The Billionaire’s Naughty List (Cam Show Crush)

1. Lily

1

LILY

I’m so close I can taste it. Ten grand more and I’ll have enough money to launch my doggy daycare and spa.

At least, I hope so. My senior project in business school gave me the leg up on writing a business plan and running the numbers. What it didn’t provide was the capital to start said business.

And even though Daddy offered me the money, twice, I’m a bit stubborn about making my own way. No one will ever accuse me of being a nepo baby.

Besides, he paid for college, and that was more than enough.

So here I am, ankle deep in the cold Montana snow, four days before Christmas, taking photos for my OnlySantas account. My cam show ended an hour ago and I don't have much time before the good light is gone for the day.

The sun peeks out from behind a cloud and I plant my boots at a photo-friendly angle. The snow glistens like it’s covered in diamonds. Christmas carols pour from the speakers of my phone, echoing gently through the winter wonderland. I hold my phone at my mid thigh, and snap a shot showing off my red, green and white striped thigh-highs.

Though the site is called OnlySantas, I sell Miss Claus content. People are crazy for marabou and red velvet, which is why I bought this costume. The slinky fabric skims my body, hinting at what’s beneath.

Speaking of…

I cock a hip, bend my knee and flash the bottom half of the skirt, along with a bit of skin.

I’m careful to never show my whole face. At most, I’ve shown my lips–when I feel like doing my make-up, that is. I’m more of a lip gloss girl unless I’m working. Who wants dog fur stuck to their lips all day?

Not me.

I’m not ashamed of my content, it's a fun, creative outlet, but I also don’t want the hassle of being recognized. Or worse. Harassed. And I definitely don’t want to explain to my dad why men across the world are willing to pay to see me covered in sugar cookies. Or dressed up to look like a Christmas wish come true.

As a lifelong rancher who uses minimal technology and never even watches television, he would never understand. He’s barely embraced YouTube. And don’t get me started on my brothers.

Heck, I’m not sure I understand.

But I’m also not about to look a gift pony in the mouth.

Bending over, I adjust the ruby red pom-poms dangling from my off-white duck boots. Cold air blows up the back of my thighs and I shiver as I stand and get ready for another photo.

According to the family group text, I have two days before my dad, brothers, and Elliot arrive. Best not to think about my dad’s best friend, though.

Thinking about him makes my heart ache and my brain play the ever frustrating ' what if ' game. So yeah, it's better to push all feelings for Elliot Rivers down as deep as they'll go and cover them with a thick layer of metaphorical snow. Like an avalanche worth.

Two whole days to decorate the cabin, bake cookies and get as much content created while the weather is picturesque.

After snapping a handful more shots, I reach for my tripod and look around for another picture-perfect spot to set up. Some full length images are in order. And I can always do some creative cropping on them.

I’d rather take more than I could ever use.

The more the merrier.

Or at least until my extremities start to develop frostbite. I shoot a longing glance at my coat hanging from a branch. Maybe I should do a collection of ‘can you guess what’s underneath the red wool coat’ photos? At least then I’d be warmer.

But this is why I came to the cabin two days early. Seattle doesn't see nearly this much snowfall in a year, much less at one time. And I want to open my doggy day spa sooner rather than later. With snow on the ground and more on the forecast, it’s the perfect opportunity to get some more authentic shots in, which will keep me at the top of the Miss Claus category.

There’s a lush evergreen closer to the lake’s edge, so I set up my shot and grab the little fob that lets me snap pictures remotely.

I carefully angle everything so you can’t see the cabin in the background. Satisfied with the lighting, I approach the tree and snap a couple of shots from the back. Like Miss Claus is rushing through the woods to deliver cookies or something.

I like to make up stories in my head, about the photos and the outfits. It makes it all easier and I think, and I could be totally wrong, but I think that’s what’s made me so popular.

Miss Claus, in my mind anyway, is very much single. Today, she’s out for a walk, gathering branches and pine cones to decorate with. And yes, she’s wearing a sexy outfit because elves don’t get cold, right? Plus, you never know when you’re going to meet the man that jingles your bells.

Best to look your cutest at all times.

I snicker at the silly thought and then cozy up to the snow-crusted branches of the fir tree. My boots slip on the slick rocks and I shoot a wary glance at the lake as I right myself. I’m perched only a handful of feet up the slope from the water’s edge and though it’s a dreamy spot for a summer swim, I have no doubt it’s only a hair warmer than hypothermia right now.

Returning my attention back to my phone, I hit the button on the remote and start taking pictures. Flirty shots. Demure ones. My subscribers like both.

I hum along with Santa Baby, turning this way and that. Reaching into the tree like I’m searching for just the right branch. December is by far my most lucrative month and I’ve already broken last year’s record. By like a mile and a half.

Taking these two days to myself was such a good idea. I can relax before the chaos.

A twig snaps behind me and I jerk away from the tree, whirling.