Twin Babies with the Billionaire for Christmas

Prologue

Rachel

I lean against the wall, nursing my drink and wondering why I let myself get talked into coming to this party.

The bass from the speakers thrums through my body, competing with the dull roar of conversation. Seattle was supposed to be my quiet refuge, not this noisy cacophony of bass, bad conversation, and tepid drinks.

My best friend has put on this early holiday party as a fundraiser for something or other. She pleaded with me to come out.

She works in PR and is as talented at planning events as she is at hustling people out of their hard-earned dollars for good causes.

I do admire her chutzpah, even if I want nothing to do with being here tonight.

I give the Seattle-themed holiday decorations a gimlet stare. I’m not in the holiday mood. Being cheated on and losing a loved one has a way of doing that to you.

I reach out and poke a tinsel copy of the Space Needle hanging from the little fake tree next to me. I’m frankly grateful that I don’t live with anyone right now. I have no idea how to fake Christmas cheer.

Christmas tends to stick in my craw anyway. My family wasn’t very…functional…and Christmas just wasn’t a priority for my parents.

My brother and I had basically raised ourselves, but it had all worked out okay. For the most part.

My love for the holidays, however, had been completely destroyed.

"Rachel! You made it!" My friend Cara emerges from the crowd, her face flushed with excitement and probably a few too many cocktails. She pulls me into a hug. "I'm so glad you came. You do need to get out more! You need to let Danny breathe. He’s a big boy now and you’ve found him a safe place."

Cara’s the only one in Seattle who knows about my brother. In fact, she is the one who told me about the job that brought us here.

I couldn't let my brother remain in Alaska when there are so many excellent care options here in the Emerald City—as the locals call it.

That’s the only reason that I'm here tonight. I know that he’s close by and being taken care of.

I paste on a smile. "Hey, Cara. It’s nice seeing you, too."

"Come on. Let me introduce you to some people. You can't hide in the corner all night."

“By ‘some people’, do you mean people who you want to spend money on cause you’re repping?” I scan the room, but I don't see any familiar faces.

“Cara, I don’t know anyone here. I don’t know how I can help you with your goals if you have to explain who I am to literally every person we meet.”

“You’re a famous author!” she yells at me over the noisy chatter in the huge space. “What better introduction could I possibly offer? Besides, you look hot. Now, shut up and follow me. Hopefully, my plan works, and you get to meet someone.”

I grimace. Someone? I’m not looking for “someone”. Before I can protest, she's dragging me through the sea of bodies.

I nod and smile at the blur of faces, already knowing I won't remember any names.

My mind wanders to the unfinished book waiting for me at home. Maybe I can slip out after an hour of this meet-and-greet nonsense.

"Oh my God," Cara suddenly gasps, coming to an abrupt halt. "Is that Tristan Black? Gosh! I didn’t think he’d make it, but he owes me for that time I invited him to that fundraiser, and he couldn’t make it. Usually, he’s at his ranch by now, enjoying the snow and the cows or whatever.”

She’s making it sound like the name should hit me like a punch to the gut, but it doesn't. I mean, I vaguely know the name, but that's about it.

“Snow and cows or whatever?” I repeat amused.

Cara is really good at saying things like this that explain nothing and make you have to ask a zillion more questions. It’s one of the things that I love the most about her, honestly. However, it does make moments like this one a bit trying.

“Isn’t that why you’d buy a monstrosity like a ranch?” She goes on like she’s making perfect sense. “It sounds kind of…inconvenient to me, but whatever. To each their own. Oh, there he is!”

She tugs at my hand and nods her head to the side, indicating where I should look. I follow her gaze across the room, and there he is.

My heart skips a beat, then suddenly picks up speed. Everything about the man says stay away. He looks off-limits, even while he’s cheerfully chatting with an older woman holding a champagne flute.

He's talking animatedly with a very small group of older folks, his handsome face creased with laughter. Success looks good on him—he carries himself with easy confidence.

Maybe it’s the clarion call of wealth rolling off him that gives me pause, or maybe it’s that he just seems so closed off. He’s clearly charming the people around him, but he seems like he’s only halfway present in the moment.

I can see his arrogance in the tilt of his head and the look in his eyes.

As if he can feel my eyes on him, he turns toward me, his brown eyes connecting with mine. They’re an unusual color, a golden brown that makes me think of whiskey.

I feel the weight of his gaze all the way to my bones. I immediately flush. What is wrong with me?

His eyes narrow a little as he looks at me, and I realize I’m smiling at him. I hope it’s not a wacky smile that makes me look crazy or nervous. I’m not always the best in these kinds of situations. It’s so many people and so much activity that it makes me fretful.

I suddenly wish I was more confident, more worldly, more self-possessed. I don’t know why, but I want to impress this man. I want that very much.

"I honestly still can't believe he's here," Cara gushes in my ear, breaking the spell between myself and Tristan. He turns away to talk to the little group of admirers in front of him again, and I nearly sag with relief.

I wonder, in a belated way, why Cara’s so familiar with this wealthy and important man, especially considering he's not in his twenties. Cara loves to hang out with younger men, even though she should be well and truly tired of their immaturity by now.

After all, we’re both pushing thirty. It’s time to move away from frat boys toward real, adult men.

"He splits his time between Seattle, New York, and Montana,” Cara rambles on. She waggles her fingers at him, but I try not to meet his gaze again.

“New York is the city of my dreams,” she says dreamily. “He's a major tech mogul. Black Solutions is a huge company."

