Christmas Daddies Read online

I was a little taken aback to find that things were going well enough between Carolyn and her new guy that she’d agreed to fly out to New York with him over the holidays. In her emails Jenny was all for it, keen to impress on her mum that she’d be just fine spending Christmas up here with her new friends.

  Only there were no new friends. None close enough to be sharing a turkey dinner with, that was for certain.

  It was her emails to one of her university friends, a girl named Ellie, that provided me with the real diamonds of insight.

  In the latest email exchange Jenny had admitted how pitiful the holidays would be this year, all alone without family, and without the support of a friendship network. She’d shared pictures of her dire excuse for an apartment, with a cruddy little kitchenette and barely enough room for a grubby old sofa.

  I should have thought harder about the logistics of moving so far up the motorway for a trainee position. I should have given more consideration to the fact that her mother was clearly employed in a perfectly respectable, but likely low paid waitressing position at a seaside cafe.

  I couldn’t escape the way my asshole meter bleeped on high alert at an oversight I wouldn’t be making again in a hurry. Not that I regularly sought out university graduates from the other end of the country to take up trainee positions in my organisation.

  Ellie, clearly a decent friend, had offered her a seat at her Christmas table up in Scotland, but that solution was of no great use to Jenny. Instead she’d taken advantage of a compassionate ear across the ether.

  They managed to laugh about her microwavable options for a turkey dinner, and how Jenny should wrap up some of her own possessions to give the illusion that Santa had been.

  They hit me deep, the heartfelt woes of this girl so far away from home. Harder even than the way my dick tightened at some of the smiling happy selfies Jenny had sent her college buddy a few days prior.

  People thought I was a hard ass, and I could be. Often was, in fact, for the sake of business and keeping the company ploughing ahead in the right direction.

  But there was another side. A side very few people ever saw. A side even my ex-girlfriend had overlooked for the sake of whining on constantly about my exacting standards.

  I like to be needed. Relied upon. Trusted and respected and leaned on when times are hard.

  It was sad, but very true, that since my last relationship had shrivelled rotten and left a whole load of shit in its wake, I’d barely been close to anyone. My older brother was a banker down in London, with three bratty kids and a wife who stared down her nose at anyone who wasn’t driving a sports car. My younger sister had hooked up with some golfing pro and was jetting from country to country on his arm while he clocked up the tournament wins.

  My parents were the kind to pick my working life to pieces over dinner, despite not knowing anything about any of it.

  Christmas this year was going to be one major ball-ache. One miserable, snide, gripey, fucking ball-ache.

  I’d been dreading it for months, the idea of going through the motions as I chowed down on boiled sprouts and cranberry sauce at big brother’s grandiose dining table, but even for me the alternative seemed worse.

  Christmas alone.

  Alone in an empty house with nobody in the world to share the most magical day of the year with.

  I felt a pang in my gut and it had nothing to do with my dick this time. This time it was all for the sadness of poor little Jenny without anyone to share her Christmas morning.

  Not only that, but she’d be waking up in a place without space for a tree, let alone a decent Christmas spread.

  I relaxed back in my chair and stared again at her laptop screen, weighing up my options.

  I should bring up the unprofessional content of her documents folder and remind her that her work machine needs to adhere to company standards, but that wasn’t the foremost thought on my mind. Far from it.

  I should be keen to enforce the confines of our relationship, as boss and employee only, but my mind wasn’t on that either.

  I’d had her laptop on my desk for close to two full hours by the time I finally pushed myself to take action. The end of day was approaching and she undoubtedly had time sensitive work to complete before most of her colleagues would be checking out on annual leave.

  Jenny herself would be in for Christmas Eve tomorrow, I’d already checked her holiday file.

  And so would I.

  But still, that was beside the point, and so was the Secret Santa arrangement I’d already been thinking of adding to in light of her poor scant Christmas this time around.

  I made sure to log myself out of her machine and set it to sleep before I cleared my throat and dialled her internal extension.

  I made sure to keep my hands far away from my pants when her sweet little voice answered mine, unmistakeably trembling with nerves.

  “Come through to my office, please,” I told her sharply. “We need to discuss your laptop.”

  Her intake of breath was audible. “I’ll be right there, Mr Hart.”

  I had the chance to straighten my tie and regain some semblance of professionalism before she tapped at my office door.

  My voice was loud and low as I summoned her in, and her posture spoke volumes when she stepped inside. There was no doubt she suspected I was onto every single one of her dirty little secrets.

  She couldn’t meet my eyes as she closed the door behind her and took a seat opposite me. Her dainty fingers were twisted in her lap and her cheeks were flushed in the most delicious crimson.

  I picked up her laptop, and my dick pulsed like a cunt all over again when she flinched.

  I handed it across the desk without a word, straight into her shaking fingers.

  All the things I should be saying piled up in my throat, but not a single one of them would come.

  Instead I stared. Hard.

  I stared at the slip of a thing who’d written such filthy words about me and all I could see was a sweet little girl who needed to be taught a lesson.

  A lesson and other things.

  Plenty of other things.

  “I’m sorry, Mr Hart,” she whispered finally, not specifying exactly what she was sorry for.

