A dog isn’t only man’s best friend...

It could bring Anders the love of his life.

Without a bride by his side, billionaire Anders Kent will lose his chance to be a father to his five-year-old niece. So when a gorgeous down-on-her-luck dancer is claiming the same puppy as him, she might be the answer to his problems! Chloe Wilde’s not looking for a marriage of convenience, even to someone as captivating as Anders. But sometimes Christmas gifts come in unusual packages...

TERI WILSON is a novelist for Mills & Boon. She is the author of Unleashing Mr. Darcy, now a Hallmark Channel Original Movie. Teri is also a contributing writer at hellogiggles.com, a lifestyle and entertainment website founded by Zooey Deschanel that is now part of the People magazine, Time magazine and Entertainment Weekly family. Teri loves books, travel, animals and dancing every day. Visit Teri at teriwilson.net or on Twitter, @teriwilsonauthr.

Also by Teri Wilson

The Ballerina’s Secret

How to Romance a Runaway Bride

The Bachelor’s Baby Surprise

His Ballerina Bride

The Princess Problem

It Started with a Diamond

Unmasking Juliet

Unleashing Mr. Darcy

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

A Daddy by Christmas

Teri Wilson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07850-4

A DADDY BY CHRISTMAS

© 2018 Teri Wilson

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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In loving memory of my dad, Bob Wilson.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

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

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

The puppy was the last straw.

Chloe Wilde’s bad luck streak kicked off a little over a week ago while performing with the Rockettes during the annual Thanksgiving Day parade. She’d taken a tumble and accidentally ruined the dance troupe’s legendary toy soldier routine on live television. Things had progressed from bad to worse ever since, and now, just twenty-four days before Christmas, she’d reached rock bottom.

“I don’t understand.” One of the sequined antlers on Chloe’s glittering derby hat drooped into her line of vision and she pushed it away, aiming her fiercest glower at the woman who’d just given her the bad news. Not that glowering while dressed as a high-kicking reindeer was an easy task. It wasn’t, but after everything Chloe had been through lately, she excelled at it. “I’ve been visiting this puppy every day for twelve days. I filled out an adoption application a week ago, and you yourself called me last night and told me I’d been approved.”

That phone call had been the first good thing that had happened to her in days. Weeks, if she was really being honest with herself. But that was okay, because starting today, she wouldn’t have to face the worst Christmas of her adult life by herself. She’d have a snuggly, adorable puppy by her side.

Or so she thought.

The man standing beside Chloe cleared his throat. “She called me yesterday afternoon and told me the same thing.”

“Just because she called you first doesn’t mean the puppy is yours.” Chloe took a time-out from her refusal to acknowledge the man’s presence to glare at him.

She wished he weren’t so handsome. Those piercing blue eyes were a little difficult to ignore, as was his perfect square jaw. His clothes were impeccable—very tailored, very Wall Street. And the dusting of snow on the shoulders of his dark wool coat made him seem ultramanly for some reason. Under normal circumstances, she’d have thought he looked like the kind of man who would turn up wielding a little blue box in a Tiffany’s Christmas advertisement.

But these weren’t normal circumstances, and he wasn’t holding a little blue box. He was holding a puppy. Her puppy.

“Actually, that’s exactly what it means. She called me first, and a verbal agreement was made wherein I would take possession of the puppy.” He arched a brow. “Therefore the puppy is mine.”

Who talked like that?

Chloe turned her back to him and refocused her attention on the animal shelter’s adoption counselor, who thus far hadn’t been much help. But Chloe wasn’t going down without a fight.

“Are you really going to let him take my puppy? Listen to him. He says he wants to adopt a pet, but he sounds like he’s talking about a business merger.”

The adoption counselor’s gaze swiveled back and forth between the two of them as if she were watching a snowball fight.

“She’s not your dog. I’m adopting her. I’ve got the papers right here.” Using his free hand, the man pulled an envelope from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and placed it on the counter.

Chloe didn’t bother opening it. Instead, she pulled an identical packet of papers from her dance bag and slammed it on the counter next to his envelope.

“I’ve got papers, too.” She crossed her arms, causing the jingle bell cuffs on the long brown velvet sleeves of her costume to clang, echoing loudly in the tiled shelter lobby.

The man’s mouth twitched into a half grin, which, to Chloe’s dismay, made him even more attractive. “Nice outfit, by the way.”

She jammed her hands on her velvet-clad hips, ignoring the jingly commotion she made every time she moved. “I’ll have you know that this is an official Rockettes reindeer costume, steeped in Christmas tradition dating back to the 1930s. I’m basically a New York treasure. So laugh it up, puppy thief.”

He cut his gaze toward her, and his smile faded. “Once again, I’m not a puppy thief.”

“Says the man who refuses to let go of my puppy.” Chloe cast a longing glance at the tiny Yorkie mix. “You know who you are? You’re Cruella De Vil in pinstripes.”

“Pinstripes haven’t been in style in years,” he muttered.

“Note taken, Cruella.”

“You know what?” The adoption counselor finally chimed in. “I think I should probably go get the manager so she can help us figure out how to proceed.”

“Excellent. Thank you so much.” Chloe nodded. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the twinkle lights on her antlers blinking.

Oops. She could have sworn she’d switched those off.

Her nemesis turned toward her. Chloe still didn’t quite trust herself to look at him without swooning, but she couldn’t keep pretending he was invisible when they were the only two people in the room.

His gaze flitted to her antlers. “Are you really a Rockette?”

“Yes.” She nodded. Jingle, jingle, jingle.

“That’s quite impressive.”

“Thank you.” She cleared her throat.

It wasn’t a lie. Not technically.

On paper, she was still a Rockette. She just wasn’t allowed to perform anymore. Much to her humiliation, she now had the lovely task of standing in Times Square in her reindeer costume two hours a day to hand out flyers to tourists to encourage them to go to the annual Rockettes Christmas show at Radio City Music Hall.

Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

For the past four years, she’d been living her dream. She’d high-kicked her way through the last four Christmases—three shows a day for five weeks straight. Twice, she’d even traveled overseas with the Rockettes to perform in their USO tour. And now she’d been relegated to Times Square. She might as well put on an Elmo costume and a Santa hat and call it a day.

The worst part about being demoted wasn’t the humiliation, nor was it the drastically reduced paycheck. Although she was going to have to do something about the latter really soon.

More troubling than either her dwindling bank account or her shame at the 50,000-plus YouTube views of her Thanksgiving Day toy soldier mishap was the prospect of telling her family she was no longer dancing. The Wildes weren’t a scary bunch. Quite the opposite, actually. They were loving and supportive, especially Chloe’s mother, Emily, who’d started the Wilde School of Dance over forty years ago and still taught nearly every day.

As much as Chloe hated to admit it, she’d taken advantage of all that family devotion. She’d used her busy rehearsal schedule as an excuse to miss nearly all the weekly dinners at the Wilde brownstone for the past few years. Every Thanksgiving and every Christmas, she’d been too busy performing at the parade or at Radio City to be a part of the family holiday celebrations. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d set foot in the dance school.

Her brother and sister liked to joke about it, calling her the ghost of Christmas past, but her mom never complained. No one had, even though Chloe knew she could have made more of an effort. What had she been thinking? Hadn’t her dad’s sudden death from a heart attack taught her not to take family for granted?

She was a horrible person. She couldn’t even bring herself to tell the Wildes the truth. No wonder fate had thrown a puppy thief into her path. She deserved this, didn’t she?

Her gaze slid toward the dog’s scruffy little face and her tiny button nose. So adorable. Somehow her cuteness seemed magnified in the arms of Chloe’s strapping rival.

She felt her chin start to wobble.

Stay strong.

The only thing that would make this episode more upsetting would be if she broke down and cried.

“Were you telling the truth just now? Have you actually visited this dog every day for the past twelve days?”

She peered up at the man and squared her shoulders. “Yes. Did you think I was lying?”

Chloe would never lie to the adoption counselor’s face like that. Lies of omission were apparently her thing, specifically lying by omission to her own flesh and blood.

He sighed and said nothing in response.

Chloe’s heart gave a little zing. Was he beginning to crack?

“I already bought her a dog bed,” Chloe said. “It’s red-and-white-striped, like a candy cane.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else from a woman dressed as Rudolph.” His frown stayed firmly in place, but Chloe thought she spotted a twinkle in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

He was either about to give in and let her have the puppy, or he was flirting with her in order to get her to throw in the towel. For a second, Chloe wasn’t sure which scenario she preferred.

She blinked.

Had she lost her mind? She wasn’t going to let a few kind words and an eye twinkle crack her composure. Even if the eye twinkle was just shy of a full-on smolder.

That puppy was hers.

“Nice try,” she said tartly. “But I’m not here to play games.”

“No reindeer games.” He gave her a solemn nod. “Got it.”

The man was hardly playing fair, damn him.

“Good,” she said.

Then she looked away, lest he see the smile on her face.

An awkward silence fell between them, punctuated every so often by the bells on Chloe’s costume. She tried her best to keep her gaze focused on the countertop and the adoption papers she’d filled out in careful handwriting the night before. But the puppy started making cute little whimpering noises, and she couldn’t help it. She had to look.

The tiny dog was gnawing on the handsome man’s thumb, which would have been completely adorable if he’d been paying any attention whatsoever to the animal. He wasn’t, though. His brow was furrowed, and he was staring into space, distracted.

Chloe rolled her eyes. He was probably thinking about the stock market or suing someone or the recent demise of pinstripes. “Why do you want this dog, anyway? You don’t really seem like the Yorkie type.”

He glanced at the dog and then at her. “What type do I seem like?”

A golden retriever, maybe. Or an Irish setter. A classic sort of dog that would look good curled in front of a fireplace or with its head sticking out of a town car.

“I haven’t given it any thought,” she lied.

He peered at her for a long, loaded moment, as if he could see inside her head. Finally, he said, “The puppy is an early Christmas gift.”

“A Christmas gift?” Chloe blinked in indignation. “Do the people here at the shelter know that? Pets are living creatures. You can’t just give them away as presents. That’s the height of irresponsibility.”

He shifted the puppy to his other arm, farther away from her. “Rest assured, the shelter staff knows. I’m taking full responsibility for the dog.”

“So...what, then? She’s a gift for your wife?” Chloe’s gaze flitted to his left hand.

No ring.

“No wife,” he said. Then he frowned, as if his bachelorhood was a surprise. Or a problem that needed to be fixed.

Chloe’s face went hot for reasons she didn’t care to contemplate.

She took a deep breath. Action was required. If she didn’t stop thinking about this mysterious man’s relationship status and do something, she’d be going home to an empty apartment, complete with an empty candy cane–striped dog bed.

Her own bed would be empty, too, but that was fine. Preferable, actually. Although why she was suddenly thinking about the unoccupied half of her antique sleigh bed was a mystery.

Sure it is.

She took another glance at the puppy thief holding her Yorkie mix and melted a little bit. The two of them looked like they belonged on that Instagram account her dancer friends were always going on about—Hot Men and Mutts.

She swallowed. “Look, is there any way we could work this out ourselves before the shelter manager gets involved? The puppy is a gift. Couldn’t you just pick out another one? I love that dog. What can I do to change your mind? Anything?”

Surely there was something he wanted, although Chloe couldn’t imagine what it might be.

She lifted her chin and looked him directly in his eyes, so he’d know she meant business. No reindeer games.

Then she tilted her head, prompting him to say something. Anything.

Make me an offer.

