I have a house. It was my parents' house, actually, the one I grew up in. It's in a small town in Delaware. Quiet. Enchanting this time of year. It's just outside Dover. No one lives there now, except for our old housekeeper, Mrs. Cooper, who keeps an eye on the place. I haven't been there in years but I just can't bring myself to sell the property. You can stay there if you like."

I narrow my eyes at him. "You're offering me your house for the holidays?"

William shrugs. "Why not?"

"It sounds like a good place to me," Michael remarks.

I shake my head. "Thank you for the offer, William, but you've already done far too much."

"Nonsense." He squeezes my arm. "This is no trouble at all. It will be good to have someone staying in that house again. I'm sure Mrs. Cooper will be thrilled, too."

I don't answer.

It does sound like a good offer. But...

"Do you happen to have a beautiful neighbor?" Michael asks. "Preferably single. That might convince him."

I send him a frown.

William scratches the back of his head. "Well, none that I know of, but - "

"Fine," I answer. "I'll gladly take your offer, and I appreciate the gesture."

William smiles. "I'll have Mrs. Cooper get it ready."

I nod. "Thank you."

He glances at his watch. "I should be going. I have to go shopping for the kids and then some." He turns to me. "I'll let your secretary know when the house is ready and have mine send her directions."

"Of course," I answer. "Merry Christmas."

He pats my shoulder. "Merry Christmas."

He nods at Michael, who opens the door to let him out.

I sit on the couch.

After the door closes, Michael joins me once more.

"So it seems you have plans for the holidays now."

I nod. "It seems that way, thanks to William. Again."

"Well, this time, it's about pleasure, not business," Michael says as he pats my shoulder. "Who knows? This might really turn out to be a fun Christmas for you."

~

Fun?

I gaze out the windshield as I drive down the street.

What's so fun about rows of trees and houses?

Like the trees, which are of various sizes and species - some evergreens and some with not a leaf left - the houses are all different. A few look like grand residences but don't seem occupied judging from the darkness beyond the windows. Many are your standard wood-and-brick two-story, three-bedroom houses. Then there are quaint bungalows with front porches. All of them lie quietly beneath a frosting of snow.

Well, William did say this place was quiet.

So how can it be fun?

After glancing at the picture William's secretary sent one last time, I stop in front of a large house with a black and white facade - white for the walls that blend in with the snow and black for the chimneys and the cast iron railings on the second floor balcony and outside the windows, matching the gate and the fence. Two pairs of massive pillars hold up the balcony and the roof over it, flanking the arched front door.

It's a match. This is the Marshes' house.

I open the gates and drive past them. Then I get out and climb up the steps to the front door. I search for a doorbell but find none. I lift the brass knocker instead and knock twice.

After a few moments, a petite woman in her fifties with a slightly hunched back and rosy, plump cheeks answers the door.

Mrs. Cooper.

Her salt-and-pepper hair dangles over her shoulder in a braid. A pair of gold-framed glasses sits atop the bridge of her nose, which seems to turn up at the sight of me.

"You're William's friend?" she asks as she peers at me above her glasses.

"Yes." I offer her my hand. "Lance Abram."

She glances at my hand but doesn't take it. Instead, she takes my suitcase and turns around.

"Follow me."

I frown but obey.

So much for the housekeeper being thrilled to have a guest. It seems just like the opposite.

She leads me to the winding staircase, where she puts my suitcase down and points up.

"Your room is upstairs," she instructs me. "First one on the left. It's the only one that has the fireplace still working."

"Thank you," I tell her.

She walks away, mumbling something inaudible, though I'm guessing it's about the house falling apart or old age or something not so nice about me.

Okay.

There goes the hospitality. Well, I wasn't expecting it anyway.

I grab my suitcase and climb up the stairs. Some of the steps creak beneath my feet.

As per Mrs. Cooper's instructions, I open the door to the first room on the left side of the hall. The brass knob rattles and the door opens with a loud creak that seems to resound throughout the entire house.

Inside, the room is spacious and elegantly furnished. It would have been grand if it were well-maintained, but I suppose Mrs. Cooper can't do everything by herself. Even so, the cerulean carpet has no holes. The chandelier hanging from the blonde ceiling has no cobwebs. The gold velvet curtains draped over the French windows still seem to have some sheen, and the four-poster bed has a heap of pillows and clean if not cozy looking embroidered red sheets.

As promised, the stone fireplace sits to the left of the bed with a gray wingback chair in front and a matching footstool. There's no fire blazing, but I'll take Mrs. Cooper's word that it works.

A peek into the bathroom reveals turquoise tiles, a shower head over a bathtub, a gilded mirror atop a sink, and what must be the toilet behind the stained glass divider.

I put down my suitcase by the bed and hang my coat on the peg on the wall. Then I leave the room.

I pass by what looks like another living room, similarly furnished to but smaller than the one downstairs, and go straight out to the balcony.

The door won't budge at first, but after a few tries, it does and I step out, crushing layers of snow beneath my boots.

I put my gloved hands on the railing and look out. There's not much to see - just the street and the house across it, which is a two-story brick place with porch columns. A woman sits on the front steps with her shovel beside her.

A woman?

She stands up and grabs her shovel, and even from where I'm standing, I can tell she's tall. A knitted orange shawl hangs from her shoulders.

She walks all the way up to the sidewalk and begins to shovel. As she turns her head, I see the coil of ash brown hair on her nape. She gazes up into the distance and I see her face more clearly.

A lump forms in my throat as recognition hits me.

Jordan?

There's no mistaking it. Even after all these years, I haven't forgotten her face. Nor the feel of her skin beneath my fingertips or the mold of her body against mine.

Just the memory sends a jolt of searing heat up my spine and down to my groin.

So this is where she's been, huh? Finally, I've found her.

My lips curve into a smile.

Maybe this Christmas is going to be fun after all.