Christmas With Cassandra: A Billionaire Holiday Tale Read online

  Nadia had a special surprise waiting for her when she finally decided to join Eva out in the main room of the studio apartment. There she was, a stunning Irish beauty with her (wet) tangled red hair covering her soft shoulders and a large blue towel wrapped snugly around her curvy body. For a moment Eva was so gobsmacked by the woman she spent most of her nights with that she almost forgot how she looked.

  Because Eva Warren knew how to throw down a gauntlet. The moment Nadia turned around, tossing her smutty paperback on the end of the bed, she was treated to quite the sight: Eva, dressed in nothing but a sheer T-shirt and the strap-on tied snugly around her waist. She lay across her bed as if she were bored – but in reality, she anticipated the look of surprise on her girlfriend’s freckled face.

  “Hi,” Nadia said. “What the fuck is in that thing?”

  “Come over here and find out.”

  Nadia dropped her towel and stood in nothing but the skin she was born with. Her nipples were already hard. Eva liked to think it was from the towel rubbing against them, and she would be right. Really, really right.

  One thing Eva could appreciate, even if she was too daft to appreciate anything else right now? The fact that Nadia had no trepidation crawling onto the bed with a silly grin on her face. As much as she didn’t want to, Eva thought of Cassandra and the kind of sex they used to have. Nothing too inspired, to be sure. Cassandra always wanted a separate fantasy from Nadia. Nadia wanted the emotional fantasy, and Cassandra wanted the physical one – the one where Eva wasn’t the woman she so loved to be.

  Nadia, on the other hand, was obsessed with Eva’s feminine body and what she could do with it. There was nothing to be jealous of about that.

  Cassandra could think whatever the fuck she wanted when she eventually saw Eva so happy with this voluptuous woman kissing her. Cassandra’s opinion didn’t fucking matter anymore!

  Scene 4

  The Coles

  While Jasmine Cole didn’t believe in “too early for Christmas music,” she did give herself a self-imposed ban on it until after Thanksgiving. And ever since Thanksgiving, Jasmine Cole had played nothing but Christmas music to keep herself perpetually in the mood.

  This meant husband Ethan had long run out of patience. Right around December 3rd, actually, when the Manheim Steamroller CD played for exactly the 24th time. So while his wife busied herself with tasks and listened to the same songs over and over again, he took to wearing headphones around his own house, particularly when he was working in his office – because he could hear the loud Christmas music even in there, and a man could only tolerate so much of his own wife’s tomfoolery.

  At least Jasmine was the pinnacle of beauty that otherwise dreary December day. She sat at the large coffee table in the den, making handmade Christmas cards for their closest friends and family – a project she had started with gusto two days ago and continued to indulge in with a smile on her face. Ethan hadn’t quite known the extent of his wife’s love for crafty things. Until three days ago, when Jasmine opened a trunk full of old projects, he had never even heard of scrapbooking. Yet when Jasmine later returned from the city with bags full of supplies, he decided to just go along with it. On his dime.

  Since Jasmine was distracted by anything but her husband, Ethan had the run of their wing of the small manor they shared up in the Hills. As long as he kept his large headphones on and made sure Spotify played correctly on his smartphone.

  Most people would find them the pinnacle of seasonally romantic, even though they did not interact for most of this afternoon in question. But they had quickly become the kind of couple who were always aware of the other’s presence. Ethan spent more than an hour in his office, answering emails and holding conference calls before the end of the year was upon him and all of his associates were scattered across the globe for family vacations. Even so, he knew when his wife was in the den and when she had gone downstairs to bother the staff or to look for one of their several cats. (The one she was looking for was currently in Ethan’s office, curled up on a pillow in the windowsill overlooking the garden. Ethan would never tell his wife that he had decided this particular cat was his. She would fight him over it, and it wasn’t a fight worth having. Most days.) Likewise, Jasmine knew when her husband was about to enter the den to search for books kept by the fireplace. The man was already talking about renovating his office to add more bookshelves. While his office at work was sparse and pristine, his office here at home was a giant (organized) mess. Spillover had occurred two months before, and that spillover caused him to wander in and out of the den whether or not Jasmine was in there.

