All He Wants this Christmas_A single-dad Holiday Romance Read online

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any for, including electronic or mechanical, without the written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictional manner. Any resemblances to persons, living or dead or actual events are coincidental.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with an additional person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not buy it, or it was not purchased for your use only, you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Copyright 2017 by Claire Woods©

  [email protected]

  Cover Design & Interior formatting by J.P. Designs

  Edited by Liz Sullivan

  Proofreading by: On Pointe Proofreading

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  For all the single mothers struggling this holiday season; there are good men out there—don't quit looking for yours.

  Merry Christmas XXX,

  Claire

  December 2015

  “DON’T FORGET MY COMPANY PARTY tonight in Midtown.”

  I half listen to Tony as I scramble around trying to find Luca’s missing shoe. His bus will be here any minute, and I can’t find the damn thing anywhere.

  “Kate? Kate! Are you even listening?”

  “Sure… ”

  I bend down checking under the couch, remembering Luca was playing video games in here last night.

  Success. It’s there, but it’s way under. My arms are long, but I can’t quite reach it. Only by hoisting my ass in the air and contorting my body, are my fingers able to brush against a lace and pull it out.

  I half expect Tony to smack my rear while it’s on display—right in front of his face. He never could resist. He’s a total ass guy.

  But between his job, my determination to have a career of my own, renovating the house, and raising a five-year-old—our sex life’s been on the back burner.

  Most nights I fall into bed, too exhausted to even think about it.

  “…and Steve will be there with his wife, Jean. I need to make partner Kate. Chat up his wife for me… ”

  The chugging of the school bus coming up the hill has me darting past him to grab Luca’s backpack.

  “LUCA! It’s time to go!”

  He begrudgingly comes downstairs. I shove on his sneakers while holding the front door open, waving frantically to the driver. I wait until Luca’s safely on the bus, before turning back to Tony. “What were you saying?”

  “Never mind.”

  He turns grabbing the keys to his new Range Rover walking away from me without a backward glance.

  “Come on Tony, don’t be like this. You know how crazy mornings are. I have lunches and snacks to pack, school forms to cram into folders, PTA shit to organize… all while juggling my own work emails that start pinging my inbox before seven.”

  “You think I give shit? That was your choice, Kate. I never wanted you to go back to work—when my bonus is twice your goddamn salary!”

  “It’s not about the money. Why can’t you get that? I need this for me… to feel sane. I need to do more than bake cupcakes for school fundraisers!”

  He takes a few steps towards me pointing a finger. “No. I don’t understand. I never will. Do you know how many women would trade places with you in a second? To have a husband that provides so well—they’ll never have to work another day in their life?”

  “No, Tony. I don’t know. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

  My body shakes… my left eye twitches. We’ve had this argument a hundred times with neither of us conceding.

  “I wish you could just be like all the other partners’ wives. They welcome spending their husbands’ money to keep themselves up. Why don’t you get your hair and nails done? Buy some sexy lingerie while you’re at it. Hell, it wouldn’t hurt to make a goddamn hot meal—a home cooked one! We’ve had take-out for five days in a row!”

  “I’m not a damn trophy wife!”

  “No. No, you aren’t.”

  “Fuck off Tony!”

  “Gladly.”

  He turns on his heel, slamming the door.

  He doesn’t understand me.

  Maybe he never did.

  My eyes move to the living room wall where a picture of the two of us beaming on our wedding day hangs. It seems as if that moment was captured a million years ago—not seven.

  How did I get here? Living in a prestigious neighborhood in the suburbs of New Jersey, married to a successful man like Tony, feeling trapped instead of grateful?

  I’m misunderstood. Lonely.

  Sighing, I eye the dishes on the counter. I’m already going to be late for work as it is. I’ll deal with them later.

  The lights from New York City are so bright—what should be a dark sky, is lit for miles, especially this time of year. Twinkling lights nestled in garland wrap around every street post. Fancy hotels have Christmas trees garnishing their entrances. Charity workers stand on street corners ringing bells for the Salvation Army. I adjust my faux-fur wrap around my shoulders, anxious to see Tony’s reaction when he sees me.

  I hate it when we fight, so I ended up working for only half the day, before racing to my best friend Jen’s salon. I want to surprise him by looking glamorous tonight. Hell, I even splurged on a new cocktail dress. Although I’m still pissed by how he belittled my career, I know there was a time when we were happy. We were crazy in love and had sex three times a day—even after Luca was born.

  I want that back.

  I want us back.

  Maybe it’s time to slow down and try to get pregnant again.

