Christmas Ever After

  Christmas

  EVER AFTER

  NIOMIE ROLAND

  Christmas Ever After

  Copyright © 2019 Niomie Roland

  All rights reserved.

  Christmas Ever After is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to events, locations, or persons living or dead is coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying form without written permission of the author, Niomie Roland.

  Books may be purchased in quantity and/or special sales by contacting the publisher, Niomie Roland, by email at [email protected]

  Editing: Tanisha Stewart

  www.tanishastewartauthor.com

  First Edition

  Published in the United States of America

  by Niomie Roland

  Table of Contents

  MICHAEL

  TRINITY

  MICHAEL

  TRINITY

  MICHAEL

  TRINITY

  MICHAEL

  TRINITY

  MICHAEL 

  TRINITY

  MICHAEL

  TRINITY

  MICHAEL

  TRINITY

  MICHAEL

  TRINITY

  MICHAEL

  TRINITY

  MICHAEL

  TRINITY

  MICHAEL

  TRINITY

  MICHAEL

  CHRISTMAS DAY

  MIRANDA

  TRINITY

  Christmas

  EVER AFTER

  NIOMIE ROLAND

  MICHAEL

  I t shouldn’t have been easy for him to know exactly who was behind the door and getting ready to barge in — he really wasn’t proud of the fact. Even if he didn’t hear the high pitched tones of his secretary attempting to stall the person, or the familiar footfalls of a man who walked with both determination and power, he sure as hell knew only one person who could barge into the conference room during an important meeting and damn the consequences—his grandfather.

  After storming into the room, he would proceed to throw orders that would make people scurry to their feet in a matter of seconds.

  Michael scoffed at the thought.

  He shrugged his suddenly tense shoulders for a few seconds, preparing for the grand entrance of white-haired man who would ask him how much more money Michael needed to make.

  Not that money was a problem — it never was for Michael.

  He just hated idleness and complacency more than anything else, more than anything that inspired him, and that was something worth getting out of bed for.

  It was a pity that all of this mattered little to his grandfather — the prestige, the power and ultimate control.

  Slam!

  Everyone but Michael jolted at the sound of the door slamming against the wall, then they subtly tried to sit straighter or adjusted their clothes.

  Michael clenched his jaw as a stony glare carved into his grey eyes in greeting to his grandfather, waiting for the show that was to come. The older man did not disappoint.

  The room was cleared in seconds — it didn’t take much for the board members to promptly get on their way. If anything, they were eager to move on, the lateness of the day already bearing on them.

  “You, out,” his grandfather said to the secretary in the same stern manner.

  She hesitated, glancing toward Michael with uncertainty, but Michael waved her away, dismissing her.

  After everyone left, his grandfather planted himself in front of Michael with a disapproving look.

  All in all, it was an impressive show of the prestige and power a person could possess, and how much his grandfather could control the world. Still, Michael remained unimpressed — he had heard the same lecture he knew he was about to receive and countless variations of it since he was in his mid-twenties. Now nearly five years later, he was quite bored of it.

  "I see that you still enjoy throwing your weight around," he said with a sigh.

  Michael Senior’s stony countenance transformed into a grin as he locked eyes with his grandson. “An old man must have his pleasures; you leave so much of it out there for everyone else."

  "There's always work to be done," he countered, which was the truth.

  Asking anyone would reveal that Michael Harper III was a workaholic. A rumor among his staff indicated he needed less than five hours of sleep — and that was true.

  At the age of thirty, he had already made impressive progress on anyone’s scale. His appearance helped his impression too, at six feet and four inches, his hair in constant but stylish disarray with strands scattered above silver-grey eyes that barely warmed but could freeze into arctic temperatures in mere seconds.

  He was tough but fair. He demanded the best from his workers and only perfection from himself, all day, every day. He worked seven days a week, clocking twelve hours each day, which was easy to see where the rumors started.

  As the CEO of Harper Enterprises, there was more than enough on his plate. Even if he could delegate tasks, he rarely did, and instead pushed himself beyond limits.

  "When did you last go out with a woman?" his grandfather asked.

  It’s been months. Michael sighed, his hand straying to the slightly chafing knot of his tie. "I don't have time,” he replied, regarding the older man with eyes he hoped would convey his disinterest and aversion to the current topic of discussion.

  "People make time,” his grandfather scoffed. “When was the last time you took a day off?"

  His grandfather had a way of doing that — blowing him off without a pause or consideration for what Michael just said. Michael mentally winced, knowing his grandfather would not appreciate the thoughts currently running through his mind.

  "I can't quite afford to leave the daily running of the company to the board of directors. They need only one night to run everything to the ground, what with all the petty bickering and private feuds. It can become a war zone here." He frowned, raking his long fingers through his dark hair, and tugging at it for one quick second before his hands slid to his face in complete exasperation.