His gaze narrowed and sharpened. For a second or two, he focused on her with such intensity that she forgot how to breathe.

So there is something he wants, after all.

When at last he gave her the answer she’d been waiting for, he didn’t crack a smile.

“Marry me.”

Anders Kent wanted to take the words back the minute they’d left his mouth.

Marry me.

What had he been thinking? He’d just proposed to a complete and total stranger in a sterile room that smelled like soap and puppy chow. A stranger who was dressed as a reindeer. And now she was looking at him as if he was the crazy one.

Oh, the irony.

He wasn’t crazy. Nor was he impulsive, all evidence to the contrary. He was simply desperate. Which was also ironic, considering Anders’s name popped up in the tabloids from time to time as one of New York’s most sought-after bachelors. Anders Kent had an office with a corner window in Wall Street’s premier investment banking firm and a penthouse overlooking Central Park West. If he wanted something, he generally found a way to get it. Romantic entanglements included.

But his current predicament didn’t have anything to do with romance. Far from it. There wasn’t anything remotely romantic about sitting across a desk from your attorney and being told you had thirty days to find a wife.

Anders had been given just such an ultimatum at nine o’clock this morning, and his head had been spinning ever since.

Marriage?

No.

Hell no.

Anders didn’t want to get married—to anyone, least of all the hostile woman beside him who looked as if she was on the verge of prying Lolly’s puppy right out of his arms.

“What did you just say?” She swallowed, and the jingle bells at her throat did a little dance.

“Nothing.” Anders shook his head. He sure as hell wasn’t going to repeat himself. He shouldn’t have opened his mouth to begin with.

You don’t even know this woman’s name.

His gut churned. In the brief span of time since he’d left his lawyer’s office, something strange had happened to Anders. He’d begun to weigh every woman he came across as a potential wife...as if he truly had any intention to go through with the insane requirement.

He wouldn’t. Couldn’t. He’d fight it. He’d throw every dollar he had at fighting it until he won.

But legal battles took time. More often than not, they took years. And Anders didn’t have years. He had a month.

“It didn’t sound like nothing. It definitely sounded like a big fat something.” The woman’s eyes grew wide, panicked.

She’d gotten his message, loud and clear.

He should have phrased it differently, though. He was proposing a business arrangement, not an actual marriage.

Yes, he needed a wife. But not a real one, just a stand-in. A temporary wife. After Lolly’s guardianship was properly settled, everything could go back to normal.

His chest tightened. Normal was a pipe dream. It didn’t exist anymore. His life wouldn’t be normal ever again.

He took a tense inhalation and looked away from the dancing reindeer. “Never mind.”

“Never mind?” She threw her arms in the air. Jingle, jingle, jingle. “You can’t just ask someone to marry you and then take it back. This isn’t the season finale of The Bachelor.”

“I’ve never seen that show,” he said woodenly.

He couldn’t marry this woman. She watched garbage television. She was bubbly, brash and far too emotional. She was a bleeding heart who spent her free time visiting shelter dogs. Plus, she obviously despised him.

It would never work.

Unless...

He frowned.

Unless the fact that they were so clearly ill-suited for one another would be an advantage. He couldn’t marry anyone he actually found attractive. That would be a recipe for disaster. And he definitely wasn’t attracted to the reindeer.

He shouldn’t be attracted to her, anyway.

A surge of something that felt far too much like desire flowed through his veins. What the hell was wrong with him?

“I’m not going to marry you for a puppy,” she said hotly. She looked him up and down. “No matter how...nice...the two of you look together.”

She swallowed and averted her gaze, giving Anders an unobstructed view of the graceful curve of her neck.

Definitely a dancer, he thought. Her posture, coupled with the way she moved, was undeniably balletic. Beautiful, even in that silly costume.

“I thought you said I didn’t look like the Yorkie type,” he said.

Her cheeks went pink, but before she could respond the door swung open and a no-nonsense-looking woman wearing a T-shirt with Adopt, Don’t Shop printed across the front of it extended her hand.

“Hello, Miss Wilde. Mr. Kent. I’m the shelter manager.” She looked back and forth between them. “I understand there’s been a mistake.”

Anders nodded and glanced at Rudolph—whose actual name was Miss Wilde, apparently—and braced himself for the tirade that was sure to come. She hadn’t let the adoption counselor get a word in edgewise. Why would she hold her tongue now?

But she didn’t say a thing. Instead, she crossed her arms and stared daggers at him while the shelter manager reviewed their respective paperwork.

He’d dodged a bullet. There were countless single women in New York. He didn’t know what had possessed him to propose to this one.

Still, there was a sadness in her eyes that made him feel like his heart was being squeezed in a vise. Anders had seen enough sadness in recent days that it made him want to do something to take away that melancholy look in her eyes—something that was sure to make her smile.

“Here,” he said, holding the little dog toward her.

He had more than enough to worry about without adding alleged puppy thievery to the list. He’d simply have to find another dog for Lolly. It was sure to be easier than finding a wife.

“She’s yours.”

Chapter Two

The tiny dog squirmed in Chloe’s arms as she watched the brooding man—her erstwhile fiancé—cross the length of the lobby and walk out the door in just three bold strides.

What just happened?

Wordlessly, she stared after him until the shelter manager cleared her throat.

“Well,” she said. “I guess that settles that. The dog is yours if you still want her.”

Chloe snapped back to the matter at hand. “I do. Definitely.”

Of course she still wanted the puppy. She was just having a hard time switching gears from being proposed to by a total stranger to once again thinking about the logistics of puppy ownership.

“That was weird, though, wasn’t it?” Chloe held the dog closer to her chest. The tiny animal smelled like shampoo and puppy breath, which was a comforting and welcome switch from the gritty aroma of Times Square. “Don’t you think so?”

“Um.” The shelter manager’s smile faded. “I really couldn’t say.”

