Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Emery

I stared open-mouthed as we pulled through ornate gates and up a long driveway right outside of the city. When Ronan had described his living situation as a house within a house, I’d pictured something like a fancy duplex or triplex. Not... whatever this was.

“This is where you live?” I practically pressed my face against the window like an excited kid at an aquarium. The property was massive, with perfectly manicured grounds that probably cost more to maintain monthly than I made in a year. But something was missing. “Where are all the Christmas decorations?”

Ronan’s jaw ticked. “We don’t really do Christmas here.”

“But you own a gift-wrapping business!”

“That’s different. That’s business.” He pulled around what looked like a small mansion to another equally impressive structure, then into a garage that could probably house a small aircraft collection.

“This is... a lot.” I was still trying to process the scale of everything. “When you said you had space, I didn’t think you meant an entire compound.”

“We just like our privacy. Come on, I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”

The granny flat turned out to be nicer than any apartment I’d ever lived in. While small, it was beautifully furnished with a cozy living area, kitchenette, and bedroom that made my old motel room look like a cardboard box under a bridge.

“This is temporary,” I reminded myself out loud as I set my suitcase down.

“Of course.” Something in Ronan’s tone suggested he might have other ideas. “Want to see the rest?”

The main house was like something out of an architectural magazine, but warmer than I expected. The shared living space had plush leather couches arranged around a fireplace that could roast an entire cow, and the kitchen looked like it belonged in a cooking show.

“So, each of you has your own... house?” I tried to figure out the layout as Ronan pointed out the different wings.

“Max’s wing is over there; he likes being close to the kitchen because he likes to cook. Levi’s is on the other side because he insists the morning light is better for his home office. Mine connects here.” He gestured to a doorway near where we stood.

“And you all just... share this space?” I spun slowly, taking it in. “Like really fancy roommates?”

“Something like that.” Ronan’s voice held a hint of amusement. “We’ve known each other a long time. This arrangement works for us.”

I noticed again the conspicuous absence of any holiday cheer. No stockings hung by the impressive fireplace, no twinkling lights, not even a sad little poinsettia on the coffee table. The space was beautiful but seemed to be actively avoiding any acknowledgment of the season.

“None of you like Christmas?” I couldn’t help asking. “Like, at all?”

Ronan’s expression closed off slightly. “We respect each other’s preferences. Maximum holiday exposure is at work, where it’s necessary for business.”

I snorted because I’d hardly call the work environment exposure to the holiday. “But-”

“It’s getting late,” he cut me off, though not unkindly. “You should get some rest. The door between your flat and the main house locks from both sides, like I mentioned. Feel free to use any of the common spaces, but the other wings are private unless invited.”

I nodded, suddenly exhausted. This day had been a roller coaster, from the police raid at the motel to ending up in what felt like a luxury hotel designed by three gorgeous Scrooges.

“Thank you,” I said sincerely, “for everything.”

Ronan’s face softened slightly. “Get some sleep, Emery. We can talk more tomorrow.”

As I headed back into my temporary home, I couldn’t help wondering what other surprises these three men had in store. And I wondered if they might be open to a little holiday spirit adjustment.

When I was safely tucked into my bedroom, I went right for the small box Ronan had given me earlier. My fingers trembled slightly as I pulled the ribbon loose. I hadn’t expected a gift from him since he didn’t exactly strike me as the gift-giving type.

When I lifted the lid, my breath caught. Nestled in tissue paper was the hand-painted ornament I’d been admiring at the market.

It was even more beautiful than I remembered. I carefully lifted it from the box, and a small note card fluttered to my lap. As I read it, I was definitely not tearing up over a note from my grumpy boss. Nope. These were seasonal allergies. In December. Totally normal.

But the thing was, he’d noticed. Not just the ornament, but the way I’d looked at it and talked about it.

And Ronan had listened. More than that, he’d understood.

“Get it together,” I muttered, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. It was only an ornament. A really thoughtful, incredibly sweet ornament that my scary-hot boss bought me while I went pee.

Where would I even hang it? This place was like the anti-Christmas zone. I didn’t want to push my luck with their no-holiday policy, even if it went against everything I believed about the season.

Still, as I carefully placed the ornament back in its box, I couldn’t help but wonder about these three men. What made them so adamantly against Christmas? Ronan’s family history made a little sense, but now that he was an adult with adult money, he could bring those traditions back to life.

