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Her Convenient Christmas Date
Barbara Wallace
Their fake relationship… …isn’t just for Christmas! Ex-footballer Lewis Matola needs Susan Collier to help clean up his reputation. Their agreement’s clear: they’ll be each other’s fake date for the holiday season – no feelings involved! But as Christmas Eve draws near, it’s more than just snow swirling between the unlikely pair…
Their fake relationship…
…isn’t just for Christmas!
Ex-footballer Lewis Matola urgently needs to clean up his reputation, and heiress Susan Collier is the only woman who can help. Their agreement’s clear: they’ll be each other’s fake date for the holiday season—no feelings involved! But as Christmas Eve draws near, Lewis becomes intrigued by the side of Susan she keeps hidden from the world. Soon it’s more than just snow swirling between the unlikely pair…
BARBARA WALLACE can’t remember when she wasn’t dreaming up love stories in her head, so writing romances for Mills & Boon is a dream come true. Happily married to her own Prince Charming, she lives in New England, with a house full of empty-nest animals. Occasionally her son comes home as well! To stay up to date on Barbara’s news and releases sign up for her newsletter at barbarawallace.com (http://www.barbarawallace.com).
Also by Barbara Wallace (#u4e68dc6d-692f-57a5-ac02-264fa8d28427)
Saved by the CEO
Christmas with Her Millionaire Boss
Their Christmas Miracle
One Night in Provence
In Love with the Boss miniseries
A Millionaire for Cinderella
Beauty & Her Billionaire Boss
Royal House of Corinthia miniseries
Christmas Baby for the Princess
Winter Wedding for the Prince
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Her Convenient Christmas Date
Barbara Wallace
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-09177-0
HER CONVENIENT CHRISTMAS DATE
© 2019 Barbara Wallace
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Note to Readers (#u4e68dc6d-692f-57a5-ac02-264fa8d28427)
This ebook contains the following accessibility features which, if supported by your device, can be accessed via your ereader/accessibility settings:
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Text to speech
To all the square pegs in the world.
May we love our edges.
Contents
Cover (#ue64b033d-29a5-5df7-a7d0-9d4eb6e55c6a)
Back Cover Text (#ud641f706-8d57-5ca2-aa7a-e6c08f5eb875)
About the Author (#u9a60b437-0967-5df0-9ce2-dbfa0d3ec93f)
Booklist (#uf5e8b8db-34bd-5e3c-bbe4-0b30fc948871)
Title Page (#u3edf8100-c783-53af-ba20-d754fdca8303)
Copyright (#ubd490988-cfed-5e87-aa09-756a49b383ad)
Note to Readers
Dedication (#uf18ad81b-b61f-5ab4-9b7e-bf9ce3786d55)
CHAPTER ONE (#u2709a87d-f11a-50fa-977e-da3710b84152)
CHAPTER TWO (#ucb754213-ce48-5ead-a236-508372668a85)
CHAPTER THREE (#u139eb9c3-c5d9-511f-a8ae-d85d207dfafa)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u4e68dc6d-692f-57a5-ac02-264fa8d28427)
THE BAR WAS one of those pop-up, themed locations that were trendy at the moment. Holiday Cheer was the name and its existence had temporarily transformed the mezzanine of the Regis Hotel into a garish, yet strangely enticing Christmas wonderland. The walls were made entirely of poinsettia blossoms, while strings of holiday lights crisscrossed the air like tiny multicolored stars.
In the middle of the cheer, at a bar framed by Christmas trees, Susan Collier was having a deep, meaningful conversation with her cocktail glass.
“So what if I don’t have a date? It’s not like I have the plague. Plenty of women go to weddings without a plus-one.”
Her cocktail, the sympathetic ear that it was, didn’t disagree.
Too bad Ginger and Courtney weren’t as sympathetic. The two catty little trolls from marketing enjoyed a good laugh about her while powdering their noses. So good, in fact, they didn’t realize Susan was in the stall listening to every word.
“Is it any wonder?” one of them had said. “She’s got a perpetual stick up her bum. I don’t know why Maria invited her to the wedding in the first place.”
“I should fire them both for insubordination,” Susan muttered. The cocktail offered itself up in mute solidarity. Lifting the glass, she polished off the contents in one swallow.