“That’s right. You missed the crazy part.” The puppy started gnawing on Chloe’s thumb. Somewhere in her purse, she had a chew toy she’d purchased for a moment like this one, but she was too rattled to look for it. “He asked me to marry him.”

The shelter manager gave a little start. “Oh, I didn’t realize you and Mr. Kent knew each other.”

Kent.

So that was his name. It swirled through her thoughts like a snowflake until she found herself combining it with hers.

Chloe Kent.

Mrs. Chloe Kent.

Her face went hot. “We don’t. I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

“Oh.”

Chloe sneaked a glance at his paperwork, still sitting on the counter where he’d left it. “Anders Kent” was printed neatly in the name box.

“He just upped and asked me to marry him, and then he took it back.” Chloe huffed out a sigh.

Of course this would happen to her. The hits just kept on coming. Instead of getting a normal proposal from a normal man—her ex, Steven, for instance—she got one from a total crackpot who promptly changed his mind.

Except he hadn’t seemed like a crackpot. He actually seemed sort of charming, especially when he was holding the puppy. But come on, what handsome man didn’t seem charming with a cute dog in his arms?

“Not that I considered it for even a second. It seems exceedingly rude to withdraw a proposal, though. I’m just saying.” The puppy started to whine in her arms, so she bounced up and down a bit. Jingle, jingle, jingle. “Surely you agree.”

The shelter manager sighed. “Honestly, as long as the puppy goes to a good home, I don’t really care.”

“Right. Of course.” Why was she telling this woman about her almost-engagement to a perfect stranger?

More specifically, why couldn’t she let the stunning incident go? She shouldn’t be dwelling on it. It was a non-incident, as evidenced by the mysterious Anders Kent’s speedy retraction, followed by his hasty exit.

“Do you want the dog or not?” The exasperated woman slid a paper across the counter toward Chloe.

“Absolutely.” She scrawled her name on the designated line.

After all, she was here to adopt a puppy, not to get engaged.

Not now.

Not ever.

“Mr. Kent.” Edith Summers, Anders’s personal assistant, stood as he strode into the paneled entryway to his office. “We weren’t expecting you to come in today.”

Anders paused and nodded graciously at the older woman. He wasn’t typically one for small talk in the workplace, but he hadn’t seen Mrs. Summers since the funeral and her presence at that ghastly affair had been more comforting than he’d expected. Burying his brother and sister-in-law was by no means easy, but seeing his assistant sitting in the second pew, wearing her customary pearls and stoic, maternal expression, had made him feel a little less alone. A little less untethered.

“I changed my mind.” Anders smiled stiffly.

He should say something. He should thank her, or at the very minimum, acknowledge her presence on that darkest of days. But just over Mrs. Summers’s shoulder, Anders spotted his brother’s name on the smooth oak door to the office next to his own, and the words died on his tongue.

Mrs. Summers followed his gaze, then squared her shoulders and cleared her throat. She’d been Anders’s assistant long enough to know that what he needed now was normalcy. And normalcy meant work. It meant numbers and spreadsheets and meetings with investors. It meant being at his desk from sunup to sundown...

But that would have to change now, wouldn’t it?

“Very well. I’ll get you a cup of coffee and then we can go over your schedule,” Mrs. Summers said.

“Thank you.” He held her gaze long enough to impart all the things he couldn’t say—thank you for being there, thank you for not trying to make him talk about his feelings or force him to go home. The list was long.

“Of course.” Her eyes flashed with sympathy, and Anders’s chest wound itself into a hard, suffocating tangle as she bustled past him toward the executive break room.

How long would it be this way?

How long would it be before he could stand in this place where he once felt so capable, so impenetrable, and not feel like his heart had just been put through a paper shredder?

Months. Years, maybe.

Lolly’s sweet, innocent face rose to the forefront of his consciousness, and he knew with excruciating clarity that no amount of time would be sufficient. He’d feel this way for a lifetime. He’d carry the loss to his grave.

But he couldn’t think about that now. Lolly was depending on him. His niece was only five years old, too young to grasp the permanence of what had just happened to her...what had happened to them both. Anders, on the other hand, was all too aware.

He was even more aware of feeling that he wasn’t quite up to the task of raising a child. Anders didn’t know the first thing about being a father. Not that he would ever come close to replacing Grant and Olivia in Lolly’s life. But having lost his own parents at an early age, he knew that children as young as his niece didn’t understand words like guardian and custody. Even if Lolly continued calling him Uncle Anders, he’d become so much more than that. He’d be the one to teach her how to ride a bicycle and help her with her homework. He’d be the one cheering at her high school graduation and pulling his hair out when she learned how to drive. He’d be the one to walk her down the aisle at her wedding.

For all practical purposes, he’d be her father. He’d spend the rest of his life walking in his younger brother’s shoes.

If he was lucky.

“Shall I set up a meeting between you and the estate lawyer?” Mrs. Summers placed a double cappuccino with perfect foam on the desk in front of Anders and took a seat in one of the leather wingback guest chairs facing him. As usual, she held the tablet she used to keep track of his calendar in one hand and a pair of reading glasses in the other.

“Already done. I saw him this morning.” Anders stared into his coffee. It was going to take a lot more than caffeine to get him through the next few weeks.

“Oh.” His secretary blinked. “Everything all right, then?”

Anders took a deep breath and considered how much, exactly, he should share with his secretary. On one hand, she was his employee. On the other, she might be the closest thing he had to a friend now that his brother—who also happened to be his business partner—was gone. Such was the life of a workaholic.

“Not really,” he said quietly.

The phone on Mrs. Summers’s desk began to ring, but when she popped out of her chair to go answer it, Anders motioned for her to stay put.

“Leave it. Just let it roll to voice mail.” He took a sip of his cappuccino. She’d gone easy on the foam this time, and it slid down his throat, hot and bitter. Just like his mood.

