A Champagne Christmas: The Christmas Love-Child / The Christmas Night Miracle / The Italian Billionaire's Christmas Miracle

Picturing the spicy dish, usually her favorite, she felt so nauseated that she almost retched over her keyboard. Rising to her feet, she stumbled to the ladies’ bathroom just in time.

Afterward, as she came out of the bathroom she still felt a bit sick and in a cold sweat. She was just grateful she was alone in the office.

Then she saw she wasn’t. Alan stood by her desk.

Oh, thank heaven! He was here with the check, and that meant she could go! Hang the data for the fourth-quarter reports. No one would compile the information until January, so why kill herself over it? She’d collect her bonus, brush her teeth then go to the penthouse to see about convincing Maksim to come home to California with her for Christmas.

If all else failed, she’d convince him via that big red bow. She giggled. Perfect.

But she still felt a bit dizzy as she walked toward her boss. “I’m glad to see you!”

“Are you, Grace?” Leaning against her desk, Alan’s pale eyelashes blinked rapidly as he stared down at her. He looked strangely grim.

Something seemed to be bothering him, but Grace still felt queasy and couldn’t dredge up enough energy to wonder what it was. “Alan, if you’ll just give me my bonus check, I think I’ll head out. You don’t mind if the sales figures wait? I’m not feeling very well.” When he folded his arms and continued to glower at her, she added weakly, “It is Christmas Eve…”

“You can take as much time as you want.”

“Oh, thank you—”

“Because you’re fired.”

She stared at him for a long moment. “What?”

“You heard me. You have exactly three minutes to pack up your desk before I have you thrown out.”

“Is this a joke?”

“Yes, a joke. The secretary I trusted most just betrayed my secrets and caused me to lose the deal of my life.”

“What?” she gasped. “How?” She frantically tried to remember saying anything to anyone. Had she mentioned any details? The numbers, the price? She shook her head. “I never breathed a word to anyone!”

“Lord Hainesworth just pulled his funding and support,” he said furiously. “He found out this morning the engagement was fake. I’ve lost the deal and now I’ll likely lose my position as CEO. The board has been after me for the past year. I’ve lost everything. My only consolation is…so have you.”

Oh my God, what had happened?

“It’s got to be some ghastly mistake,” she said. “I would never betray you. Please, I need that bonus—”

“Bonus?” He barked a laugh. “You’re lucky I don’t have you thrown in jail for corporate espionage! You’ll never get hired again by anyone if I can help it. No job recommendation. No back pay.” His lip curled. “Now get the hell out before I call the police.”

“But I didn’t tell anyone about the fake engagement,” she cried. An icy trickle went down her back. “Except…”

“When you blackmailed me into giving you a raise, you didn’t mention that you were already working on your back for Maksim Rostov!”

She sucked in her breath.

“It wasn’t like that,” she gasped. “How did you find out about—”

“Francesca heard it from her friends.” Alan shook his head with a derisive snort. “Apparently he’s been flashing you all over town, his cheap little mistress. You’ve always been so desperate for money, Grace. Tell me. What did you enjoy more—selling him my secrets or selling him your body?”

She felt like he’d just slapped her across the face.

“I didn’t sell anything,” she whispered. “He wouldn’t do that to me.”

“No? You think Rostov wanted you for your intelligence?” he sneered. “For your beauty?” He looked her up and down. “You might have gotten new clothes, but you’re way out of your league. This was always a game between him and Francesca—always. He dumped her. She wanted him back. And now they’re together.”

“No!”

“If you really believe he would choose you over her, you’re even more stupid than I thought.” He turned his back on her. “I’m sending the security guard up here in two minutes.”

Numbly Grace gathered up a few items from her desk, putting a half-dead plant and two framed pictures of her family into a box. She left the building, then realized she’d forgotten her old coat. The security guard refused to let her back inside. Her only option would be to call Alan and ask him to bring it down to her.

Instead she left without it.

Outside, there was a biting chill in the gray afternoon sky. Clutching the cardboard box to her chest, she shivered in her thin cardigan and silk blouse.

Alan had to be wrong. Maksim wouldn’t have betrayed her!

She pictured his darkly handsome face. The way he’d teasingly fed her chow mein noodles at his penthouse last week. The way he’d tried to trick her into accepting expensive gifts. He’d made love to her. He’d made her laugh. He’d been her first.

He wouldn’t use her careless words in bed against her, the words she’d spoken when she’d been feeling insecure and had been seeking reassurance!

But she hadn’t told anyone else about the fake engagement. Who else could it be?

The answer was shockingly clear.

He’d intended all along to seduce and betray her.

No. A sob escaped her. She felt dizzy as she walked toward the nearest Tube entrance. Another wave of nausea went over her and her knees shook as she went down the escalator. As she sat on the half-empty train, she felt the curious and pitying stares of other passengers. She knew what they saw—a woman without a coat, red-eyed and holding a box with a plant and picture frames. Easy to follow that story. Sacked on Christmas Eve.

Just sacked—or also betrayed?

She found all her clothes stuffed in two suitcases sitting outside her basement flat in Knightsbridge. The locks had been changed. Alan had tossed her out.

Pulling her cell phone from her handbag, she dialed Maksim’s number.

No answer. After three rings, it clicked over to voice mail, to his terse voice saying, “Rostov. Leave a message.”

Another wave of dizziness washed over her. She started to leave a message. “Maksim, I’ve just heard something that can’t possibly be…”

Her phone went dead. She stared down at it in shock. It had been her business phone, paid for by her company. Alan must have had it disconnected.

Grace took a deep breath, trying to control the rising panic.

She placed her family photos in the suitcases, wrapped herself in her warmest, thickest, frumpiest sweater and left the box and plant in a nearby rubbish bin. She managed to get back on the Tube, dragging both suitcases behind her.

Could it be true?

She heard the echo of his voice. Husky. Deep. Slightly foreign. I have been accused of having no heart. I am telling you the truth, Grace. Take this as a warning.