Holiday Hoax (Windy City Holidates #3)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

IAN

A deep sigh rattles within the confines of my ribcage as I listen to three members of the Board of Directors for my family’s shipping business talk about how nervous my personal life makes them. Or lack of a personal life, that is. These men have known me since I was toddling around my father’s office in diapers, and still, they hesitate to hand the reins over to me.

I don’t smoke and have never touched drugs, which is a fucking miracle considering the circles I ran in throughout prep school and college. There have been several short-lived relationships with perfectly respectable women. My health is damn near perfect considering I run five miles a day and lift weights. On paper there is no reason for this hesitancy.

Yet here they sit, hemming and hawing about this or that. A blast of chilly autumn wind blows through the restaurant as a stunning woman enters and stops at the host stand. She’s wearing a hip-length pea coat over a tight skirt that hits just below her knees. Her curves are incredible, at least those that I can see. The sight is enough to distract me from Barry’s soliloquy about profit margins.

Then she turns her head to the side, and familiarity punches me in the gut. I recognize her immediately. It’s my sister’s sister-in-law, Mia Mattia. I can almost feel the heat of the Italian sun beating down on my skin at the sight of her bright smile.

Memories of the day we spent together after Stella and Nico’s wedding celebration filter back into my consciousness like water through the Trevi Fountain. It was purely platonic, just two people with a day free to go sightseeing. Wandering through the streets of Capri while she taught me the most basic phrases in Italian was one of the best times I’ve had in years.

I’m just about to excuse myself to go say hello when I watch a man approach her at the bar. She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. The guy’s sloppy Brooks Brothers jacket has a wrinkle up the back which makes my eye twitch.

“Ian?” Matthew, the chairman of the board, says my name.

“Yes?” They caught me not paying a damn bit of attention to the conversation.

“What do you think?”

“I’m sorry. What do I think about what?” I can’t tell them I was distracted by a woman over ten years younger than me.

“Joseph was just saying how we’d all feel much better if you were able to attend all the holiday events this year with a woman. It would show that you can be committed to something.”

The muscles in my jaw clench at the implication that all I’ve done isn’t enough to show how committed I am to my own business. I pick up my glass of scotch and down the final bit of liquid sitting at the bottom. If this is the game I have to play, I’ll play it to fucking win.

“Gentlemen.” I set my glass down and pull out of my wallet, dropping enough cash on the table to more than cover the meal and tip. “Have a good evening.”

I leave the table with a brusque nod and head toward the bar. She still hasn’t seen me past the buffoon taking up all the space in front of her. My eyes zero in on the way she leans away from him every time he moves closer. She doesn’t look uncomfortable, just annoyed as I close the distance.

She does a double take when she finally sees me, her lips lifting immediately into a warm smile. “Ian, there you are.”

My arm wraps around her waist as I pull her into a hug. She steps willingly into the embrace, fitting her body flush against mine in a way that’s much more familiar than I was expecting. Not that I’m complaining; the feel of her soft body against mine is more than welcome.

“Play along please,” she whispers in my ear.

Heat rolls through my body at the gentle brush of her lips against my cheek. My fingers flex against her spine as I pull her closer to my side.

“Sorry dinner took so long. You look beautiful.”

“Thanks.” She beams a sunny smile back at me. “This is Eric Simms. He’s stopped by the gallery a few times trying to find a few pieces for his apartment. Eric, this is my boyfriend, Ian Jameson.”

It’s been a long time since anyone has referred to me as their boyfriend. As foreign as it sounds, I don’t mind the way it feels. It’s probably something I should bring up in my next session with my therapist.

“Nice to meet you.”

“You, too.” He takes my offered hand and shakes it, trying his best to assert dominance by squeezing a bit too hard. “I’m surprised Mia hasn’t mentioned you before.”

“Would there be a reason to? She’s just trying to sell you some art.” His obvious attempt to make it sound as though she’d be leading him on in some way pisses me off. “Are you finished with your drink?” I ask her.

“Yes,” she puts the martini to her lips and takes the last few sips.