Mrs. Summers frowned. “You’re beginning to worry me, Mr. Kent. Is something wrong?”

Nothing that a wife wouldn’t fix.

He closed his eyes and saw the puzzled face of the woman from the animal shelter—her wide brown eyes and lush pink lips, arranged in a perfect O of surprise.

Marry me.

God, he’d actually said that, hadn’t he? The past week had been rough, no doubt about it. It was astounding how much a single phone call could change things, could eviscerate your life so cleanly as if it were a blade of some sort. A knife to the gut.

But until this morning, Anders had been hanging on. He’d had to, for Lolly’s sake and for the sake of the business. Grief was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Not now, not yet. Besides, if he let himself bend beneath the crushing weight of loss, he wouldn’t be able to get back up—not after the things he’d said to Grant the night before the accident.

Anders and his brother rarely argued, and when they did, it was typically about the business. As two of the name partners in one of the most influential investment banking firms on Wall Street, they always had one another’s back, but that didn’t mean blind support. They challenged each other. They made each other better.

Their last argument had been different, though. Anders had gone too far—he’d made it personal. There’d been raised voices and slammed doors, and then nothing but an uncomfortable silence after Grant stormed out of the building. It had been their most heated exchange to date, but that was okay. They were brothers, for crying out loud. Grant would get over it.

But he couldn’t get over it, because now he was gone. And Anders couldn’t even bring himself to set foot in his dead brother’s empty office.

It was easier to stay on this side of that closed door. Safer.

Anders had managed to push their final confrontation into the darkest corner of his consciousness that he could find, and at first, it had been remarkably easy. He’d had a funeral to plan and Grant’s in-laws to deal with and a new, tiny person sleeping in his penthouse.

He was beginning to crack now. That much was obvious. Tiny fissures were forming in the carefully constructed wall he’d managed to build around the memory of his last conversation with Grant. Any minute now, it would all come flooding back. The effort to keep it at bay was crippling, as evidenced by his spontaneous marriage proposal to a woman dressed in a reindeer costume.

“There are some issues with Lolly’s guardianship.” Anders swallowed. The knot that had formed in his throat during the funeral service was still sitting like a stone.

Mrs. Summers shook her head. “I don’t understand. You’re her godfather.”

“Yes, I am.” He’d dutifully attended the church service at St. Patrick’s Cathedral and poured water over Lolly’s fragile newborn head. It had been a done deal.

Or so he’d thought.

He took another scalding gulp of his cappuccino. Then he set the china cup back down on the desk with enough force that liquid sloshed over the rim. “As it turns out, the legalities of the matter are a bit more complicated.”

“How so?”

“When Grant and Olivia drafted their wills, they made my guardianship of Lolly conditional. The only way I can be awarded full custody is if I’m married.”

The tablet slid out of Mrs. Summers’s hand and fell to the floor with a clunk. She didn’t bother picking it up. “Married?”

“Married.” He nodded. Maybe if they both kept repeating the word, the reality of his situation would sink in.

“But...” The older woman’s voice drifted off, which was probably for the best. Anders could only imagine the trajectory of her thoughts.

But you haven’t been on more than three dates with the same woman in years.

But you’re a workaholic.

And to quote his brother...

But you’re dead inside.

“Exactly,” Anders said, because it didn’t really matter which objection caused her hesitation. They all fit.

“So that’s it, then? What happens to Lolly?”

“Lolly’s staying put.” They’d take her away over his dead body. He’d made a promise to his brother that rainy day in St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and he intended to keep it. He owed Grant that much. It was the least he could do. “I just have to find a wife.”

The shocked expression on Mrs. Summers’s face gave way to one of perplexed amusement. “Find a wife? It’s as simple as that, is it?”

“Yes.” He gave her a curt nod.

Simple was a necessity.

Frankly, the more Anders thought about it, the more he liked the idea of an arranged marriage. A temporary wife was exactly what he needed. He’d handle it like a basic merger. After all, those were his specialty. No messy emotions, no expectations—just a simple business transaction between two consenting adults.

Two consenting adults who wouldn’t sleep together or have any other sort of romantic entanglement.

Maybe I really am dead inside.

Fine. So be it.

Maybe Grant had hit the nail on the head when he’d made that astute accusation right before he turned on his heel and stormed out of the office five days ago. Anders hoped he had. He’d love nothing more than to remain in his current state of numbness for the rest of his godforsaken life.

“My husband and I only knew each other for six months before we got married, and he was the love of my life.” Mrs. Summers gave Anders a watery smile. “You’re absolutely right. It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

Anders swallowed around the rock in his throat. “I don’t have six months. I have until Christmas.”

She gaped at him, and he took advantage of her silence to abruptly fill her in on the rest of it. Having this conversation was more humbling than he’d anticipated. “If I’m not married by the end of the calendar year, Lolly goes to the alternate guardians—Olivia’s sister and her husband. Lolly can’t go to them. They live in Kansas, and her entire life would be upended. Plus, they’ve already got five kids of their own, and while I’m sure they’re competent parents, they weren’t my brother’s first choice.”

Nor was Anders, technically. Grant and Olivia wanted Lolly raised by Anders plus one, as if the matter of guardianship could be worded like a wedding invitation.

Was it even legal? Possibly, according to his lawyer. But they didn’t have time to battle it out in court.

Even if they had, Anders would have had to speculate in front of a judge and jury why his own brother would place such a condition on his role in Lolly’s life in the event she became orphaned. He would be forced to admit that the provision in the will had taken him by surprise, but he knew precisely why it was there.

If Grant and Olivia couldn’t be there for Lolly, they wanted her to grow up in a nuclear family—a home with a mom and dad. But that wasn’t the only reason. They knew that Anders loved their daughter, but they also knew he couldn’t be trusted to get up and walk away from Wall Street at a reasonable hour every day. Work was his first love, his only love. And that wasn’t good enough for Lolly.