  The meekness in her tone sealed my fate, and hers too.

  “It was a driver issue,” I told her. “Richard says you need to ensure you shut it down properly at the end of every day.”

  She nodded, and her eyes were wide when they finally met mine.

  “And that’s it? I can go?”

  I made her wait for it, savouring every single second of her amazement.

  And then, just as I thought I was about to dismiss her, my tongue had a mind of its own.

  “I checked out your annual leave file,” I said. “You’re not going back to Cornwall for Christmas this year, am I right?”

  Her eyes widened like saucers. “No, that’s right. My mum’s off to New York. I thought I’d stay to be available between Christmas and New Year.”

  “Good,” I lied. “Very conscientious. Have you any plans for Christmas Day?”

  Her saucer eyes nearly popped out of her head when I took one of my house keys from my keyring and slid it across the desk to her.

  She shook her head so very slowly. “No, nothing planned, sir.”

  Sir. I couldn’t hold back my smile.

  “I need to ask you something very personal,” I said.

  Chapter Seven

  Jenny

  Christmas had sure come early this year.

  I couldn’t believe my luck, gawping like a slack-jawed fool across the desk at Mr Hart.

  I’d escaped. Avoided the impending doom and a desperate stint of job hunting in the new year.

  My dice with unemployment still had my nerves on fire, but the euphoria crashing in on top was intense enough to wash over the lot of it.

  Intense enough that I could have kissed him, deep and hard and breathlessly, in relief as much as adoration.

  I did nothi
ng, of course, just stared from him to the key sitting on the desk between us, waiting for him to elaborate on what the hell the something very personal was he needed to ask me.

  Thank you, Lord, I’d already scored lucky enough for one day. I couldn’t even hope. Dared not hope.

  A date? Dinner? A trip round to his place for Netflix and turkey sandwiches?

  I was game for anything. Everything.

  “I’m away at my brother’s place for Christmas,” he told me. “London. I’ll be gone a few days.”

  I nodded, cringing at the knowledge of how goofy my smile must be.

  “I need a house sitter.” His eyes grabbed mine and held tight.

  My voice sounded so pathetic when it came. “A house sitter?”

  His nod was definite. “Yes, Miss Morris. A house sitter.”

  I tried to soak the request in. “You want me to stay at your house?”

  His sigh told me how impressed he was with my slow uptake. “Yes, Jenny, I’d like you to stay at my house in my absence over the Christmas period. If you think you can handle that.”

  I felt my eyebrows scrunch, because I may have been feeling pretty dazed right then, but I was sure Mr Hart lived on the fancy estate out by the bypass, and I was also pretty sure those parts weren’t a home invader hotspot. He’d be quite unlucky to get a burst pipe while he was out of town, or have the place burn down on Christmas day, so the need for a sitter seemed quite drastic.

  “Have you got a plant that needs watering or something?” I quizzed with a dumbass little smirk, then hated myself for even questioning his request. I should’ve snatched up that key fast enough to give me whiplash.

  An awkward pause. So awkward I almost laughed just to break the tension.

  “A cat,” he said, just like that. “I have a cat.”

  I must have still had that stupid smirk on my face, because his eyes narrowed hard on mine.

  He cleared his throat and the severity of his glare dried my humour right up.

  “I need someone to take care of my personal affairs in my absence, Jenny. I’m asking if I can rely on you to be that person over the holiday period. Are you up to the job or do I need to look elsewhere?”

  Butterflies.

  So many they were crashing into each other.

  His eyes were light and piercing, and his brows were heavy, and he was serious and steely and everything that made me gooey inside.

  “I can be that person, Mr Hart,” I told him and meant it. “What do you need me to do?”

  I felt his smile in all the places I shouldn’t. All the places that had nearly got me fired in the first place.

  “Tomorrow,” he told me. “Pack anything you’ll be needing for the holidays, and once we’re done with our Secret Santa shenanigans I’ll drop you around at mine and we’ll get you settled in for the break. I’ll make sure the fridge is stocked up and I’ll be sure to give you a bonus for your overtime.”

  I shook my head. “No need for overtime, sir. I’ll be happy to help.”

  His expression was deadpan. “Overtime wages are obligatory, Jenny. What I’m asking is above the call of duty by anyone’s standards.”

  I was tempted to pinch myself, just to make sure I hadn’t actually knocked myself out on my desk and this wasn’t a blissful hallucination.

  The key felt real enough in my palm once I picked it up.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  And that was it. A curt nod of his head told me the conversation was done and I was free to go.

  It took me a few long seconds to compose myself enough to get to my feet and grab my laptop. I was grinning all the way across the room as I retreated, walking backwards like an idiot until my shoulders slammed into his office door.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jenny,” he said as I wrangled the door open.

  “Thank you,” I said, again. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr Hart.”

  I took a deep gulp of air as his door clicked closed behind me, gathering my frayed edges before even attempting to resume my work activities like life was anything near normal.

  Life was anything but normal.

  I’d be spending Christmas day at Mr Hart’s house. His actual house.

  With his actual things and his actual cat and an actual Christmas turkey in the fridge.