I pull out a couple more bills from my wallet and set them beside her empty glass. The bartender nods as I push it closer to him. “Nice to meet you, Aaron.” I slap his shoulder as I guide her toward the door and out into the chilly Chicago night. I completely ignore him as he corrects me by yelling his actual name at my back.

“Thank you so much,” she says as she pulls her coat tighter around herself.

“It was absolutely my pleasure.” I hand my ticket to the valet. “Were you meeting him or was that a random ambush?”

“I was supposed to meet a friend of mine, but he flaked at the last minute. I was already dressed so I figured I’d just go and enjoy a drink because the reservations took months to get. I’ll probably get blacklisted now.” She sighs and tilts her head back to look up at the clouds rolling through. “Oh well. It’s worth it for a moment’s peace.”

“Was he bothering you for long?”

“No.” Her gaze meets mine. “At least not tonight. He just keeps coming back to the gallery but never buying anything.”

“You should tell him he’s only welcome back if he makes a purchase.”

“If only I could. I can’t really afford to turn anyone away, nuisance or not.”

The valet parks my car and brings the keys over. “Let me drive you home.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“He might look out the window and see us leave separately. It’ll be better for you to come with me.” I walk over and open the passenger door for her.

She hesitates for a second but gives in when I gesture for her to come on with my chin. “Thank you. Again.”

“You don’t have to keep thanking me,” I say as I lean down in the open door. “But I’m going to linger here awkwardly because I caught him looking at us.”

“Better give him a show then.” She reaches up, her fingers sliding through my hair and presses her lips to my cheek.

Anyone watching from the restaurant would think she’d just kissed my lips. The urge to turn my face hits me out of nowhere and forces me to straighten. That would be a terrible mistake. Instead, I close the door gently and walk around the hood of the car.

“What brought you out tonight?” she asks as I start the car.

“A dinner with a few members of the board. Pretty boring stuff and frustrating if I’m being honest.”

“How so?” She angles her body toward mine so she can look at me while I complain about my current situation.

I drive aimlessly up and down the city streets as we talk. It’s not until I’ve verbally dumped all my bullshit at her feet that I realize I don’t know where she lives. A light drizzle has begun falling as we stop at a red light.

“Where should I be taking you home to? I didn’t even realize I’ve just been driving around aimlessly.”

She laughs a little. “Nico actually gave me his old apartment as a graduation gift.” She rattles off the address. “I don’t mind the aimless drive, though. You’re easy to talk to.”

“As are you, obviously,” I say wryly. “Now that you know my life story, how’s yours going?”

“Good. I’m struggling to find clients, though. My boss just sat me down and told me if I don’t start making more sales she’ll have to cut my hours back at the gallery. It’s just hard because everyone I work with has at least two decades more experience than me and lists of clients longer than the zeros in my student loan debt.”

“I could probably use some art.” It’s not a lie, I haven’t decorated my penthouse at all.

“No.” She shakes her head with a sad smile. “I don’t want pity business.”

“Any business is better than no business.”

“I know.” She sighs heavily and looks out the window. “I just want to succeed on my own.”

“Success is subjective.”

“Easy to say when you’re at the pinnacle of business.”

She’s not wrong, but before I can keep arguing with her, I’ve pulled up in front of her building. She opens the door and slips out, leaning down to meet my eyes. “Thanks again, Ian. Have a good night.”

The door closes before I can even get a word in. I keep my eyes on her until she disappears into an elevator and the doors close behind her. The doorman gives me a little wave as I put the car in gear and drive away.

Thoughts of last night keep filtering through my mind as I move through my morning routine. I forgot how easy it is to talk to Mia. She’s such a breath of fresh air. Maybe it’s because aside from our siblings being married, we’re completely removed from each other’s circles. It’s not often that I find myself with someone who doesn’t work for or want something from myself or my family.

“Good morning, Mr. Jameson,” Marta, my housekeeper, calls down the hall as she enters the penthouse.