  She was at this particular time. Scissors meticulously cut yellow felt into stars before they were glued onto red cardstock. A thick black pen wrote holiday messages, claiming to be from both Jasmine and husband Ethan. He would be expected to at least sign his name on them, and he supposed he was fine with that. (In theory, he was, but within another day he would be presented with a stack of twenty cards and wonder what he had gotten himself into.)

  Ethan had happened to step into the den, on the hunt for a book detailing Brazilian business manners, when his wife received the call that would change the whole tone of their day.

  As it so happened, it was also the moment his favorite album of 2016 began to play on Spotify.

  “Hey!” Jasmine greeted, the ringtone she set for Nadia Gaines dissipating the moment she hit Accept. “I was just making a Christmas card for you and Eva! You guys like tinsel, right?”

  As usual, when Nadia called one of her best friends, she had no idea how to respond to Jasmine’s strange greetings. Because who answered the phone with a mere Hi! anymore? “Uh, yeah, sure. Tinsel’s fine. The hell are you doing with tinsel, though?”

  Jasmine picked up a gob of tinsel before one of the cats could turn it into an unfortunate lunch. It still was not that cat she had been looking for earlier. (For why would she think to look in Ethan’s office? She never went in there when he wasn’t present, anyway.) “Like I just said, I’m making Christmas cards, duh.”

  “Oh, of course.”

  Jasmine put the finishing touches on the calligraphy she carefully created on the card in front of her. “So what’s up? Did Eva’s parents drop by early for Christmas and try to figure out your religious background again?”

  If Jasmine could see her friend on the other end of the line, she would see Nadia gritting her teeth and shifting awkwardly in the dining room chair she called her perch in Eva’s studio apartment. “They refuse to accept that my parents both come from Catholic stock. I thought that would go over better than the Jewish thing, but those people will find any reason to call me wanting. Besides…” Wait, why was Nadia entertaining this idiocy? This wasn’t why she called Jasmine! “Never mind. I actually don’t have a lot of time to talk, but I wanted to ask you something.”

  That certainly piqued Jasmine’s interest. “What?”

  “Have you heard of someone named Cassandra Welsh?”

  Jasmine searched for that name in the depths of her memory. In truth, she had probably heard of someone named Cassandra before. God knew Jasmine had met a million heiresses and their mothers over the past several months. Most of them had been invited to her wedding that June. Some of them still tried to invite her to their brunches and garden parties.

  So it was entirely possible that she had heard the name Cassandra Welsh in passing. But she knew for a fact that such a name had not been on her wedding guest list, and she would be right in assuming she had never met someone named Cassandra recently, let alone since she started seeing Ethan as more than the boss she slept with.

  “Nooooo,” Jasmine admitted. “That name doesn’t ring a bell.”

  It would’ve ringed her husband’s bell, but Ethan could neither hear his wife’s conversation nor anything but the album thrumming in his headphones. He occasionally looked over his shoulder at her while he continued to peruse his bookshelves, but as far as he was concerned, his wife was talking about Christ
mas and the families coming to visit.

  “Oh, boy.”

  “What is it?” Jasmine set aside the recently completed card and picked up green cardstock. “An ex of yours?”

  “No ex of mine. More like an ex of your husband’s.”

  Jasmine dropped her scissors before the first incision could be made. “Come again? I don’t recall him dating anyone named Cassandra.” She looked at Ethan, who was still oblivious to his wife’s conversation. While Jasmine was aware of many of the women her husband had dated over the past few years – including his business partner, of all people – she did not know a Cassandra. Had Ethan ever mentioned one? (No.) Was she the kind of woman he would normally be into? (Not at all.) Was she someone he would fondly talk about? (Absolutely not.)

  Well, that didn’t leave Jasmine many options on the hunt for this woman’s identity. Now that the name was planted in her head, it would grow until she had a face, a voice, and a personality to associate with it.

