The Tycoon's Christmas Dating Deal, page 1
Suddenly the room seemed smaller, as if he took up more space than one man should.
Taller than she’d thought he’d be, broad shouldered in an immaculately cut dark suit, black hair and a handsome, handsome face. He was hot. So hot she could not help but stare. And then when he got closer, stare some more.
“Marissa Gracey?” he said in a deep, clear voice. “Oliver Pierce.” He held out his hand for her to shake.
All Marissa could do was nod before he continued. “Right on time. Good.”
It was just as well he hadn’t expected a reply because she was suddenly without a voice. She felt the color flush hot on her cheeks then rush back to pale.
She knew this man.
Only he’d called himself Oliver Hughes back then. Back when they’d both been teenagers and she’d thought him the most insufferable, arrogant, rude person she had ever met. Marissa’s thoughts flashed back to when she’d been fourteen years old and deeply, desperately and very secretly in love with a sixteen-year-old boy she’d known as Oliver Hughes.
Dear Reader,
Do you believe in love at first sight? Does it seem possible? I can vouch for love at first sight. I remember the very first time I met my husband. A friend introduced us, and it was instant attraction. Three days later we decided to spend our lives together. Ten months later we married. We recently celebrated our thirty-fifth anniversary. Love at first sight worked!
What about Marissa and Oliver, the heroine and hero of The Tycoon’s Christmas Dating Deal? There’s instant, powerful attraction between the lovely event planner and the movie-star handsome hotel tycoon. Both have heartbreak in their pasts, and I loved bringing these wonderful people together. But there are complications...not the least of which is the secret Marissa is keeping from Oliver.
The Tycoon’s Christmas Dating Deal is a Christmas story set in a fabulous country house hotel—Oliver’s ancestral home. Marissa’s brief is to create the best Christmas celebrations ever at Longfield Manor. Think luxury, beautiful rooms, gorgeous gardens, Christmas trees and snow—lots of glorious snow.
I hope you enjoy following Marissa and Oliver’s journey to a once-in-a-lifetime forever love.
Warm regards,
Kandy
The Tycoon’s Christmas Dating Deal
Kandy Shepherd
Kandy Shepherd swapped a career as a magazine editor for a life writing romance. She lives on a small farm in the Blue Mountains near Sydney, Australia, with her husband, daughter and lots of pets. She believes in love at first sight and real-life romance—they worked for her! Kandy loves to hear from her readers. Visit her at kandyshepherd.com.
Books by Kandy Shepherd
Harlequin Romance
The Christmas Pact
Mistletoe Magic in Tahiti
Christmas at the Harrington Park Hotel
Their Royal Baby Gift
How to Make a Wedding
From Bridal Designer to Bride
One Year to Wed
Cinderella and the Tycoon Next Door
Best Man and the Runaway Bride
Second Chance with the Single Dad
Falling for the Secret Princess
One Night with Her Millionaire Boss
Second Chance with His Cinderella
Pregnancy Shock for the Greek Billionaire
Visit the Author Profile page
at Harlequin.com for more titles.
To my longtime friend and fellow author Cathleen Ross, for being my first reader. Thank you!
Praise for Kandy Shepherd
“Falling for the Secret Princess is a sweet and swoon-worthy romance. Author Kandy Shepherd wrote this beautiful romance which would take you far, far away.... As a romance reader this is the ultimate escape. The storyline had plenty of twists and turns and would keep you engrossed till the end. Highly recommended for all readers of romance.”
—Goodreads
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EPILOGUE
EXCERPT FROM SWIPE RIGHT FOR MR. PERFECT BY JUSTINE LEWIS
CHAPTER ONE
MARISSA GRACEY HATED CHRISTMAS. As she strode along Kensington High Street in London, two weeks before December the twenty-fifth, she felt assaulted by Christmas cheer. Everything that could possibly be festooned with lights twinkled garishly in the evening gloom—trees, lampposts, storefronts, even a bus stop shelter, which should surely be illegal. Alcoves and shop windows were stuffed with overdecorated Christmas trees. Clashing Christmas carols, loud and shmaltzy, blared out from doorways.
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la, indeed, she thought with a deep scowl.
Every step she took she was exhorted to feel merry, happy and jolly. But she didn’t feel any of that. Not even a glimmering of merriment. Not anymore.
Marissa knew that behind her back she was called a Scrooge and a Grinch. That hurt. But she couldn’t share the details of why she no longer celebrated the season. Because she couldn’t bear to be reminded of the heartbreak and pain. Bad things had happened to her at Christmas. The car crash five years ago that had killed her parents. Her brother’s departure to the other side of the world. The out-of-the-blue firing from her dream job on Christmas Eve. And the most recent—the betrayal of her boyfriend, whom she’d last year caught kissing another woman under the mistletoe. Disasters that had rocked her world at Christmastime. She’d begun to believe she was jinxed. If she allowed herself to enjoy Christmas, who knew what other horrible thing might happen?
