Christmas with My Grumpy Ex (Feuding Hearts Christmas #1)

3. The Tie That Binds

3

THE TIE THAT BINDS

ELLIE

The Wellington Hotel stands towering in front of me, its magnificent exterior a symbol of timeless elegance.

Festive wreaths adorn the grand entrance, and two towering Christmas trees, each sparkling with thousands of twinkling lights, stand on either side. Illuminated snowflakes dangle from poles lining the sidewalk, creating a magical pathway that beckons guests inside.

The air is filled with the faint scent of pine and cider, mingling with the distant sound of holiday carols, setting the perfect backdrop for the season.

My team and I are laden with garment bags, each containing carefully curated outfits for Patricia Wellington, her son, and granddaughter.

"Alright, team," I say, turning to face Zoe, Zeus, and Willow. "Let's make magic happen."

Zoe, my ever-efficient assistant, nods briskly. "Got the schedule right here, Boss Lady. We're all set."

Zeus, our talented seamstress, pats the sewing kit at her hip. "Ready for any last-minute alterations."

Willow, our non-binary makeup and hair guru, flashes a confident smile. "Glam squad, reporting for duty."

We're a well-oiled machine, ready to tackle whatever challenges await us. As we stride through the opulent lobby. This is what I've worked so hard for—to establish myself as the go-to image consultant for New York's elite.

Having recently moved to New York, I relocated my entire team across the country to expand my business from personal styling to corporate image creation.

My impressive résumé and a glowing personal recommendation from Quanie convinced Patricia to become a client. However, this will be my first time dressing Patricia for the busy season of events.

It’s my chance to craft a compelling "story" throughout the season, and I see this as the perfect opportunity to make a name for myself and my business. A chance to prove that leaving everything behind and making this move was the right decision.

The private elevator whisks us up to the 47th floor of The Wellington, the gentle hum of machinery a backdrop to my racing thoughts. As the doors slide open, we're greeted by the plush hallway adorned with chic artwork and soft lighting, setting a luxurious tone. I motion for my team to follow, leading the way as we step into the opulence of Patricia's domain.

Zoe expertly maneuvers the clothing racks, laden with elegant garments, skillfully weaving through the space while Zeus carries a carefully packed sewing kit at the ready. Willow, with a bright smile, carries a tote filled with makeup brushes and accessories, the soft clink of their tools adding a rhythmic chime to our movements.

I take a moment to center myself before knocking on the single door at the end of the hall. This isn’t just another job. Patricia Wellington is a pillar of New York society, and her approval could catapult my career to new heights. I feel the weight of this opportunity settle around me, grounding my ambition.

As I lift my hand to knock, I glance at my team—each of them radiating a unique energy that complements our ensemble. Zoe is checking her clipboard, ensuring we've got everything covered for the appointment. Zeus is adjusting the garments on the racks for easy access, and Willow is no doubt envisioning the perfect looks we staged as options for Patricia and her family.

With a deep breath, I rap lightly on the door.

The door swings open, revealing Patricia's warm, familiar face. "Ellie, darling!" she exclaims, ushering us inside. "Right on time, as always. And you've brought the whole team! Marvelous!"

Patricia's suite is a study in understated luxury—gleaming hardwood floors, crystal chandeliers, and the faint scent of fresh flowers. As we set up our equipment, Patricia turns to me with an expectant smile.

"Now, I hope you don't mind, but I've taken a bit of a liberty," she says, a twinkle in her eye. "I know we discussed styling me for the fundraiser, but I was hoping you might be able to work your magic on my son and granddaughter as well. I want them looking their absolute best."

My heart skips a beat.

"Absolutely, Mrs. Wellington," I reply, making a concerted effort to keep my enthusiasm in check. "We'd be delighted to style both your son and granddaughter. In fact, I made sure to bring some extra options along, just to ensure we have everything covered."

Earlier today, I received a last-minute call from Patricia, informing me of her urgent need for outfits for her son and granddaughter for the gala. Knowing the significance of this event, I carefully curated looks that would dazzle the attendees, but I also packed additional options in case we needed to adapt to any last-minute preferences or surprises.

Patricia beams. "Wonderful! They should be here any minute. My son's a bit... particular about his appearance, but I'm sure you can win him over."

My mind races through the selection of ensembles. Patricia's initial ask centered around tonight's mixer at the Skyline up on the 50th floor—a casual-formal affair, but as the inaugural Christmas event of the year, she wants to make a statement.

"Turn heads," she had declared with a wink, "That's the goal."

I suppress a smile, already envisioning the dazzling looks that will command attention from the city's elite. With any luck, my carefully curated choices will exceed even Patricia's lofty expectations.

"We have you covered Mrs. Wellington. Will they need complete looks for tonight, too?"

"I'm sure Amelia will take everything. But my son…" She shrugs.