“You’re drinking those pretty quickly. Sure you don’t want to slow down?” the bartender asked when she signaled for another.
“Didn’t realize there was a speed limit.” She tapped the rim of her empty glass with her index finger. “Keep ’em coming. And, if you’re worried about me toddling off and driving, don’t. I used a car service.” Because that was what women without dates did. They car serviced.
“Aren’t you afraid they’ll miss you upstairs?”
Susan snorted. Did he mean the wedding to which she’d received an obligatory invitation just because her office was next to the bride’s? The one for which she had stuffed herself into shapeware and a vintage dress with the hopes it would make her Kardashianesque rear end look its best? Doubtful.
“Just make the drink,” she told him.
“All right. But don’t say I didn’t warn you,” the man replied.
Warning taken. Whatever the warning was.
She didn’t know why she’d bothered attending this wedding in the first place. If Maria Borromeo hadn’t been one of the few people who was moderately friendly toward her, Susan would have canceled when her brother Linus backed out of being her date. No one would have cared then any more than they would care if she spent the entire reception sucking back gin cocktails in the bar.
She knew her reputation. Shrewsan, they called her when they didn’t think she was listening. It was no secret she was the least popular Collier at Collier’s Soap. Her brothers—half brothers, that is—inherited all the positive Collier traits. Things like the Collier charm and lanky athletic good looks. She, on the other hand, didn’t get the Collier anything. Nor did she get any of the good Quinn characteristics either, as her mother used to love pointing out. Except perhaps a passing resemblance to a great-aunt Ruth, the dumpy one.
The bartender returned with another red cocktail with an extra cherry this time. Susan forgave him for his earlier question. He was a good guy, Mr. Bartender. She liked how his red flannel shirt and neat white beard matched the Christmas decor.
“What do you call this thing anyway?” she asked him when he set the drink down. The cocktail list had been full of cute holiday-themed names that she hadn’t bothered to read, zeroing in on the first one that listed gin instead.
“A Christmas Wish,” he replied. “Guaranteed to make your wishes come true.”
Susan barked out a laugh. “You mean if I drink enough of these I’ll meet Prince Charming?”
“Is that what you want?”
“Hardly.” Clearly he wasn’t as good a listener as her cocktail friend. Cinderella Complexes were for the Gingers and Courtneys of the world. She was rich and successful in her own right, and her half brothers weren’t wicked. “I’m not waiting for some man to rush in and rescue me from my miserable existence.”
Although every once in a while…
She stared deep into the contents of the glass where tiny bubbles rose from the bottom. Every once in a while she wished there was someone who really understood her. Her brothers…they loved her, but great as they were, they didn’t really “get” her. They didn’t understand what it was like to be the perpetual square peg in a round hole, always pretending she fit.
How lovely it would be to share her life with someone who saw the truth. With whom she could fit without having to pretend. Who thought her beautiful and special, warts and all.
She was getting maudlin. And the room was spinning. Maybe the bartender was right and she’d had enough. Why else would she be wishing for things that weren’t ever going to happen?
“Hey, mate, do me a favor and get me a glass of soda water, will you?”
A tall, perfectly carved physical specimen of a man approached the bar, his face dripping wet. From the red stain on his shirt collar, Susan guessed he’d been the recipient of a Christmas Wish square in the face.
“Word of advice,” he said to the bartender, his words coated in a Yorkshire accent. “Before you agree to be in a wedding, make sure you haven’t hooked up with anyone on the guest list.”
“Ran into a bitter ex-girlfriend, did you?”
“Two. And they compared notes.” He grabbed a stack of cocktail napkins and began wiping the liquid from his face.
“Must have been some notes,” she muttered.
He looked in her direction for the first time. “You’re not going to lob your drink at me too, are you?”
“Why would I do that?”
“I dunno. Female solidarity or something. You’re here for Hank and Maria’s wedding, right? For all I know, they’re your friends too.”
“That would require me to have friends.” Had she said that out loud?
He arched his brow in a mixture of half surprise, half curiosity. Oh, well, too late to take the comment back now. Besides, it was the truth. She didn’t have friends. She had family, she had colleagues and she had acquaintances, but friends? That would involve allowing people closer than arm’s length, an impossible task when you were a square peg. It was hard enough trying to pretend your edges didn’t matter.