  “She was before you came into the picture.” Before Jasmine could give her friend a testy obviously, Nadia continued. “About a year before he hired you, right around when I started working for him. Anyway, this wasn’t one of the women he hired to be his secretary. This was someone he dated in between secretaries.”

  Nadia was the only other person who could flippantly talk about her boss’s dating life, let alone from the days before Jasmine. While it was no secret that Jasmine was originally a personal assistant hired to both work and play with the boss, their relationship had obviously grown to the point where they could now say they had been happily married for six months. Nevertheless, other women had existed who weren’t so lucky when it came to dating Ethan. One was infamous for spitting on him right in front of Jasmine. But that woman wasn’t named Cassandra.

  “Go on.” Jasmine kept a leveled gaze on her husband.

  “Cassandra is one of the only heirs to the Welsh fortune. You at least know of the Welshes, yeah?”

  What an unnecessary question. Jasmine was not the best when it came to remembering who was who around the country club, but she knew all the biggest players, including the Welshes – a family that hadn’t done much in the way of introducing themselves to her yet. They seemed to prefer to keep to themselves, like the Alisons and the Winchesters.

  “I know of them, yes.”

  “Cassandra is rather legendary around these parts. It’s rumored she’s slept with every rich guy under the age of forty. Before she moved to Seattle a year ago.”

  “That so? Lucky girl.”

  “I guess. But that includes your husband.”

  “So?” Jasmine couldn’t afford to get jealous every time she heard of a woman having had carnal relations with Ethan. He had been quite candid about his wandering dick. Wasn’t like Jasmine was Virgin Mary when they met, either. As long as he remained loyal to her in their relationship, Jasmine’s ability to give a flying fuck was next to nil – besides, this was the man who currently considered one ex-girlfriend his important business partner and another one of his closest friends. What. Ever.

  “Cassandra isn’t your usual ex-girlfriend material,” Nadia said. She would know, too, having been on the front line of seeing who Ethan dated for a good many months. “Let’s just say she’s even slept with Eva.”

  “And Adrienne the Ex-girlfriend-almost-fiancée has also slept with Ethan. So what?”

  Nadia sighed. “Come on, Jas, I’m trying to help you out here. This woman’s an omnivore. There’s a reason she has the reputation that she does.” She then lowered her voice. “There’s a rumor that she moved because she had a miscarriage.”

  “Well we know it can’t be Ethan’s.” The man had a vasectomy long before any Cassandra could’ve been in the picture. “That’s pretty juicy, though.”

  “It’s just a rumor. Trust me when I say she’s been with everyone.”

  “Everyone? Even like…” Jasmine pulled the first big name to come out of her ass. “Ian Mathers?”

  “Yup. They were pretty infamous, actually. Always partying.”

  “Henry Warren?”

  “Of course! How do you think she met his sister?”

  “That’s fucked up.”

  “There’s a reason they joke that incest is best in the big world. Women shopping for husbands will jump from brother to brother. Or, you know, brother to son.”

  “That’s fucked up.”

  “I wouldn’t be shocked if Monica knew a lot about her. I’m pretty sure Cassandra was a regular at her place of business.”

  “Is she bi or something?”

  “No idea. All I know is that for the longest time she devoured anyone with money. Who moved, obviously.”

  “And why are you telling me about her?”

  “Because the rumor is that she’s coming back to town for Christmas, and the bloodbath is going to be miraculous.”

  Out of the corner of Jasmine’s eye, Ethan swayed back and forth before the bookshelf closest to his wife. Lips moved with soundless lyrics. Were his eyes closing? What the fuck? Jasmine had never seen him acting like this before. This was Mr. Stoic, although one would suppose he was letting loose today if he was wearing jeans and a T-shirt around the house. (Yes, that was “letting loose”.) “Bloodbath, you say?”

  “Not everyone is as understanding as you are when it comes to your husband’s past loves. There’s going to be a lot of jealousy boiling over at the Christmas Gala.”