  I’m sure his cat would appreciate a turkey roast too, so technically I wouldn’t even be alone for dinner.

  It was weird, the cat thing. I mean, weird but not weird. Half of the population have a cat as a pet, and don’t they say that most cats have three homes or something? Like feline timeshare.

  So no, it wasn’t weird that there’d be a cat at Mr Hart’s house, I just couldn’t imagine him owning one. He didn’t seem the type.

  Like I had a single clue what kind of type of anything Mr Hart was. Aside from a demon in the bedroom, that is, courtesy of the office gossip I’d gratefully received earlier.

  I wondered if his cat was one of those pedigree things with a flat face that would hate me on sight and attack my toes every five minutes. Maybe it would try to suffocate me in my sleep.

  Or maybe it was a big brute of a tom cat, who didn’t give a shit for anyone just so long as his food bowl was topped up high.

  I had no idea, but there was no doubt I’d be excited as a pig in shit to find out. I hoped it would like me.

  I hoped he would like me too, once he realised that I was a great house sitter and didn’t leave so much as a stray crumb behind on his kitchen worktop.

  Maybe he’d let me house sit again someday. Maybe this would become a regular thing, me holed up with his cat while he was jetting off around the world on business affairs.

  Maybe there’d even be some crossover — him grabbing a morning shower before heading away and me just happening to stumble on in to steal a look at his steamy butt cheeks.

  I was getting carried away. Very carried away.

  Carried away enough that I could feel a whole new story forming. Screw Christmas Daddy, hello Night At Mr Hart’s House.

  I fed your cat, sir, now feed my pussy.

  First time anal with the house sitter.

  No.

  No, no, no. Definitely not. No way.

  I should’ve learned my lesson. Had learned my lesson. Just as soon as I got home for the evening I was going to wipe the whole load of it from Jenny’s Stuff and store the fruits of my deviant imagination somewhere safer.

  Like Mars or some distant asteroid, or more realistically a cloud drive somewhere.

  Anywhere Mr Hart would never, ever get access to it.

  I’d had a close enough call for a lifetime already.

  And at least one thing was clear in my dippy brain, finally, for once and for all, beyond any doubt I may be under while my fingers were playing twiddle-de-dumbass with my clitoris,

  I really didn’t really want Mr Hart to read my fantasies. Not in real life.

  There’s no way he’d have invited me to hole up at his place cat sitting if he had. He wouldn’t have allowed me within a fifty-mile radius of his personal space if he knew the filth I’d been dreaming up about him.

  Kristina was grimacing with crossed fingers when I reappeared at my desk. I gave her a nod and wiped my brow and she let out a whoop that saw Kay jump out of her chair.

  “Laptop fixed?” my confidante asked with a wink.

  I gave her an almighty grin. “All fixed, no harm done.”

  “Sweet,” she told me. “I left my personal email on a sticky note. Make sure you send the goods later.”

  I felt like an asshole as I slipped that sticky note into a desk drawer with no intention of delivering, but I was turning over a new leaf.

  A professional leaf.

  Christmas at Mr Hart’s place was a shining light in the bleakness of a very cruddy holiday season.

  And I’d be good.

  Really good.

  I’d be enjoying a furry friend and Christmas songs and a couch that wasn’t lumpy.r />
  And definitely not checking out Mr Hart’s underwear drawer and snooping around the place for kinky sex toys.

  Not once, not even for a little while.

  I smiled to myself.

  Okay, maybe one little peek, but that would definitely be all.

  Happy Christmas to me.

  Chapter Eight

  Jackson

  I couldn’t believe the depth of my own insanity. One afternoon of reading the girl’s dirty fantasies had me like acting like a crazy man, concocting some irrational story of my own just to get her into my house for the holidays.

  Jesus wept. Or laughed. Probably the latter.

  I’d left the office earlier than usual, my to-do list suddenly a damn sight longer now I had this ridiculous scheme to pull off.

  I hadn’t bothered decorating this year. No tree, no fairy lights, no Christmas snacks in the pantry.

  And, most significantly of all, no fucking cat.

  I groaned to myself as I headed down the pet food aisle of my local supermarket. I’d never had a pet. No dog, no budgerigar, not even a token goldfish when I was a boy. And certainly no bastard cat.

  It had been a moment of absolute madness. Her silly girlish smirk had poked a nerve, making me feel like a hypochondriac imbecile who couldn’t bear to leave his precious house unattended.

  I should have rolled with it, not least because I don’t like liars and certainly don’t like being the one doing the lying. Even if it was a preposterous little mistruth driven by nothing other than the need for a believable house sitting requirement.

  I guessed I should have seen this coming. If it hadn’t been the dirty laptop slip up, it would have been something else.

  I’d been stalking her mother’s social media for twelve months straight, just to keep sight of the sweet little beauty who’d captured both my dick and my imagination. I could barely be bothered to keep up to date with my genuine associates’ social media accounts, yet for Jenny Morris I’d found my thumb wandering up and down my timeline at least three times daily.

  More often than not, I’d found it wandering up and down my cock every night afterward too.

  I’d known the time was coming that she’d be looking for a training placement after university.