Barbara Dunlop - The Billionaire Who Bought Christmas

Jack, on the other hand, had a whole lot to lose. Reminding himself of that important fact helped him will his brain-waves back to normal.

“Welcome aboard, Kristy,” he said.

His voice was even as he released her hand, but his brain was scrambling for a way to neutralize her. In less than five hours they’d be in L.A. That gave him five hours to figure out a way to save his family several million dollars.

This trip was the opportunity of a lifetime for Kristy Mahoney. She was trying to play it cool, hoping Jack and Hunter hadn’t noticed the tremor in her voice and the slight shaking of her hands. It was a combination of nerves, adrenaline and way too much caffeine.

She’d been riding a high for a week, ever since she’d wrangled an invitation to a fashion-week after-party at Rockefeller Square and met L.A. clothing-store mogul Cleveland Osland. When he’d admired her self-designed gown, she was more than flattered. Then she’d been stunned when he’d asked to see her sketches and samples.

When he’d asked her to meet with his buying team in L.A., she’d begun pinching herself every hour on the hour, waiting for the illusion to vaporize. Any second now, she expected to wake up in her SoHo loft with Dee Dee curled up at her feet. She was sure she’d be tangled up in sweaty sheets, because this was better than any sex dream.

“Your coat, ma’am?” asked the steward.

Kristy switched Dee Dee from one arm to the other as she removed her hat and coat and her other glove. The man named Jack took in her straight black skirt and the snug red sweater, laced up at the front. Then he glanced disapprovingly at Dee Dee. Kristy felt her spine stiffen. Cleveland had claimed to be a dog fanatic, and Dee Dee hated to be left alone. Besides, she helped keep Kristy calm.

A year ago, Kristy had found the Pomeranian in a dank alley a few blocks from her loft. Cute little Dee Dee had popped out from behind a Dumpster, looking sweet, pathetic and small. Kristy hadn’t had the heart to leave her out in a gathering November storm. Nor did she have the heart to let her stay at the animal shelter when no one claimed her.

Now she subconsciously squeezed Dee Dee as the steward hung her coat in the compact closet and Hunter gestured to one of the thick white leather seats.

“Please,” he said.

“Thank you.” Kristy sat down and crossed her legs, settling Dee Dee on her lap. The little dog’s warm body helped chase away the butterflies in her abdomen.

“May I offer you a cocktail?” asked the steward as Jack took the seat opposite Kristy and Hunter sat down across the narrow aisle from Jack.

“Some fruit juice would be nice,” said Kristy. It was nearly five o’clock, but she wanted to stay sharp. With the time-zone change gaining them three hours, they were scheduled to land in California at seven.

“I was about to open a bottle of ninety-three Cristal,” Jack interjected. “We’re celebrating the opening of a new Sierra Sanchez store in France.”

Kristy hesitated. She didn’t want to be rude…

“I could make you a Mimosa,” offered the steward. “With fresh-squeezed orange juice?”

Kristy breathed a sigh of relief at the compromise. “That would be perfect. Thank you.”

“Perfect,” Jack echoed, obviously pleased as he leaned back in his seat.

He was wearing a Reese Gerhart suit, a Stolde shirt and a gray, diamond-patterned, Macklin Vanier tie. His studied, casual pose, along with the shock of dark hair that curled rakishly across his forehead, reminded her that she’d seen him mentioned in both Business Week and GQ in the past six months. Jack Osland—entrepreneur extraordinaire, heir apparent to Osland International, a man to see and to be seen with.

Beneath Dee Dee’s sleeping body, Kristy surreptitiously pinched herself once more. Last year he’d made the list of the top twenty hottest male executives in America. Though, from her current vantage point, it could easily have been a list of one.

The jet engines whined, and the aircraft jerked to rolling, turning sharply to make its way to the runway. While they waited their turn in the lineup, the steward served the drinks—champagne for Jack and Hunter, and the mimosa for Kristy.

Jack immediately raised his glass. “To successful ventures.”

Hunter coughed.

Kristy followed Jack’s lead, toasting then taking a sip of the tart, effervescent concoction.

“So, tell us about your business, Kristy,” said Jack, about three hours into the flight.

She placed her second mimosa on the burnished cherrywood table between them. Then she took a deep breath, organizing her well-rehearsed pitch. “We’re a fashion design company—”

“We?” asked Jack, cocking his head.

“Me,” Kristy admitted, slightly rattled by the swift interruption. “It’s a sole proprietorship.”

Jack nodded.

When he remained silent, she picked up the thread of her pitch. “A fashion design company specializing in high-end ladies wear, specifically evening gown—”

“And what was your bottom line last quarter?”

Kristy hesitated. She’d hoped to gloss over her order volume and income, along with the modest size of her company. Although she’d been fighting for years to break into the New York fashion establishment, she’d yet to secure a retail contract, and her private sales were a whole lot less than stellar.

“I’m looking forward to the opportunities Cleveland can offer,” she said, instead of answering directly.

“I’ll bet you are,” said Jack.

“Excuse my cousin,” said Hunter. “He doesn’t know when to stop talking business.”

“I’m just asking—”

“Do you like basketball, Kristy?” asked Hunter.

Kristy turned to him and blinked. “Basketball?”

He nodded, taking a sip of his champagne.

“I…uh…don’t know much about it.”

“Cleveland loves basketball,” Jack put in.

Kristy turned her attention back to Jack. “I’m afraid I don’t watch sports.”

“Hmm,” Jack nodded sagely, his brow furrowing.

“Is that a problem?” She glanced at Hunter and then Jack, trying to read their expressions. Was it like corporate golf? Was Osland family business conducted at a basketball court?

“Would you recommend…” she paused. “I mean, should I learn something about basketball?”

“I would,” said Jack.

“Jack,” said Hunter.

“Well, I would.”

Kristy took a big swallow of her mimosa. Okay. Basketball. She sure wished she’d known about this earlier. She could have taken in a game, watched some ESPN or read a sports magazine.

Then she had an idea. “I don’t suppose you two would share…”

Jack grinned. “Sure. He’s a Lakers fan. And I wouldn’t mention the Clippers if I was you.”

Hunter jumped in. “I have tickets to the Lakers Sonics game on Friday, if you’d like—”

“Bud Reynolds is his favorite player,” said Jack, shooting Hunter a glare. Then his more normal expression quickly returned as his attention shifted to Kristy. “The Budster is up for player of the year. He’s ten for thirteen on threes from the straight away.”

“And seventeen for thirty-five from downtown,” said Hunter. “You should really join me at—”

“Kristy doesn’t like basketball,” said Jack.

She fought a moment of panic. “I never said I didn’t—”

“She might change her mind,” Hunter put in.

“I could learn,” Kristy offered. If basketball truly was the golf game of the Osland corporate world, she was more than willing to give it a try.

Jack’s mouth thinned as he spoke to Hunter. “Dating Kristy is not the answer.”

Dating? She glanced from one man to the other. Dating? What had she missed?