There's nothing we can't handle. We've dealt with diva celebrities and fussy socialites. One stubborn man isn't going to throw us off our game.

"May I?" I smile requesting permission to work.

"Yes, dear. Do your thing."

I step towards my team and work my magic.

"Zoe, let's set up the clothing racks in the study," I direct. "Zeus, you'll work in the formal dining room. Be ready for any quick alterations. Willow, set up your station in the guest bathroom. There's good lighting in there."

As my team bustles about, efficiently transforming the suite into a styling headquarters, I feel a surge of pride. We've come so far from our early days in Los Angeles, and now here we are, about to style one of New York's most prominent families.

The sound of the suite's door opening catches our attention. Patricia's face lights up. "Ah, here they are now!"

I turn, a professional smile plastered on my face, ready to greet Patricia's son and granddaughter. But as they step into view, my smile freezes, and I feel the blood drain from my face.

Unfuckingbelieveable.

Max Wellington.

Twice in a forty-eight hour period.

Standing here, looking as handsome and infuriatingly composed as ever. And beside him, clutching his hand, is a little girl with his eyes and a curious expression.

"Ellie?" he says, his voice a mix of surprise and something else I can't quite place.

"Max," I manage to reply, my own voice sounding distant to my ears.

Time seems to slow as I take in the man standing before me. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a jawline that could cut glass and eyes the color of summer leaves. Eyes I'd know anywhere.

My brain short-circuits, unable to process what I'm seeing.

Max is here. In Patricia's suite. With a little girl clutching his hand.

Max is Patricia's son. Which means...

My Max has a child .

I push that thought right out of my head. He's not my Max. Not anymore.

Patricia, oblivious to the tension, claps her hands together. "Oh, wonderful! You two know each other already. That should make things easier."

Easier? I think, my mind reeling. This is anything but easy.

As I struggle to regain my composure, I can feel my team's curious gazes on me. Zoe, ever-perceptive, steps forward smoothly.

"Mr. Wellington, it's a pleasure to meet you," Zoe says, extending her hand warmly. "I'm Zoe, Ms. Hawthorne's assistant."

As she steps forward confidently, she gestures to the rest of our team. "And this is Zeus, our talented seamstress and style consultant," she continues, giving Zeus a nod. "And over here is Willow, our fabulous makeup and hair specialist."

Her intervention gives me a moment to collect myself. I take a deep breath, forcing my professional mask back into place. This is just another job, I remind myself. The fact that it's Max—the man who broke my heart in college—doesn't change that.

This is how I pay the bills and my team.

"Thank you, Zoe. Shall we begin?" My voice is steadier than I feel. "Mrs. Wellington, Zoe will assist you with your first change. And Mr. Wellington, I'll start with you. We have some excellent options that I think will suit the fundraiser perfectly."

Max nods, his expression guarded. "Lead the way, Ms. Hawthorne."

As we move towards the clothing racks, I can feel the weight of unspoken words and lingering questions between us. But there's a job to do, and I'll be damned if I let our past interfere with my present success.

With a deep breath, I plunge into work mode, determined to prove that I'm not just a good stylist—I'm the best. Even if it means working with my grumpy ex.

Max begins pushing through the options on the rack and I turn to the little girl, summoning a warm smile from some hidden reserve of strength.

"And what is your name, cutie?"

"Amelia," she sings.

"A beautiful name for a beautiful young lady. Your grandmother tells me you need a special dress for a party. Is that right?"

Amelia nods shyly, half-hiding behind Max's leg. She has his eyes, I realize with a pang. Those same green eyes that used to look at me with such love.

"Well," I continue, pushing down the ache in my chest, "I brought lots of pretty dresses for you to try on. Would you like to see them?"

Amelia's face lights up, and she nods eagerly. I lead her over to the rack, grateful for the distraction. As I unzip the first bag, revealing a sparkly purple dress, I can feel Max's eyes on me. The weight of his gaze is almost physical, bringing back a flood of memories I've tried so hard to forget.

Lazy Sunday mornings in bed, trading kisses and listening to jazz. The look on his face when I told him I wouldn't give up my dreams for his.

I push the thoughts away, focusing on Amelia. "What do you think of this one, sweetheart?" I ask, holding up the dress. "It's got lots of sparkles, perfect for a party."

Amelia's eyes widen. "It's so pretty!" she exclaims, reaching out to touch the fabric.

I smile, genuinely this time. There's something about Amelia's innocence and excitement that cuts through the tension in the room.

"Why don't you try it on?" I suggest. "There's a bathroom just down the hall where you can change."

"I got her," Patricia offers.

I nod as Amelia scampers off with the dress, Patricia following, and I'm left alone in the study with Max. The silence between us is deafening.

"I didn't know," I say finally, my voice barely above a whisper. "That it was you. That you have a daughter."