“Morning,” I call back as I clasp my watch. After cursory glance in the mirror over my dresser to make sure everything is perfect, I slip on my loafers and head down the hall.

“Your coffee is almost ready,” Marta informs me as she slips on a pair of rubber gloves to begin her day of deep cleaning my barely lived in and mostly empty space. “Is there anything you need done today?”

“I have some dry cleaning ready to be sent downstairs but otherwise no.”

Marta’s been with me since I graduated from Yale and moved back to Chicago. She had just been widowed and never had children, so she was looking for a full-time job with limited experience. It was a perfect match, made more perfect by her close attention to detail. I generally keep a tidy home, but she catches every smudge on the glass or speck of dust in the den that I would miss.

She’s also a bit of a mother hen and never afraid to give me her opinion on the things happening in my life. I appreciate that about her. My own mother is overbearing but in the most superficial of ways. To be blunt, she’s a snob. I love her, but it’s hard to handle when she’s so focused on her own legacy and agenda.

I grab a banana from the fruit basket on the counter and hear Marta tsk behind me.

“You need more than a banana and black coffee,” she grumbles. More often than not I’ll come home in the evening to a meal prepared and left in the refrigerator with heating instructions. If I let her, she’d probably make all my meals from a full breakfast to packing me lunches.

I open the fridge and pull out a greek yogurt, holding it up for her approval.

She gives me a tepid look. “Better but still not enough.”

I smile as I turn and put it in my bag for when I get to the office. An alert on my phone informs me that my driver is two minutes out, so I tell Marta goodbye and get on the elevator to go down to the lobby. Thankfully the penthouse came with its own private elevator and entrance, so I never have to make awkward small talk or crowd into the same tight space with others.

The car pulls up right as I step out of the building. The sun is just rising over Lake Michigan, lighting the streets with peachy light. A copy of the Wall Street Journal rests on the seat beside me. Call me a purist, but there’s something about reading an actual print newspaper that just feels right.

I skim the main headlines, paying most attention to international business headlines. Jameson Industries is one of the biggest names most people depend on but have never heard. Our company has its hand in so many corners of the market. The paper my copy of the WSJ was printed on is likely distributed via one of our trucks at some point. Imported designer goods lining the windows of the stores on Michigan Avenue were likely brought over on one of our ships or at the very least in one of the shipping containers we manufacture. There’s not much we don’t have a part in when it comes to business, so it’s imperative I keep my eyes on every corner of the world.

Traffic is light this morning, so I don’t finish my perusal of the paper before we pull up to the glass and steel building our offices occupy the top twelve floors of. I pass through security easily, giving each of the guards a nod of acknowledgment. My assistant stands from his desk as I walk past and follows me into my office to read my schedule for the day while I get settled in.

“Good morning, Sir.” Derrick sits down and opens the schedule on his tablet. “You have a meeting with Mr. Dobson and Ms. Clark at eight-thirty. Then a lunch meeting with the logistics team at eleven.”

“Catered?” I ask. The other VPs all have terrible habits of scheduling meetings to fit in their schedule, including over meal times, without providing catering. Nothing irritates me more.

“Yes, I double checked. Saul’s Sandwiches and Salads.”

“Perfect.” I wave my hand for him to continue.

“This afternoon Mr. Jameson wanted me to block you off for a meeting.”

My eyes flash up to his. “Did he say what it’s regarding?”

“No, sir.”

Fuck.

“Thank you,” I say as he stands and walks back out to his desk, the door quietly closing behind him.

I spin in my chair and look out into the city. Lights from other office buildings are slowly coming on as people filter out of their homes and into work. I can only imagine what my dad needs to talk to me about that needs an entire afternoon blocked off. Knowing him we’ll end up on a golf course or, worse, back at their house.

He’s had a few medical problems over the past few months that have slowed him down. It’s one of the reasons I’m feeling so much pressure about ascending into his place as CEO. Everyone thought I’d have at least a few more years before he’d retire.

With a deep sigh I tear my gaze from the window and turn back to my desk. I should be able to get some work done before my day of meetings begins in an hour.