  “You still going to that?”

  “Hell yes! After finding out Cassandra’s back in town? I wouldn’t miss that shit for the world.”

  “Speaking of people who are understanding of past loves…”

  “Hey, I’m not a fan of the woman. Apparently she played with more than my girlfriend’s body when they dated. I wouldn’t mind giving her a piece of my mind, but I have a feeling there will be plenty of others in line ahead of me.”

  “Any idea who the father of this supposed baby is?”

  “Not a clue. You should ask Monica. If anyone knows, it’s her.”

  Jasmine wasn’t sure she was into that idea, simply because she did her best to stay out of gossip that had nothing to do with her. She didn’t know who this Cassandra was, nor did she have any desire to embarrass herself with speculation about some young, apparently troubled heiress. Because that’s what Jasmine automatically assumed after hearing so little about Cassandra Welsh. She must have been troubled if she was going from man to man (and some women) in search of whatever it was she desired to have. From the way Nadia talked about her, Jasmine doubted it was just sex.

  Although she would be tempted to chase Ethan down for nothing but dirty sex. She often did that anyway… even when he was acting weird with his headphones and his ass wiggling to whatever it was he listened to.

  She caught his eye. “Who you talking to?” he mouthed in Jasmine’s direction.

  “Nadia,” she mouthed back.

  Ethan’s face ran the gamut between not wanting to know any more and deciding to totally fuck with his wife. “Did she get her bonus yet?” he asked way too loudly. Someone wanted to hear himself talk over his music.

  Jasmine repeated the question to her friend. Then she had the great honor of relaying to Ethan, “She still hasn’t got it yet. But is she supposed to get it so soon?”

  By then, Ethan already had his headphones on again. Mostly because he had found the book he was looking for and was heavily distracted for five more seconds.

  “He didn’t answer you, did he?” Nadia asked.

  “No, he’s too busy listening to music and looking for some book.”

  “Ethan Cole? Listening to music?”

  “Right?” Even Jasmine forgot that her husband often partook in the simpler pleasures of life. (That weren’t sex, anyway.) “No idea what he’s listening to. I’m assuming some Italian opera.” But did men often sway back and forth like that to Italian operas? Jasmine didn’t think so. Not that she knew anything about what men did with the music they listened
to.

  Ethan looked back over his shoulder and mouthed something incomprehensible.

  “Huh?”

  He did it again, this time with more exaggerated mouth movements.

  “Excuse me?”

  Ethan held up his phone, waggled his eyebrows, and unplugged his headphones.

  Carly Rae Jepson blasted through the den.

  Jasmine shot back in her chair with a big enough cry of surprise to alarm Nadia on the other end of her phone call. It was also big enough to send some of her cardstock flying across the large table she worked at.

  About once a year Ethan allowed himself to completely let go of his self-imposed rules that prevented him from fully enjoying his life as he continued to experience it. This was a man who had grown up in a low-class family and had to teach himself every rule, every set of manners he was expected to know as he ascended from billionaire to business godhood. Such trappings were difficult to throw off after a while. But since marrying his wife, Ethan had better learned how to let go and indulge in some harmless fun every once in a while.

  Like lip-syncing a ridiculous pop song while gyrating his hips in Jasmine’s direction.

  “Holy shit!” Jasmine almost dropped her phone with every pelvic thrust threatening the side of her head. “Are you nuts? Who are you? What have you done with my husband?”

  “What’s going on?” Nadia asked.

  “Your boss is losing his shit to ‘I Really Like You!’”

  “Ewww!”

  Ethan lowered his lips to Jasmine’s ears. “Tell her the image she has in her head is the real price of her Christmas bonus this year.” He then resumed the pelvic thrusting and the over-the-top lip-syncing of Carly Rae Jepson’s hit follow-up to “Call Me Maybe.” The book he had been in such a hunt for remained on the table.

  “I’ve gotta go,” Nadia suddenly announced. “You have fun with that.”