  The Uber driver pulls up to the enormous skyscraper where Tony’s firm resides. The party’s in the ballroom of a b
outique hotel next door. With a smile for the doorman who ushers me in, I check my wrap, texting Tony I’ve arrived.

  “Kate? Congrats, on Tony’s promotion.” He greets me with two air kisses as I turn around.

  “Hello Steve, I didn’t know it was a done deal.”

  “We informed him this morning… deciding to make it official before Christmas.”

  “That’s wonderful. I need to find my husband. He’s wanted this for a long time.”

  “He deserves it. Tony’s a hard worker.”

  “Yes, he is.” I murmur looking over his shoulder into the crowded room where a sea of silky dresses cling to yoga perfected bodies.

  “Champagne?”

  “Why not?”

  The cold bubbles tickle my tongue as I sip from the crystal flute continuing the hunt for Tony.

  I can’t believe he didn’t call or text. He typically stays pissed at me for much longer than I think is normal after a fight, but not sharing this news—tells me we are even more disconnected than I thought.

  Hopefully, he’ll take one look at me in this dress, and we’ll race home to make up and maybe make that baby we’ve been thinking about.

  “Tony?”

  My heels sink into the plush carpet covering the wing where his office is. I searched the crowd for over thirty minutes before giving up. It dawned on me that he could’ve come back here. Maybe he left his phone on his desk by mistake. He’s notorious for misplacing things.

  “Oh, baby… god y-yesss! I’m so close Becky.”

  I can hear him coming, but he can’t hear me coming.

  My heart’s pounding out of my chest.

  This can’t be happening.

  But it is, and I can’t tear my eyes away.

  Tony’s pants are around his ankles. He has one hand wrapped around her head guiding her mouth up and down while the other one holds the end of his dress shirt out of the way. The muscles in his ass clench. I know he’s close—but he won’t be coming.

  I’m not going to let that happen.

  She moves one hand down to cup his balls. And it hits me—they’ve done this before. She knew exactly what to do and when.

  Tony loves having his balls jingled just like bells on a sleigh. I’m torn between sprinting over there and smacking the shit out of him or just leaving gracefully to plan my escape—from him and what’s left of this farce of a marriage.

  I bend down and slide a heel off, chucking it at him. Thanks to years of playing varsity softball, it hits him squarely in the ass.

  “What the fuck?” He turns mid-stroke with wide eyes, “Kate?”

  “Surprised baby?”

  My eyes move past him to her, pouting like a petulant child who just had a candy cane ripped from her mouth.

  I want to scream; curse them both to hell and back, but the words are stuck in my throat. He’s not just a boyfriend I can dump and cry over while downing a pint of ice cream. He’s my husband, the father of my child—the man who swore he’d be my forever.

  But everything’s changed now, and I’m not sure there is anything left to salvage—even for Luca’s sake.

  I turn on my heel and race down the hall uncaring that I left one shoe behind. This isn’t a Cinderella story—it’s a nightmare. Through a flood of tears, I hail a cab, wondering what the hell I’m going to say to my little boy when he asks why I’m home before his bedtime.

  Present day…

  “I WANT A PUPPY FOR CHRISTMAS. Pleez dad? I've been good, haven't I?"

  I stare down at his head feeling my heart squeeze in my chest. The past two years have taken a toll on him. When his mom and I split, he didn't speak for two weeks.

  “I'll think about it. Okay, Tommy?”

  “That means NO!" He shouts, stomping his foot and running up the stairs.

  I chug my protein shake yelling out, "You're gonna be late for school!”

  “I don't care!” He answers followed by the slam of a door.

  The school bus honks. I'm gonna be late for work... again.

  Shit.

  Sighing, I finish packing up his lunch of homemade Italian meatballs and pasta. I add a carton of organic milk and place two sugar cookies in before zipping it up and putting it in his Minion backpack. I sigh, seeing his chicken scratch writing inside. He's been struggling in Kindergarten. Tiff blames me, and I blame her.

  I open the hall closet, pulling on my fleece-lined bomber jacket. Late November in North Bergen, New Jersey can go either way. Some days turn your nuts to icicles while others make your balls sweat. With a view of Manhattan across the water, it's a popular place for commuters who have kids to live. For me, it was an excellent place to buy a home while building my home renovation business.

  This town is full of old homes people with new money are looking to buy and turn into palaces. It also kept my ex-wife happy, since she was only a ferry ride or Uber into the greatest city in the world.

  Sighing, I pick up my keys and hit the remote start button. Judging by the thick layer of ice crusted on my windshield—today is gonna be an icicle day. I grab Tommy's ski cap and a pair of mittens before gingerly climbing the stairs.