Hell, even Anders knew it wasn’t.

He would change. Had they really thought he wouldn’t? He’d turn his life inside out and upside down for that little girl.

Yet here you sit.

The paneled walls of his office felt as if they were closing in around him. Anders fixated on the smooth surface of his desk and breathing in and out until the feeling passed.

When at last he looked up, the tablet was back in Mrs. Summers’s hands again and her glasses were perched on the end of her nose.

“Tell me how I can help,” she said.

A fleeting sense of relief passed through him. Help was precisely what he needed, and Mrs. Summers was efficient beyond measure. He could do this. He had to. “Get me the names and contact information for every woman I’ve dated in the past twelve months.”

“Yes, sir.” She jotted something down with her stylus.

“Better make that the past eighteen months, just to be safe.” He took a deep inhalation. It felt good to have a plan, even if said plan was a long shot. Reaching out to old girlfriends made more sense than proposing to strangers.

“If I might make a suggestion, sir. Perhaps you should consider...” Mrs. Summers tipped her head in the direction of the office across the hall from Anders’s, which belonged to another partner in the firm—Penelope Reed.

Anders grew still. He hadn’t realized anyone in the office knew about the arrangement he had with Penelope. So much for subtlety.

“No.” He shook his head.

It wasn’t completely out of the question, but Penelope was his last resort. True, they occasionally shared a bed. And true, their relationship was strings-free, as businesslike as a coupling could possibly be.

But marrying someone within the firm was a terrible idea. They could hide the occasional one-night stand, but a marriage was another matter entirely.

“Very well.” Mrs. Summers nodded. “It was just an idea.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and wondered what it meant that he’d felt more comfortable proposing to a stranger than to a woman he bedded from time to time. Nothing good, that was for sure. “In the meantime, I also need to find another puppy.”

Mrs. Summers peered at him over the top of her glasses. “Did you miss your appointment at the animal shelter this afternoon? I thought I’d programmed it into your BlackBerry.”

“No, I was there. But the shelter made some kind of mistake. They promised the dog to someone else.” For a brief, blissful moment, Anders’s attention strayed from his messy life, and he thought about the graceful woman in the reindeer costume—her soulful eyes, holly berry lips and perfect, impertinent mouth. Somewhere in the back of his head, he could have sworn he heard jingle bells.

“What a shame. Lolly would have loved that little dog.” His assistant pressed a hand to her heart.

Anders had screwed up a lot of things lately. His list of mistakes was longer than the line to take pictures with Santa at Macy’s, but he had a feeling he’d done the right thing when he’d walked away from the animal shelter empty-handed. Maybe he wasn’t as big of a Scrooge as everyone thought he was.

Dead inside.

A headache bloomed at the back of Anders’s skull. “There are other puppies. I suspect it worked out for the best.”

Mrs. Summers narrowed her gaze, studied him for a beat and then nodded. “Things usually do.”

Did they?

God, he hoped so.

“I think I’m going to take the rest of the afternoon off, after all.” He stood, buttoned his suit jacket and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

This office was his sanctuary. He’d always felt more at home at his desk, glued to the market’s highs and lows, than he did at his luxury penthouse with its sweeping views of Central Park and the Natural History Museum. But today it felt different, strange... He wondered if it would ever feel like home again, and if it didn’t, where he was supposed to find peace.

“Call the nanny and tell her I’m on the way to fetch Lolly.” Maybe he’d take her to see the tree at Rockefeller Center or for a carriage ride through the park. Something Christmassy.

Like the Rockettes show at Radio City Music Hall?

His jaw clenched tight.

“Yes, Mr. Kent. And I’ll look into the puppy situation and send you a list of available dogs that might be a good fit.” Mrs. Summers looked up from her tablet. “Would you like me to try and find another Yorkie mix?”

He heard the woman’s voice again—so confident, so cynical in her assessment of his character.

You really don’t seem like the Yorkie type.

What did that even mean?

Did she picture him with something less fluffy and adorable, like a bulldog? Or a snake? More to the point, why had that assumption stuck with him and rubbed him so entirely the wrong way?

“Anything. I’m open to suggestions,” he muttered. Then on second thought, he said, “Scratch that. I want a lapdog—something cute and affectionate, on the smaller side. A real cupcake of a dog.”

Mrs. Summers stifled a smile. “Of course, sir.”

“The sweeter, the better.”

Chapter Three

The afternoon following Chloe’s odd encounter at the animal shelter, she tucked her new puppy into a playpen containing the candy cane–striped dog bed and a dozen or so new toys and then trudged her way through the snow-covered West Village to the Wilde School of Dance.

It was time to face the music.

She couldn’t keep lying to her family about her job. Just this morning, she’d thought she spotted her cousin Ryan walking through Times Square while she’d been on flyer duty. She’d ducked behind one of the area’s ubiquitous costumed characters—a minion in a Santa hat—but there was no hiding her blinking antlers.

Luckily, the man in the slim tailored suit hadn’t been her cousin. Nor had it been her brother, Zander. To her immense relief, she also ruled out the possibility that he was the man who’d proposed to her yesterday—Anders Kent. This guy’s shoulders weren’t quite as broad, and the cut of his jaw was all wrong. His posture was far too laid-back and casual. He seemed like a regular person out for a stroll on his lunch break, whereas Anders had been brimming with intensity, much like the city itself—gritty and glamorous. So beautifully electric.

Not that she’d been thinking about him for the duration of her two-hour shift. She quite purposefully hadn’t. But being on flyer duty was such a mindless job, and while she flashed her Rockette smile for the tourists and ground her teeth against the wind as it swept between the skyscrapers, he kept sneaking back into her consciousness. The harder she tried not to think about him, the clearer the memory of their interaction became, until it spun through her mind on constant repeat, like a favorite holiday movie. Love Actually or It’s a Wonderful Life.