The fact that they owned a gift-wrapping business made it even more puzzling. It was like opening a beach resort while hating sand and sunshine.

I tucked the note under my pillow—which was probably weird, but whatever—and snuggled down into the ridiculously comfortable bed.

I thought about Ronan’s unexpected thoughtfulness. About how someone who claimed to hate Christmas had given me one of the most thoughtful gifts I’d ever received. There was definitely more to these guys than met the eye, and despite my best intentions to keep things professional and temporary, I wanted to know more.

This was only until I found a new place. But even as I reminded myself of that, my fingers drifted to where the note lay hidden under my pillow. Don’t get attached. Don’t try to fix them. And definitely don’t think about how good Ronan looked with a smile on his face.

As I drifted off to sleep, I couldn’t help but smile, knowing that somewhere in this Christmas-free zone, there was at least one person who understood a little about holiday magic.

I woke up feeling more refreshed than I had in weeks. Stretching languidly in the cloud-like bed, I realized I hadn’t had such a good night’s sleep since... well, since before I caught Josh stuffing someone else’s stocking.

The bedside clock read 6:30 AM. Usually, I’d hit snooze at least three times, but something about the peaceful quiet of morning in this ridiculous mansion-compound-not-compound made me want to explore.

I slipped on my fuzzy penguin slippers—because nothing says totally professional temporary houseguest like waddling around in novelty footwear—and shuffled toward the common area. The smell of bacon hit me before I rounded the corner, making my stomach growl embarrassingly loud.

And then I stopped dead in my tracks.

Max stood at the stove, wearing only low-slung sweatpants (gray ones, of course), his back a canvas of intricate tattoos that disappeared temptingly beneath his waistband. I’d seen attractive men before, but this was art. Living, breathing, bacon-cooking art.

“Morning,” he said without turning around, and I nearly jumped out of my penguin slippers.

“Hi! I wasn’t... I mean, I was...” Smooth, Emery. Real smooth. “I smelled bacon?”

He turned then, and sweet baby Jesus, the front view was even better than the back. The tattoos continued across his chest and down his arms, and I forced my eyes up to his face before I could follow them any lower.

However, his eyes didn’t quite meet mine. They dropped briefly to my chest and then snapped back up.

Oh God. I glanced down and remembered I was wearing my old sleep shirt with no bra. Fantastic . Nothing like giving your hot boss a free show at 6:30 in the morning.

“Coffee?” Max offered, his voice slightly rougher than before as he turned back to the stove.

“Yes, please.” I crossed my arms over my chest and perched on one of the kitchen island barstools. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your breakfast.”

“You’re not.” He poured me a mug of coffee and slid it across the counter. “We don’t have any creamer; do you want sugar or milk?”

“This is fine.” I rarely drank my coffee black. I was more of a turn my coffee into dessert kind of girl, but in a pinch I could manage. The rich aroma alone was enough to make my brain cells fire, even if my taste buds were silently protesting the lack of hazelnut creamer.

“Are you hungry? I always make too much.” Why was his voice so incredibly sexy? The sizzling bacon was definitely not helping my ability to think straight.

My stomach answered for me with another growl. “That would be amazing, but only if you’re sure.”

He nodded and started cracking eggs into a bowl. We fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by the sizzle of bacon and the whisking of eggs.

After a few sips of perfectly brewed coffee, I cleared my throat. “I wanted to check that you’re okay with me staying here for a few days. I know Ronan kind of sprung it on everyone...”

Max paused in his cooking to look at me, his expression unreadable. “We wouldn’t have agreed if we weren’t okay with it.”

“We? You all discussed it?”

“Ronan texted us last night.” He plated some bacon and stirred the eggs. “None of us liked the idea of you staying somewhere unsafe.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” I protested weakly, though the memory of last night’s police raid suggested otherwise.

Max gave me a look that clearly said ‘really?’ as he slid a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me.

“Okay, maybe it wasn’t great.” I picked up my fork. “But this is temporary. Just until I find something else.”

He made a noncommittal sound and turned back to make his own plate. I tried very hard not to watch the way his back muscles moved, but honestly, it was like trying not to look at a sunrise, technically possible, but why would you want to?

Get it together . You can’t ogle all your bosses.

But as Max grabbed some cut fruit from the refrigerator and settled onto the stool next to me with his own breakfast, still gloriously shirtless, I had to admit, this temporary arrangement might be more challenging than I’d anticipated.