Merry with a Tycoon (The Love Beach Holiday Collection)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

CRYSTAL

Who would have thought Preston-freaking-Hollister had it in him?

The always-aloof billionaire actually has a heart of gold. He certainly charmed me when he got little Sarah Jenkins to say something. A painfully shy girl, I’d seen her in my shop before, always hiding behind her mother’s legs.

But Preston-as-Santa somehow sensed her nervousness and he climbed down from his chair, knelt to her level, and in a soft voice, told her a story about how even Santa gets nervous sometimes. By the end, Sarah was giggling and confidently rattling off her Christmas list.

As I step back into the shop after making sure everything else is cleaned up outside the square, I’m pretty proud of myself for having pulled off the Winter Wonderland event despite the last-minute Santa replacement. Sure, it had been a gamble to ask Preston of all people to sub for Santa, but from the children’s reaction, it paid off. It also brought in customers and much-needed sales. I actually sold out of my mosaic ornaments, which means I’ve got to make more.

My mind whirling with last-minute designs, I happily make my way to the storage room-slash-office and wrench open the door. Suddenly, I stop, my world seeming to tilt on its axis as my brain struggles to process the impossible scene before me.

Preston.

And it’s not just always-in-his-perfect-suit-Preston.

No, this is half-naked Preston.

Broad-shoulders-narrow-hips-muscles-rippling-under-tanned-skin-as-he-moves-Preston.

He turns, startled by my entrance, and I’m treated to a full frontal view. My gaze travels down his sculpted chest, lingering for a moment on what can only be described as an impressive package barely concealed by snug boxer briefs.

“Can I help you?” he asks as our eyes lock.

Heat floods my cheeks as I realize I’m staring, but I can’t seem to look away. “I... I’m sorry,” I stammer. “I should have knocked.”

“No worries.” Preston calmly reaches for his trousers, holding it in front of him. “I should have locked the door.”

I force myself to take a step back, my hand fumbling for the doorknob behind me. “I’ll just... I’ll give you a minute to finish changing,” I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper as I slam the door shut.

Leaning against the closed door, trying to compose myself, snippets of gossip I’ve heard around town start floating through my mind. I’ve heard whispers about his popularity with women, about how he could have his pick of any single lady in town—or from out of town.

But I’ve also heard about how he threw himself into running the company after his father’s sudden death a few years ago. How he managed to transform the Hollister empire from a respectable mid-sized hotel chain into a global hospitality powerhouse. Under his father’s leadership, the company had been pulling in a solid $50 million annually—nothing to sneeze at, but a far cry from what it is today.

Within three years, he’d expanded the Hollister brand internationally, diversified into luxury resorts and boutique hotels, and implemented cutting-edge technology across their properties. The result? A staggering leap from millions to billions.

It’s strange to reconcile these stories with the one who just spent hours delighting children as Santa. And now, with the image of his half-naked body fresh in my mind, I’m seeing yet another side of him.

A few minutes later, Preston emerges, back in his impeccable business attire. “So,” he says, clearing his throat. “That was quite an event.”

Seeing you half naked? Definitely. “It was,” I say, reminding myself that’s not what Preston is talking about. And even if it were, we’re not going there. “Thank you again for stepping in. You were amazing with the kids. Where would you like us to send the fee?”

He frowns. “You don’t need to pay me anything.”

“But–”

“It was a treat, actually. I enjoyed it more than I expected to,” he admits before pausing. “In fact, can I take you out to dinner? It’s the least I can do after you provided me with such an interesting evening. I had the most wonderful time.”

I eye him suspiciously. “Are you sure?”

“Very sure.”

The responsible part of me says I should decline, maintain the professional distance we’ve always had. But another part, a part I’m not entirely comfortable acknowledging, wants to say yes.

It’s not like I haven’t hung out with Preston before tonight. I saw him two weeks ago at Willy’s homecoming at the Hollister mansion, although I stayed with my best friend for most of the evening.

“I’d love to have dinner with you, but I already have dinner waiting for me at my apartment. Beef stew in the crockpot,” I say, pausing as an idea hits me. “Why don’t we do that instead? Or is a crockpot dinner too simple for you?” I pause, my eyes narrowing. “In fact, I bet you’ve never set foot in a normal person’s apartment.”