Chloe huffed out a sigh. If life was even remotely wonderful, she wouldn’t be so hung up on a meaningless encounter with a stranger. Which was precisely why she had to stop pretending everything was fine and come to terms with reality. She was no longer a professional dancer. She might never perform that loathsome toy soldier routine again, and if she didn’t humble herself and come clean with the rest of the Wildes, they were sure to find out some other way and her embarrassment would be multiplied tenfold. Emily Wilde was practically omniscient. It was a miracle Chloe’s mother hadn’t busted her already.

Sure enough, the minute Chloe pushed through the door of the Wilde School of Dance, she could feel Emily’s eyes on her from clear across the room. Her mother was deep in conversation with a slim girl in a black leotard—one of her ballet students, no doubt—but her penetrating gaze was trained on Chloe.

Here we go.

Chloe smiled and attempted a flippy little wave, as if this was any ordinary day and she stopped by the studio all the time. She didn’t, of course, making this whole situation more awkward and humbling than she could bear.

When was the last time she’d set foot inside this place? A while—even longer than she’d realized. She didn’t recognize half the faces in the recital photographs hanging on the lobby walls, and the smooth maple floors had taken quite a beating since she’d twirled across them in pointe shoes as a teenager. The sofa in the parents’ waiting area had a definite sag in its center that hadn’t been there when Chloe spent hours sprawled across it doing her homework after school.

Was her mother still using the same blue record player and worn practice albums instead of a digital sound system? Yes, apparently. The turntable sat perched on a shelf in the corner of the main classroom, right where it had been since before Chloe was born.

At least Emily was no longer teaching back-to-back classes all day, every day. Chloe’s sister-in-law, Allegra, had taken over the majority of the curriculum. From the looks of things, Allegra’s intermediate ballet class had just ended. She waved at Chloe from behind the classroom’s big picture window as happy ten-and eleven-year-olds in pink tights and soft ballet slippers spilled out of the studio, weaving around Chloe with girlish, balletic grace.

Her throat grew tight as a wave of nostalgia washed over her. Everything was all so different, and yet still exactly the same as she remembered.

She’d grown up here. In total, she’d probably spent more time between these faded blue walls than she had in the grand family brownstone on Riverside Drive. If family lore was to be believed, she’d taken her first steps in her mother’s office between boxes of tap shoes and recital costumes. Just months afterward, she’d learned to plié at the barre in the classroom with the old blue record player.

Chloe’s first kiss had happened here, too—with a boy from the School of American Ballet Theatre during rehearsals for Romeo and Juliet. It had been a stage kiss, but her heart beat as wildly as hummingbird wings, and when the boy’s lips first touched hers, she’d forgotten about pointed toes and the blister on her heel from her new pointe shoes.

The kiss might have been fake, but the warmth of his lips was real, as was the feeling that this school, this place that she knew so well, was etched permanently on her soul. She’d always come back here. It was her home.

I should have come back sooner.

She’d meant to. But somehow days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, and then her father died. Walking in her childhood footsteps after his heart attack was just too painful, so she’d taken the easy way out and stayed away. She’d thrown herself fully into the Rockettes and, like everything in her life, the family dance school took a back seat to her career.

And now here she was—jobless, with no close friends, superficial relationships with her family members and no love life whatsoever now that Steven had so unceremoniously dumped her after the Thanksgiving parade mishap.

Perfect. She’d somehow become the horrible character in a Christmas movie who required divine intervention to become a decent person again. Except there wasn’t an angel in sight, was there?

Again, Anders Kent’s chiseled features flashed in her mind. She blinked. Hard.

“Chloe!” Allegra clicked the classroom door shut behind her and pulled Chloe into a hug. “What a wonderful surprise. What are you doing here? Isn’t this your busy season? Aren’t you performing ten times a day or something crazy like that?”

Before she could form a response, the teen ballerina bade Emily goodbye. Chloe stepped out of the hug and held her breath as her mother approached.

“Hello, dear. Isn’t this a lovely surprise.” Emily kissed her cheek, but the warm greeting didn’t alleviate her sense of shame.

If anything, it made her feel worse.

“Hi, Mom. Allegra. It’s great to see you both.” Chloe could feel her smile start to tremble.

Don’t cry. The only thing that could make her confession more painful was if she fell apart before she could get the words out.

“Are you okay, dear?” Emily glanced at the dainty antique watch strapped around her wrist. She’d been wearing it as long as Chloe could remember. “It’s the middle of the day. Shouldn’t you be performing in the matinee?”

This was it. This was the moment to spill the beans and admit she was the Rockette who’d become YouTube famous for ruining the Thanksgiving Day parade.

She took a deep breath. “No, I’m actually not performing anymore. For now, anyway.”

“What do you mean, you’re not performing?” Emily’s face fell.

The disappointment in her eyes was a knife to Chloe’s heart. For all Chloe’s mistakes, Emily had always been her biggest supporter. Chloe had missed months’ worth of family dinners and get-togethers, but when it came to performing, she’d never failed to make her dancer mother proud. Until now.

“I’m on hiatus for a while.” She swallowed and shifted her gaze over Emily’s shoulder so she wouldn’t have to see her mother’s crushed expression, but then she found herself staring at a slick, glossy poster from one of her own Christmas shows.

The poster hung in a frame surrounded by photographs of herself in various Rockette costumes. The arrangement was practically a shrine.

“Oh dear, you’re not injured, are you?” Emily’s hand fluttered to her heart.

“Please don’t worry, Mom. I’m fine.” I’m just a world-class coward. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t confess to being fired, not while she was standing there, facing the Chloe wall of fame.