There was excited chatter among her fellow pedestrians when a scattering of fat snowflakes drifted down from the sky. She looked up but resisted the temptation to try to catch a snowflake on her tongue, like she’d done when she was a child. Back then, Christmas had seemed magical.
A man started to sing, very off-key, that he was dreaming of a white Christmas.
Huh, Marissa thought, a sleety, slippery Christmas more likely.
London rarely had decent snow in December. Thankfully, she would be out of here in five days, flying to a small island off the east coast of Bali, where Christmas wasn’t part of the culture. By the time she got back, the decorations and all the painful reminders they brought with them would be taken down.
She detoured into the supermarket—more detestable carols were piped through the store—in search of a ready meal for her dinner. She lived alone in her flat in West Kensington and often couldn’t be bothered to cook for herself. She studiously avoided the displays of mince pies. Her father had loved the small, sweet, spiced fruit pastries, traditionally only available at Christmastime. His Christmas Eve ritual had been to eat an entire packet of six mince pies—with lashings of custard and ice cream—in one sitting, egged on by a laughing Marissa and her brother while her mother pretended to be shocked. Until that Christmas Eve five years ago when the mince pies had remained uneaten in the kitchen while her dad lay still on a hospital bed, attached to tubes and monitors that hadn’t saved his life. It still hurt to see mince pies and remember his joy in them.
When her friend Caity Johnston called on her mobile phone, Marissa had to swallow hard against the lump of remembered grief that threatened to choke her.
‘Everything okay?’ she asked, when she was in control of her voice. Caity was expecting twins, due in the middle of January.
‘Actually, no,’ Caity said. Her friend’s voice sounded anxious, frayed at the edges.
Terror for her friend shot through Marissa. ‘The babies?’
‘Okay.’
Marissa breathed a sigh of relief.
‘But I have to go to hospital and stay in bed until the due date. Or whenever the consultant decides it’s time for the babies to be born.’ Caity’s voice rose.
‘Oh, Caity. What can I do to help?’
‘Could you... Could you get over here now?’
‘On my way,’ Marissa said as she hailed a black cab.
Mentally, she urged the driver to hurry. It seemed the longest trip ever to the west London suburb of Ealing. She’d normally go by the Underground, it was nearly as fast and a tenth of the cab fare, but there was an edge of fear to Caity’s voice that had truly scared Marissa. Two years ago, her friend had miscarried at twenty weeks. Marissa would do anything she could to help her carry her twins to term.
When she arrived at Caity’s house twenty minutes later, a terrace in a street of terraces that she and her husband, Tom, had painstakingly remodelled, her friend was waiting for her. Her face was pale, and she was anxiously wringing her hands. Caity was tiny and slight except for her enormous bump. Marissa noticed a bulging overnight bag in the hallway.
She hugged her friend gently. ‘What’s happened?’
‘I’m sure I mentioned before that the twins share the same placenta. That can be dangerous so the doctors want me under observation. My bump and I will be hooked up to monitors for the next few weeks.’
‘Oh, no!’ Marissa exclai
‘It’s unlikely I’ll leave hospital until the babies are born.’
‘You’ll be in good hands. Do you want me to go with you to the hospital, to get you settled?’
Caity shook her head. ‘No. Tom’s taken time off work. He’s out getting the car from where it’s parked. But there is something you could do to help me.’
‘Anything,’ Marissa said.
She and Caity had started work as interns in a public relations firm back when they’d been fresh out of uni. They’d both specialised in event planning until there was a big downturn in business and they were both let go from the jobs they’d loved—just before Christmas. Caity had bounced back quickly and started her own company, while Marissa freelanced for her and other marketing companies in the city, trying to find the place where she best fit. Now, at age thirty, Marissa wasn’t sure about what direction she wanted her career to take. She only knew that she didn’t want to tie herself down to the one employer. Not yet. Experience had taught her that it was too dangerous to put her fate in someone else’s hands.
‘I hate to ask you this, as I know you’re not a fan of Christmas...’ Caity began, tentatively, not meeting Marissa’s eyes.
Marissa’s heart sank. Caity was one of the few people who understood her aversion to the festive season. So why was she bringing it up now?
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Er, yes?’ she said.
Caity’s words spilled out. ‘There’s this Christmas event I’ve been working on. Longfield Manor is a beautiful country house hotel in Dorset. Family run. Christmas is a huge deal for them. People come from around the country—even the world—year after year to celebrate the holiday season there, and this year is the first time the family has brought in an event planner to organise the festivities. And now, two weeks out from the most important commission of my career, I have to go into hospital.’
To save her babies’ lives.
The words were unspoken but Marissa heard them.
‘And you want me to step in?’ she said, trying to keep the dismay from her voice. ‘Caity, you know how I feel—’
‘About Christmas? I know. And I wouldn’t ask you if I had any choice. The grandson of the hotel owners, Oliver Pierce, is the CEO of The Pierce Group of hotels.’
‘The most exclusive, fashionable hotels in London. I know of them.’ Although as she’d need to take out a mortgage to buy a cocktail there, Marissa had never been to one.