Preston scoffs. “Is that a dare?”

I laugh. “Maybe it is.”

“I’d love to have a crockpot dinner at a normal person’s apartment,” he says, grinning. “Lead the way. We can take my car.”

“No need to do that,” I say. “I live two blocks away.”

“Then I’ll walk with you.”

Ten minutes later, we’re climbing the stairs to my second-floor apartment. I’m suddenly acutely aware of every scuff on the walls, every creak of the old wooden steps.

As I unlock my door, the rich aroma of beef stew wafts out into the hallway.

“That smells delicious,” Preston says as we step inside.

“It’s not five-star cuisine but it’s–”

“Crystal, it’s perfect, especially,” he clears his throat and uses his Santa voice, “after a day of hard work at the toy shop.”

I chuckle. “You were excellent, by the way.”

“And you were adorable as an elf,” he says, his voice back to his normal baritone.

Gosh, are we, like, flirting?

Heat creeps up my neck, spreading across my cheeks. My face must be as red as my elf costume by now. “I... thank you,” I stammer, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. My skin tingles where his gaze rests on me. “Please make yourself at home.”

Preston looks around, and I can only imagine him taking in the mismatched furniture, the overflowing bookshelf, the collection of crystals on the windowsill. “It’s charming,” he says, and to my surprise, he seems genuine. “It feels like a real home.”

His eyes linger on a mosaic piece hanging on the wall, a swirling seascape I created the previous summer. “This is beautiful,” he says, stepping closer to examine it. “One of yours?”

I nod, a mix of pride and embarrassment warming my cheeks. “I made it last year.”

“The detail is incredible,” he murmurs.

“Thanks.” It’s not every day one gets a compliment from someone who must have more valuable works of art at home. “So, um, would you like some stew?”

Preston’s smile widens. “I’d love some.”

As I move to the kitchen, I can still feel the warmth in my cheeks. Who knew a simple compliment from Preston Hollister could turn me into a blushing schoolgirl?

“Can I help?” he asks as he shrugs off his suit jacket and drapes it over the couch.

I almost say no but stop myself. Preston has surprised me ever since he agreed to play Santa so why not let him keep it up?

“Sure,” I say, handing him a stack of plates. “You can set the table.”

Watching Preston arrange the plates, I smile at the sight of him, sleeves rolled up, looking so normal in my tiny kitchen.

“So,” he begins, his tone casual, “you and Willy have been friends for a long time, right?”

I nod, stirring the stew. “Since we were kids. Her family moved here from the Philippines when she was ten. I remember how lost she looked that first day of school.”

Preston’s face softens. “That must have been tough for her.”

“It was,” I agree. “But we clicked right away. I helped her adjust to life here, taught her all about the crazy ways of American kids.” I pause, my spoon hovering over the pot. “Of course, some experiences I wish didn’t have to happen.”

Preston winces, clearly catching my meaning. “The bullying,” he says softly.

I nod, not meeting his eyes. “Yeah. That was... hard to watch.”

“Till the day you put me in my place,” he says softly. “Told me people who live in glass houses shouldn’t be making fun of those who don’t.”

“Or something like that. I doubt I knew what it meant then,” I say, chuckling.

“It hit the mark, nonetheless,” Preston says.

“Then you left for finishing school, or wherever kids like you go… to be with your own kind, I guess.”

There’s a moment of silence, broken only by the bubbling of the stew. Then Preston speaks, his voice low and sincere. “Crystal, I... I want to apologize for how Brogan and I treated Willy back then. We were stupid kids, but that’s no excuse. I regret it, deeply. I really do.”

I look up, surprised by the raw emotion in his voice. “Thank you. That means a lot,” I say softly. “And I know Willy’s forgiven Brogan, given that they’re dating now. Three months and still going strong.”

Preston chuckles. “Yeah, life’s funny that way, isn’t it?”

For a moment we don’t speak. Then I gesture for him to sit down. “Enough of this serious talk. Let’s eat.”

As we sit down to eat, the conversation flows more easily. Preston takes a bite of the stew, his eyes widening in appreciation. “This is delicious,” he says, sounding genuinely impressed.