Besides, her mom had just given her an excellent idea. An injury, even a small one, would buy her some time to make things right. She could start helping out at the school. She’d answer the phones, manage the dance moms—anything—and once she’d proved her devotion to her family again, she’d finally tell them everything.

Because she was definitely telling the truth, 100 percent. She was just delaying it a tiny bit longer.

Seriously? Just fess up already.

“It’s only a sprain,” she heard herself say, and immediately wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole.

Allegra gasped. “Oh, no. Please say it’s not your ankle.”

Chloe looked down at her feet. She’d worn Uggs, because it was freezing out, but if she’d had an injured ankle, it would be wrapped. She might even be on crutches. “Um, no. It’s my calf.”

“Your calf?” Emily lifted a brow.

“Yes. There’s a terrible knot in it.” Could she have come up with a more ridiculous lie? There was no way her mother was buying this.

“I see,” Emily said quietly...so quietly that Chloe had the distinct impression that her mother really did understand what was happening, but was so unable to face the truth of the situation that she couldn’t even say it out loud.

But if Emily sensed Chloe was being less than truthful, she didn’t admit it.

“That’s a shame, sweetheart. But whatever circumstances brought you back, I’m glad you’re here.” She smiled. “Really glad.”

Chloe took a deep breath. “Me, too. I was actually hoping you could put me to work.”

“Here at the studio?” Allegra said.

“Yes. I’d love to help run things around here with the two of you. I’ll do whatever you need.”

“But your calf...” Allegra’s gaze drifted downward.

“She’s right,” Emily chimed in. “Your calf could get in the way of doing any teaching. Plus, I’m afraid we can’t really afford it.”

The school was having money troubles? No wonder things looked a little worse for wear. “I didn’t realize...”

Of course she didn’t. Maybe if she’d bothered to show up every now and then, she’d know what was going on.

“I think I might have an idea, but it would only be part-time,” Emily said.

“That’s okay.” She needed a few hours a week off for flyer duty, anyway. “I’ll do anything.”

“We’re doing Baby Nutcracker this year, and you’d be a perfect director.”

“Baby Nutcracker?” Chloe had no idea what that meant, but she didn’t ask. Whatever it was must have been added to the school’s annual repertoire, and she didn’t want to draw yet more attention to her prolonged absence. “That sounds like fun. I’d love to.”

Emily and Allegra exchanged a glance.

“Are you sure? It might be part-time, but it’s not an easy job,” Allegra said.

“And you’d need to be around until Christmas Eve.” Emily raised her brows, waiting for an answer.

Perfect. “I’m sure.”

“Great. You can start right now.” Emily brushed past her and held the door open for the crowd of parents with small children who’d appeared out of nowhere and were lined up on the sidewalk outside.

Wait. What?

“Now?” Chloe gulped.

“Now.” Emily nodded.

Allegra leaned closer. “I’ll help. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you?”

Thank God for sisters-in-law. “I’m clueless.”

“Baby Nutcracker is a Christmas recital for the preballet students, aged three to five.” She pushed open the door to the main classroom and waved Chloe inside. “It’s an abbreviated version of the traditional Nutcracker ballet—same music, same characters, just a bit shorter.”

Preschoolers dressed as mice, nutcrackers and a sugarplum fairy? Yes, please. Who would turn down this job? “That sounds adorable.”

Allegra crossed her arms. She seemed to be biting back a smirk. “When was the last time you taught preballet?”

Was this a trick question? “Never. I might have helped out back when I was a teenager, but that’s the extent of my teaching experience.”

Chloe slipped out of her coat. Luckily, she’d worn a black wraparound sweater and yoga pants—clothes she could move in.

“You can borrow these.” Allegra tossed her a pair of ballet shoes. “If you think your calf will be okay.”

“Thanks.” She swallowed and slipped the shoes on. “I’m excited. This should be fun.”

“The little ones are precious, and the production is definitely adorable. But they’re a handful.” She glanced over Chloe’s shoulder. “And they’re here.”

Right. She could do this. She was usually onstage for a minimum of three shows a day for the entire month of December. Putting together a half-hour ballet recital for a few preschoolers would probably be easy by comparison.

You wanted to be involved, and now you are.

She took a deep breath and turned, following Allegra’s gaze toward the picture window that overlooked the lobby. The space was suddenly packed with strollers and tiny bodies dressed in candy-colored ballet clothes. It looked like every mom in the Village had turned up with a toddler in tow.

How could they possibly have money problems? Enrollment seemed to be booming. “Allegra, how bad is the school struggling?”

“Pretty bad.” Allegra sighed. “We had the big dance-athon fund-raiser a while back, so the business is out of the red. But we’re still barely getting by. We’ve got just enough to pay the bills every month. I keep thinking that if we could give the studio a major face-lift, we could attract serious dance students. Maybe we could even hold a summer intensive for one of the dance companies.”

“That’s a great idea.” But it would never happen in the school’s current condition.

Chloe looked around again, and her gaze snagged on all the little things that needed to be fixed—the cracked walls, the scuffed floors, the faded furniture. Even the window overlooking the lobby had a tiny spiderweb of cracks in the corner. She frowned at it, until something beyond the glass caught her attention.

Correction: not something. Someone.

His head towered above the crowd, and his expression was as grim and intense as ever. Chloe had never seen anyone look so woefully out of place at a ballet studio before. It would have been comical if the sight of him hadn’t been such a shock.

“Brace yourself. I’m going to open the door and let the kids inside.” Allegra paused midway across the room. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Not a ghost. A thief.

A puppy thief.

The man on the other side of the window finally glanced her way. He did a double take, and then his gaze collided with hers.

She forgot how to breathe for a second. All day long she’d kept imagining that she’d seen him, and now here he was in the flesh, as if she’d somehow conjured him.

Anders Kent.

Her would-be fiancé.

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