Max holds my gaze in the mirror, and my heart stops. His beauty should be a crime. "I didn't know you were the stylist my mother's been raving about," he admits. "If I had..."

He trails off, leaving the sentence hanging. If he had known, what? He wouldn't have come? He would have warned me?

Merrilyn called me earlier today with the details to finalize my contract with The Wellington. She included that I'd work direction with Mr. Maxim Wellington.

So, there's no need to get my panties in a bunch over dressing him tonight. Not when we'll be stuck working together for the next month. This is just a test drive for when I show up Monday morning.

"We're professionals," I say, more confidently than I feel. "I'm sure we can handle working together."

Max nods, his expression unreadable. "Of course."

"Look, Daddy!" Amelia comes bounding back into the room, twirling in her new dress. "Isn't it pretty?"

I watch in awe as the transformation in Max unfolds before my eyes. It's immediate and striking. His face, usually so guarded and controlled, softens in an instant. A genuine smile breaks through, lighting up his features in a way I haven't seen in years.

It's like watching a flower bloom in fast motion, his eyes crinkling at the corners and a warmth spreading across his expression.

For a moment, I catch a glimpse of the carefree Max I once knew, and my heart skips a beat.

"Mellie Bear, you look beautiful," he says, kneeling down to her level. "Like a real princess."

Watching them together, I feel a sharp pang of longing.

This could have been my life. Our life. If things had been different, if Max had chosen me.

I shake off the thought. There's no use dwelling on what-ifs.

"You look wonderful, Amelia," I say, smiling at the little girl. "How does it feel? Is it comfortable to move in?"

Amelia nods enthusiastically, twirling again. "It's so swishy!"

I laugh, caught up in her joy despite myself. "We have a few more options if you'd like to try them on. Or we could accessorize this one. What do you think?"

"Can I do both?"

"You sure can. Let's get the second look."

As I work with Amelia, helping her try on different dresses and accessories, I steal glances at Max, and every time I find his gaze lingering. He watches us with an intensity that makes my skin tingle, his eyes following my every move. I wonder what he's thinking, seeing me interact with his daughter.

Does he remember the plans we once made, the family we dreamed of having together?

Finally, we settle on a beautiful green dress for tonight and a cream dress for the gala. Both bring out Amelia's eyes—Max's eyes. As I adjust the sash, tying it into a perfect bow, I feel his presence behind me.

"You're good with her," Max says softly, his voice so close I want to jump out of my skin.

I straighten up, turning to face him.

"She's a wonderful girl," I reply, careful to keep my tone neutral. "You must be very proud."

He looks as if he wants to reply when, Patricia sweeps back into the room.

"Oh, Mellie, you look absolutely darling!"

"Thank you, Gigi. Watch. It swishes." Amelia does the little move again and the adults laugh captivated by her.

"Ellie, you've outdone yourself. Now, what about you, Max?" Patricia stands with her arms crossed over her waist.

Max looks down at the perfectly tailored suit with a hint of defensiveness in his voice. "What's wrong with this?"

I smile. Some things never change—Max has always been particular about his clothes. "It's a fine suit, Mr. Wellington," I say, slipping back into professional mode. "But for a gala of this caliber, we might want to consider something a bit more... statement-making."

Max raises an eyebrow, a challenge in his eyes. "And what did you have in mind, Ms. Hawthorne?"

The formality of his tone stings, but I push past it. "I brought a few options," I say, gesturing to the remaining garment bags. "If you'd like to try them on?"

Max hesitates for a moment, then nods. "Alright. Let's see what you've got."

As Max disappears into the other room to change, I busy myself organizing and packing the accessories for Amelia's outfit. Anything to keep my hands, and my mind, occupied. But it's no use. My thoughts keep drifting to Max.

When he emerges in the first suit I picked out—a classic black tuxedo with subtle texture in the jacket—I have to remind myself to breathe.

He looks... incredible .

The suit fits him perfectly, hugging his broad shoulders and tapering down to his trim waist. It’s as if the fabric was crafted just for him, enhancing the strong lines of his physique while maintaining an effortless elegance that draws my eye.

He'll definitely turn heads .

"Well?" Max asks, a hint of his old cockiness in his voice. "How do I look?"

I swallow hard, forcing myself to remain professional. "It's a good start," I say, moving closer to adjust his lapels. "But I think we can do better."

As I work, I'm acutely aware of Max's proximity. The heat of his body, the familiar scent of his cologne. Memories flood back of zooming through the countryside on the back of his motorcycle, my body pressed against his solid frame. And later riding his…

"Ms. Hawthorne?"

I blink, taking a step back and clearing my throat. "Try the navy one next," I suggest, my voice slightly hoarse.

Max nods, disappearing again. When he returns in the navy suit, I know we've found the winner. The deep blue sets off his coloring perfectly, making his green eyes pop.