  Michael averted his eyes toward the desk, and he missed the nostalgic look that crossed his grandfather's face. He knew the older man would want to haul him into a close hug, but Michael was averse to that — strongly.

  "Not even for the night?” his grandfather countered. “Or were you planning to stay another night in your office?”

  Michael’s face whipped up. It shouldn’t surprise him that his grandfather knew about the overnight stays at work, but it did. Just because his grandfather handed him temporary control of running the company nearly one year ago, it didn’t mean the older man was suddenly oblivious to everything that happened at work.

  "There is…work to be done." Michael knew it was a pathetic excuse since there would always be work to be done. However, he must have been tired since his sharp wit wasn’t firing on all cylinders. He usually could have thought of something more clever to say. Maybe he would go home earlier tonight since his grandfather chased away his employees and mostly everything was done for the day, and he could take a much needed rest.

  "No vacations? No significant other?” his grandfather asked in disbelief. “You're a man in your prime, Mikey, and you're literally molding away like an old man. I am old but I refuse to mold.” This time, there was a hint of worry shadowing his eyes.

  “You sly devil, you,” Michael said under his breath, knowing exactly where the conversation was leading.

  At seventy-five, his grandfather was a picture of health that men several years his junior envied. He
lived an active life and refused to allow himself to be classified with words such as old or anything synonymous to it. The fact that he brought the topic up was a true sign of the desperation he wasn’t allowing to filter through his voice. Michael thought he was only mentioning the hated “old” word since he was trying to blackmail his only grandchild into doing something he didn’t want to do.

  "I'm on to you, Opa, out with it already. I’m a busy man." Michael was pissed, he made sure to keep his face expressionless. It didn’t help, if anything, his grandfather's smile widened until he resembled a Cheshire cat. Michael had seen the look many times, and it brought dread to the pit of his stomach. "What have you done this time?"

  "I made dinner reservations..." the older man replied.

  Michael was not a fool — this wasn’t just a dinner. His grandfather’s easy-going demeanor meant trouble; trouble for him specifically.

  "I am a busy man," he repeated, but it was useless. He knew there wasn’t any way to get out of it.

  Michael Senior continued as if he’d never said a word, "With a business associate who is also a close friend—"

  "I have enough to do without you adding hours of schmoozing to my schedule.” Michael ripped off his tie. It was way too hot in the room, and the frustration that was welling up in him didn’t help.

  "And his granddaughter...." His grandfather’s voice trailed off at the sight of Michael’s scowl. The silence that followed was enough that distinct voices could be heard in the distance.

  "No." The single word would have sent most people running from their fool’s mission, but his grandfather was not most people.

  His grandfather looked unimpressed.

  Michael winced as he got to his feet, ignoring the files that scattered in front of him. He glared at his grandfather again, hoping to convey his absolute distaste for this matchmaking scheme. His grandfather continued to look unimpressed.

  Intimidation is fair game for most people, and can in fact work on most people. Using a trick against the man who trained him how to do it, was an absolute joke. There was no way his grandfather was going to budge on this one.

  Years of hard work, dedication, and determination to learn the famous Harper glare fell flat in the presence of his grandfather.

  Michael Senior used the same trick on his grandson — pretending to be supremely bored, looking down on him with a patient but exasperated air that suggested Michael was acting childish.

  "I can find my own woman. I don't need your help to find me a wife, Opa."

  "And you're getting married, when?"

  Never. “When I am good and ready.”

  "I wasn't born last night, Michael. Sometimes I blame the stubbornness on the Harper genes but I know you got another dose from that damned woman.”

  "Opa," he warned the older man before he could continue.

  His grandfather turned away from him and stared out the window, as if unaware of the conversation meandering down dangerous territory.

  "Take what is left of the evening off and have dinner with us. I am sure you’ll bring your laptop home and work from there."

  Michael could not deny the fact that he would do as his grandfather mentioned, or the fact that he was about to give in and accompany him to dinner since he was curious about the woman. He would not, however, give his grandfather the satisfaction of giving in to his demands too quickly.

  "You will stop all attempts at matchmaking."

  It was not a question though his grandfather treated it as such. "Only if you actually try tonight. I want you to experience the joys of marriage and family. I am getting old and would like to at the very least hold my first great grandchild."

  Still playing dirty, old man.

  His grandfather continued speaking. “I went to my lawyers today to discuss the future of the business and who should inherit.”

  What did he mean, who should inherit?

  “I changed my will. If you’re not married by this time next year, then I will sell the company. If I die before that time, I’ve instructed my attorneys to sell the company and give the proceeds to different charities. Your trust fund will remain unaffected.”