I shake my head mutely, still looking at anything but Tristan. So, he’s a tech mogul. I remember now, he and his company came up in a column I wrote on the top three fintech companies in the world. His dreams and ambitions came true in a big way, but I had no need to know anything more about him.

I thought of my old lackluster, boring job, and grimaced a little. I was so heartily glad that I was done with that kind of freelance writing. Biographies are so much more fun to write, and they pay better, too.

"We have to go say hi," Cara decides, tugging on my arm again.

"Wait, I don't think…"

But it's too late. We're already moving, and Tristan's gaze sweeps over in our direction.

Our eyes lock, and for a moment, I find myself transfixed. His eyes are even more amazing up close, and I realize that he has high cheekbones and a strong jaw. The crooked smile on his face instantly makes my heart skip a beat.

If I remember right—from my late-night fintech article research—he’s in his late forties by now. The only sign that indicates his age is the threads of white in his dark brown hair.

Something like admiration or shock dawns on his face, followed by a frown, as if he’s trying to puzzle something out.

I squirm a little, not sure what to make of his look. He turns to face us fully, moving away from the little group of older people he was talking to.

“Tristan, meet my friend, Rachel Smith. Rachel, this is Tristan Black, but you already know who he is. Everyone does.” She giggles, the sound disarming and genuine. Cara is one of the bubbliest people that I know, and she is a great wingwoman at any event for just this reason.

"Rachel?" he says, his voice a mix of disbelief and something I can't quite identify. "Rachel Smith?"

This man is ridiculously handsome. I can feel a sense of power and intelligence radiating off of him that calls to me like a siren song.

I have always loved complicated…distant men…so it’s no surprise that this brooding tech genius is kicking my libido into overdrive.

"I...wow. Where have you been keeping her all this time?" he asks as he glances at Cara. He almost sounds like he’s reprimanding her.

"She just moved to Seattle recently. She's a writer,” Cara says, ignoring his accusation.

He looks a little irritated at Cara’s words. “I know that she’s a writer, my dear,” he says flatly. “She’s the Rachel Smith, the famous biographer of the wealthy, notable, and sometimes notorious.”

I laugh abruptly, startled by the fact that he knows who I am, and also that he would describe what I do in such an apt way. “Are you sure that you own a tech company and not a marketing firm?” I tease, surprised a little at my boldness.

I grin at him a little, and he smiles back. My insides immediately turn gooey with desire.

He shrugs, a hint of that arrogance peeking through. “I’m good at many things.”

“Clearly,” I say dryly, glancing around at the huge event, then running my gaze over his expensive suit. I lift a brow at him.

He chuckles, then snaps his fingers at a passing waiter. He snags three flutes of champagne off the tray that the man is holding and passes each of us a drink.

“Let’s toast to being able to earn a living doing what you love, shall we?” he says with a smirk.

I hesitate, torn between curiosity and self-preservation. I really should know better than to keep talking to this ball of kryptonite.

His gaze is boring into me, and I shift my weight a little as I realize that my panties are soaked. I hate myself for wanting him, but I also don’t really blame myself. He’s probably the most handsome man I’ve ever seen in real life.

Deciding to surrender to the inevitable, I take a sip of the champagne and offer him another small smile over the rim of the glass.

“Oh, yes,” Cara says suddenly. “I forgot you just hired a biographer, Tristan!” She swings around to look at me—mischief painted all over her face. “How fortunate that you guys are both here at my event.

Holy shit. She set me up.

Cara told me it was a prominent ‘friend’ of hers who hired me to be their biographer. But the only detail she would dish was how much the job would pay.

I was honestly so desperate to make a change that I jumped blindly at the opportunity. Not my most professional choice. But I figured I could publish under a fake name if I ended up writing for a creep.

“Yes, it’s fortunate indeed,” he agrees. He barely glances at Cara before turning his attention back to me. “Apparently, you’ll be working for me,” he says, downing the contents of the glass in one go.

“Working with you, you mean. I won’t be your employee. I’m an independent biographer, sir,” I say with a hint of annoyance.

“Sure, sure,” he says with a shrug. “I’ll be paying, and you’ll be staying with me, so you’re really just working for me.”

I cannot believe the arrogance.

“Look, Mr. Black…”

“Tristan,” he says charmingly and grins at me.

My traitorous heart immediately melts in my chest. I shove away all the sweetness that he is welcoming me to feel for him, however. His high-handedness is incredibly irritating.

“Look…Tristan.” Saying his name feels far too intimate for some reason. Maybe it’s because of the flash of desire I see in his whiskey eyes when I say it.

I forge stubbornly ahead. “I am a skilled biographer, and I set the terms and the limits of my contracts. If you cannot respect these stipulations, I cannot work for you.”

“Rachel…” Cara hisses beside me, but I ignore her. She knows how badly I need this move to Seattle. But I will not be pushed around by this wealthy, domineering man.

“Fine,” Tristan says, stepping closer to me. My heart leaps out of my chest, and a fresh wave of desire rolls over me. He smells like sandalwood and spice, and I swallow around the constriction in my throat.

“I know you don't want to be here. I can sense it,” he says, his breath blowing across my ear. I feel his hand rest on the small of my back. “I know where you can have some peace and quiet. Follow me.”

I look around for Cara, only to discover she’s suddenly nowhere in sight. I’ve been ensnared.

I curse in my heart, but I seem to have no control of my will or my legs as I find myself following Tristan through the crowded room.