  I'm thirty-six, six-foot-four and weigh two-hundred and forty pounds, but I tip-toe around my five-year-old son like I'm walking on eggshells.

  "Tommy?" I knock lightly on the door before slowly cracking it open.

  He sits with his arms crossed on the bed while angry tears spurt from his eyes.

  "Tommy... aww, buddy. I'm sorry little dude. I promise I'll think about it for real, okay?"

  "Really?"

  "Really."

  "Cool. I want a German Shepard. I already have his name picked out."

  "Oh yeah?"

  "Ranger. I just know he'd protect me from Luca."

  "Who is Luca?" My eyebrows raise, and my voice drops low... dangerously low.

  "Oh, he's just a third grader. He's on my bus and well..."

  "Well, WHAT?" I run a hand through my hair, "I'm sorry Tommy, but if someone's bothering you—I need to know about it."

  His shoulders drop, "He calls me baby booger breath. None of the other kids will sit with me on the bus. Sometimes he picks his nose and flings boogers at me."

  "Did you tell the bus monitor?"

  "There's no monitor anymore."

  "What?"

  "Come on, Dad. Everyone's heard about the budget cuts."

  I stare incredulously at him while he rolls his eyes at me and picks up his backpack, "I don't want to be late. I have PE today."

  And just like that, he went from acting like a five to a fifteen-year-old.

  “... I KNOW CHET. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. I'm confident we'll win the account. I polished up the presentation last night. If the hospital goes with our software, they could save thousands on the billing errors alone."

  "We need this one Kate. Do I need to remind you that your yearly performance meeting is in January, right after the holidays?"

  He hangs up, and I feel myself start to sweat. I can't miss this meeting. My job and finances are both on the line.

  "Shit!" I hit a pothole in the road, spilling cheap gas station coffee everywhere.

  "Shit!" He giggles in the backseat.

  "Luca Antonio Gilletti! Watch your mouth!"

  It's not even nine and already the day has turned hectic. "Friggin' great," I mutter. The drop-off line is twenty cars deep, and the clock's ticked down to ten minutes.

  "Friggin' great," he echoes from the backseat.

  "LUCA!" This time, his name’s a yell.

  Through the windshield, I lock eyes with a mom I recognize from the PTA. She’s holding her child's hand as they cross the bus lane in front of my car. She shoots me a nasty frown as she passes. I give her a quick wave with one hand while giving the middle finger with my other from below the dash. She’s got a Burberry coat on with shiny black Hunter boots. Her platinum hair is perfect; just like her. How does she do it? Does she wake-up at five and get a blow-out?

  I unclip
my seat belt and turn, "Luca, sweetie. I have a very important meeting this morning, so I need to let you out here. You can walk in by yourself, right? The door is right there."

  "Duh, I'm a third-grader. I think I can handle it."

  "Great. I love you."

  But he doesn't say it back.

  He just pushes the backdoor open and walks away without even a wave.

  The ache in my chest grows. What happened to the sweet boy I rocked and held? I know he's still in there, but lately, he's been acting up. I blame his father Tony, who in-turn, blames me.

  Lost in my thoughts, I start to pull out on auto-pilot. My hands hook the wheel, and I scream stabbing the brakes with my foot. I almost rammed right into a father walking his son in the crosswalk.

  My heart pounds, my lips tremble.

  I could've killed them.

  The tall man’s scowl causes me to shrink back in my seat. I bow my head trying to regain some composure when a tap on the window makes me jump.

  It's the principal.

  She's pissed.

  But not as pissed, as the giant man standing behind her clutching a little boy’s hand while tears stream down his cherub cheeks. He’s focused on his son and won’t even look over at me. He’s ruggedly handsome and built like an ox. I can’t tear my eyes away, there’s nothing hotter to me than a strong, man protecting his kid.

  "Yes? Mrs. Jones?"

  "Ms. Gilletti—I need a word."

  "I can't. I have a meeting ...” I trail off as the man stiffens listening to my response. My eyes cut to the dash—9:15.

  I'm screwed.

  I might be fired, and Christmas is going to be anything but "merry" this year.

  I ALMOST TORE THAT KID’S HEAD OFF. I dropped Tommy off at school and witnessed some older kid pick up a handful of slush and chuck it at my boy’s head.

  I threw my truck in park right in the middle of the damn road and crossed the icy terrain in my heavy work boots, making it in three seconds flat.

  Mrs. Jones saved that kid from the scolding he's apparently not getting at home.

  My hand lifts the paper cup that the secretary filled with piss coffee to my lips, but I don’t take a sip.