  “Let me get this straight — you’re blackmailing me into marriage now? You know how hard I work to make this company profitable, and you just want to sell it out from under me.”

  “Of course I don’t want to sell it. However, I won’t let it run you into the ground. I know what happened to your parents has made you cynical, but a man needs an anchor. You need a family of your own.”

  Michael couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His grandfather had threatened him many times before, but they were always baseless. He could see now that his grandfather was serious about his expectations and he began to resent the man. He would never get married; he would find another way. Possibly buy the company himself.

  “If you’re thinking of purchasing it yourself then think again. I have an eager buyer waiting in the winds.”

  Damn; the old man had thought of everything. “This is unfair Opa.”

  “I understand why you may feel this way, but can’t you at least try? Just come to dinner tonight. I’m not forcing you to marry the girl.”

  No, but you’re giving impossible ultimatums.

  "Let's get this dinner over with.” Michael growled, then stalked out of the boardroom. His grandfather trailed happily behind him.

  

  Le Capital was the type of restaurant that was bustling with human life and people celebrating something or the other, but the scene held very little appeal for Michael.

  He stalled on the steps of the restaurant, wondering why he even came.

  Yes, he had promised to try. He could have just flat out refused and gone home to review the company’s financial statement, a tedious concept since he may not even be running the company next year.

  He glanced to the side only to catch his grandfather smiling smugly at him as if to suggest his thoughts were transparent.

  “Having second thoughts?”

  Michael snorted. "Let's get this over with," he said under his breath and headed for the door. It breezed open when he was a step away from it, propelled by the doorman.

  His grandfather led him straight to their table. When Michael caught sight of the two people seated there, he could not help the thought that ran through him.

  At least she is attractive.

  Another man would have used more grandiose words to qualify the petite blond with black eyes and a body that was polished to perfection, but not him. He knew she looked like the picture of innocence, but one look at him and she betrayed herself.

  She looked entitled and too desperate for his taste. He would bet his sizeable fortune that she believed he belonged to her. He stayed away from those types. They reminded him of his mother.

  What a pity. He would never marry her — he couldn’t even bring himself to entertain the idea of another date at this point, but decided he would sleep with her once.

  He was no angel and loved a romp in bed as much as the next one, and it had been too long since he had entertained a woman.

  Maybe tonight?

  “Michael, meet Jessika," his grandfather introduced the little blonde to him.

  "With a K," her throaty voice interjected, and for one short moment Michael wondered if she would sound as breathless under him. It sounded too practiced, a little too well modulated and conscious to be natural but that hardly mattered.

  He shook the hand she raised, acknowledged her companion, and the three men sat down. The waiter soon followed to take their orders.

  She flirted, and fluttered her eyelashes, letting her hands stray a little too close to his, even though the table was large and the two older men were sitting with them. He ignored all her advances, both subtle and unsubtle.

  Michael looked down on the manicured fingers curled elegantly around a goblet of wine, the delicate fingers led to a slender wrist that seemed to be almost too small to be real.

&nbs
p; Over the rim of her glass, she regarded him with a bold stare, and he wondered all over again why he even came to dinner.

  He liked his women confident, but Jessika was treading fast into brazen. She appeared not to care that her blatant actions were making everyone at the table a tad uncomfortable.

  Her lips kissed the edges of the wine glass in a move he knew she was aware made her look seductive, but it only brought one thing to his mind — practiced.

  Nothing she did came naturally, except maybe her pretense. Her conversation circled around her hobbies; shopping and spinning. Her next attempt was informing him of her friends and acquaintances — impressive if he did not have those same acquaintances. She pointed out the best parts of her and her efforts to stay perfect.

  Was this all that he had to look forward to in the dating world? Vapid women whose conversations were dryer than a ledger sheet?

  He caught his grandfather's eye and stood to his feet in one quick move. "Excuse me, gentlemen, Jessika."

  He lingered in the restroom, perhaps too long. Michael glanced at his face in the mirror, and then watched the water cascade down his hands and into the porcelain bowl. He wrung his hands dry of water for the last time before grabbing a paper towel to turn off the tap, and grabbing another to pat his hands dry.

  His reflection caught his eye again and he regarded it with a menacing look.

  No matter what his grandfather said about him getting more stubbornness from a different gene pool, he got enough from the Harper's.

  I look too much like him. An all too vivid reminder, he decided, before he turned away from the mirror and walked out of the scented bathroom.

  Closing the door with a click, he almost ran right into a woman, sidestepping her just in time. His apology died on his lips when he caught sight of the person standing in front of him.

  "Jessika, what are you doing here?” His tone clipped as he trained his eyes on her.

  She fidgeted at the intensity of his look. "You were gone a while. I wanted to make sure you’re okay," she shrilled with a wide, winning smile.