‘I’ve done some work for him in the past and it went really well, and I need to keep The Pierce Group as a client. Oliver Pierce himself asked me to help with the Longfield Manor Christmas. Marissa, this job could change the entire trajectory for my company. It’s my big break. I can’t risk losing his business.’
‘Couldn’t someone else—?’
‘He’s a very discerning man,’ Caity said, cutting her off. ‘I couldn’t trust anyone else but you to take over this particular job.’
‘Surely there must be another planner who—?’
‘You’re the only person who is good enough and I know you would never let me down,’ Caity said. ‘Or try to steal my client.’
That was Caity all right. A shrewd businesswoman whose boutique event planning business was very successful, yet not established enough to be able to risk losing an important client. Marissa knew how vital the personal relationship between client and planner could be. And satisfied clients led to recommendations and further business. If Caity couldn’t trust anyone else but her—her best friend—to run this job, Marissa could put up no further resistance.
‘Please,’ Caity pleaded. ‘I... I’m begging you. You know how much I want these babies.’ Her voice caught. ‘And I can’t do the job from a hospital bed.’
Marissa took a deep breath. ‘Of course not. Nor should you. All your energies should be going to keeping your babies safe and getting ready to welcome them.’ She had read up about the risks for identical twins who shared a placenta and knew how dangerous it would be for her best friend not to follow her doctors’ advice to the letter.
She had a momentary vision of warm aquamarine waters, golden sands, palm trees—her tropical holiday far, far away from the commercial frenzy of Christmas in London. It had been booked and paid for months ago and she had been eagerly anticipating the escape. But as she focussed on her friend’s wan face, the vision faded away. She needed to be here, and she needed to do this for Caity. She only hoped she’d be able to get at least a partial refund.
‘Of course I’m happy to do the job for you,’ she said. She injected as much enthusiasm as she could into her voice. And was rewarded by the relief in her friend’s eyes.
‘I knew you wouldn’t let me down,’ Caity said. She took a deep breath. ‘I’ll quickly brief you. Longfield Manor is in Dorset, near the coast. Very traditional. Nothing like the ultra-contemporary Pierce Group hotels. It was owned by my client’s grandparents. But the grandfather died this year, so Oliver Pierce stepped in to help his grandmother run it. There’s a story there but I didn’t get a chance to dig into it. You might have more luck. Christmas has always been a big deal, and they want it even bigger and better this year.’
Marissa was determined not to let her friend see how she dreaded the thought of working on Christmas for an entire week. ‘Understood,’ she said.
‘Everything that can be ordered has been ordered. Local staff have been briefed. You’ll find all the files waiting in your inbox so you can hit the ground running. I sent them as soon as I knew you were on your way over.’
Marissa smiled. ‘You were very sure I’d say yes.’
‘I trusted you’d help me,’ Caity said simply.
Marissa gently hugged her friend. ‘You know you won’t have to worry about a thing.’
‘I know. I trust you implicitly. But you can get in touch with me any time.’
‘I promise I’ll try not to bother you.’
It had been heartbreaking when Caity had lost her first baby, and Marissa feared what state her friend might sink into if something were to go wrong with the twins. She had to step up for her. Even though immersing herself in Christmas at some staid country house hotel was the last thing she wanted to do.
At the sound of a key turning in the door, Caity stepped back. ‘Here’s Tom to take me to hospital.’
Marissa greeted her friend’s husband, then picked up her handbag and the shopping bag containing her solitary dinner. ‘Go. The sooner you’re in that hospital bed, the better.’
‘Just one thing before you go. Oliver Pierce is expecting you to stay on site at Longfield Manor for the seven days before Christmas.’
‘On site? For a week?’
‘It’s a hotel. Why would you stay elsewhere?’
Marissa would prefer to keep a distance from a client. But this was Caity’s client so she really had no choice. ‘Done. Can’t say I like it. But done.’
‘And...there’s one more thing.’
A sneaky smile played around her friend’s lips. Marissa knew that smile could spell trouble. ‘Yes?’ she said warily.
‘Oliver Pierce is hot. Really hot. Movie-star hot.’ She put up her hand to stop Marissa from protesting. ‘I know you’re on a break from dating. An overly long break in my opinion. But I respect that. I just thought you should know how gorgeous your new client is. And I believe he’s single. Single, sexy and solvent.’
Marissa rolled her eyes. ‘No, thank you. I won’t ever get mixed up with a client again. Totally not interested. Besides, you know I’m immune to gorgeous men. Next time—if there is ever a next time—I’ll be going for ordinary, average and safe.’
Caity laughed. ‘I wouldn’t call Oliver Pierce safe. Not in a million years would I call him safe.’
* * *
Could this be his last Christmas at Longfield Manor? The thought troubled Oliver. If there was one thing he didn’t care for, it was uncertainty. And the future of the beautiful old manor house, which had been in his family for five generations, was shrouded in uncertainty.