"This is the one," I say, unable to keep the admiration out of my voice. "You look... very handsome, Mr. Wellington."

Max's eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the years fall away. I see the man I fell in love with, the man I thought I'd spend my life with. His gaze roams the terrain of my body and insides twists with need.

"Thank you," Max says softly. "You have excellent taste, Ms. Hawthorne."

I move closer, reaching up to adjust his tie. It's unnecessary—the tie is perfect—but I can't seem to help myself. As my fingers brush against the silk, I hear Max's sharp intake of breath.

"Ellie," he murmurs, his voice low and husky.

I look up, meeting his gaze. The intensity in his eyes takes my breath away. For a moment, we're frozen, caught in a bubble where the past fifteen years never happened. Where we're still Ellie and Max, young and in love and full of dreams.

And then, without conscious thought, we're kissing.

Max's hand cups the back of my neck, gently pulling me closer. I feel the rush of his breath, warm against my skin, just before his lips touch mine.

His mouth is soft and warm, the pressure of his lips a gentle caress that sends a shock wave of pleasure through my body. The years disappear in the taste of his kiss, the feel of his mouth against mine. As our lips meld, a current of desire courses through me, awakening something I thought was long lost.

It's a soft, hesitant kiss at first, as if we're both afraid to surrender completely to the moment. But then Max deepens the kiss, his lips moving with a mixture of urgency and tenderness that leaves me breathless.

His tongue slides against mine in a slow, sensual dance, rekindling the embers of a long-forgotten fire that burns anew. I wrap my arms around his neck, standing on my tiptoes to press myself closer to him.

Needing his taste, his touch.

Max's lips are warm and familiar against mine, his hands coming up to cup my face. I melt into him, my body remembering this dance even as my mind reels.

Then the kiss shifts. It's desperate, hungry, filled with fifteen years of longing and regret. Max's tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming it, and I respond with equal fervor, my hands tangling in his hair.

A soft, almost imperceptible moan escapes him, the sound vibrating against my lips. I inhale sharply, my senses flooding with his familiar scent.

Max's hands move from my face, trailing down my body and he grip my hips pulling me against him, the firm planes of his body a delicious contrast to my own curves.

My heartbeat quickens, my pulse throbbing in my veins, especially between my legs. He's hard and I want to touch him.

I can't remember the last time a kiss affected me like this.

His teeth graze my lower lip, a gentle nip that sends a jolt of pleasure through me. I gasp against his mouth, feeling his smile. Then, with another soft moan, Max pulls me closer.

For a moment, nothing else exists. Not the styling job, not our complicated history, not even Amelia, his mother, and my staff in the next room.

There's just Max and me, and this connection we've never been able to fully sever.

Then he pulls away suddenly, yanking us back into reality, his breath ragged.

"Ellie," he utters, his tone harsh. "I’m sorry… We can’t."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I step back, my cheeks burning with embarrassment and lingering desire.

"It won't happen again," I say, hating how small my voice sounds.

Max's face tightens. "It's not that I don't want to... There's too much on the line."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. He's right, of course. We're not college kids anymore. We have careers, responsibilities. Max has a daughter, for God's sake. And I just signed a six-figure contract with his business. Whatever feelings might still linger between us, we can't act on them.

"We should get back," I say, smoothing down my blouse. "I'm sure your mother and Amelia would love to see your choice."

Max acknowledges me, his demeanor once again distant. "Certainly. I appreciate your assistance with the suit, Ms. Hawthorne."

The formality stings, but I force a professional smile. "It's my pleasure, Mr. Wellington. You'll be the best-dressed man at the gala, I'm sure."

As we walk back to the front areas with the others, I feel like something fundamental has shifted. That kiss, brief as it was, has stirred up feelings I thought I'd left in the past. And judging by the tension radiating from Max, I'm not the only one affected.

But we have jobs to do, roles to play. I put on my most polished professional smile and concentrate on wrapping up Amelia's accessories, all the while attempting to disregard Max's lingering stare.

As we're gathering our things to leave, Patricia’s eyes light up. "Everything looks amazing, Ellie! You've truly worked miracles," she beams. "What are you wearing?"

"Me?" A wave of dread swirls in my stomach.

Patricia nods. "Yes dear, didn’t I mention? You're accompanying us tonight. It’ll be the perfect opportunity to meet key players in the city and to connect with some of our biggest donors. You'll come, won’t you?"

I look at Max, whose face reflects my astonishment—a brief spark of tension shifts between us.

At mixer. Together .

The invitation evokes a blend of emotions. On one side, it represents an opportunity to connect and strengthen my position in the city. Yet, on the flip side, it means sharing a space with Max.

"Sure," I hear myself say, even as my heart races with conflicting emotions. "I’d be happy to attend."