“Thanks,” I reply, feeling a flush of pride. “Oh, and speaking of thanks... I’ve been meaning to thank you for choosing my shop for your company’s gift baskets. It’s been a huge boost to my business.”

Preston looks confused for a moment, then understanding dawns. “Ah, you mean the orders from Stella?”

I nod. “I know she works for you. I just... I appreciate the business, that’s all.”

He smiles, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Well, I appreciate your discretion. We normally send gift certificates to our employees for free hotel or resort stays but I also like giving them something more tangible. Your gift baskets have also saved my bacon more than once when I’ve forgotten a birthday or anniversary.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” I say. “Especially when most people would rather receive gift cards these days.”

“I like your taste,” Preston says. “They’re different and unique.”

I laugh. “That’s me. Different… and unique.”

As we finish our meal, Preston leans back in his chair, his gaze falling on the chessboard sitting on the coffee table. “You play?”

“I’m learning. My brother’s overseas with the Marines and we play online. It’s our way of staying connected.”

His brow furrows. “I didn’t realize you had a brother.”

I nod. “He’s two years younger than me. Enlisted right out of junior college and is currently stationed as a consulate guard somewhere in Europe.”

Preston nods, understanding in his eyes. “It must be hard, having him so far away.”

“It is, but the chess helps,” I admit. “Though I’m pretty terrible at it,” I add with a self-deprecating laugh.

A mischievous glint appears in Preston’s eye. “Care for a game? I promise to go easy on you.”

“You’re on,” I reply, amused by his sudden playfulness. “Just don’t expect me to go easy on you just because you saved Christmas.”

He laughs. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

After he helps me clear the table and wash the dishes, we bring the chessboard on the dining table. I love how at ease Preston seems in my small, cluttered kitchen. He actually looks... comfortable.

“Ladies first,” Preston says, gesturing to the board.

I make my opening move, and the game begins. At first, we play in comfortable silence, broken only by the soft click of pieces on the board. But as the game progresses, so does our conversation.

“So, tell me about your brother,” Preston says as he contemplates his next move. “What made him decide to enlist?”

I watch him carefully, trying to read his strategy—both in the game and in this unexpected foray into my personal life. “Jake’s always been the adventurous one,” I say. “While I was happy staying here, he wanted to see the world. The marines gave him that chance.”

Preston nods, moving his knight. “And you? Have you always wanted to stay here?”

I counter his move, buying time to consider my answer. “I love this town,” I say finally. “It’s home. But sometimes I wonder what else is out there, you know?”

“A lot,” Preston says. “Although sometimes I miss out on exploring places because of work.”

There’s something in his voice that makes me look up at him. His eyes are focused on the board, but I can see a hint of... longing? Regret? It’s gone before I can be sure.

The game continues, and I’m surprised to find myself holding my own. Preston is good—very good—but I manage to keep him on his toes.

Before I know it, an hour has passed. The game enters its final stages, and to my shock, I realize I have a chance to win.

“Checkmate,” I announce, moving my queen into position. I look up at Preston, expecting to see disappointment or maybe even annoyance.

Instead, he’s smiling, a look of genuine pleasure on his face. “Well played,” he says, reaching out to shake my hand. “I haven’t enjoyed a game of chess this much in years.”

As our hands touch, I feel a spark of electricity that has nothing to do with winning or losing. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, the air between us feels charged with possibility.

Then Preston glances at his watch, breaking the spell. “I should probably get going,” he says, though he sounds reluctant. “It’s getting late.”

I nod, suddenly aware of how much time has passed. As we stand, he turns to me, a hint of nervousness in his eyes.

“Can I take you out to dinner sometime?” he asks.

I blink, taken aback. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

He grins, a boyish charm replacing his usual polished demeanor as he pulls out his phone. “Yes, I am. Maybe tomorrow evening?”

I surprise myself with my answer. “Yes,” I hear myself say. “I’d like that.”

“Then I’m going to need your phone number.”

After exchanging phone numbers by texting each other (he goes first), Preston says goodnight and walks out.

As I close the door behind him, I lean against the door, my mind whirling. Preston-freaking-Hollister just asked me out on a date.

And did I just accept?

Why yes, I certainly did.