Christmas with the Silver Fox Billionaires: Chapter 3

To think I never set foot in the Morgans’ Hamptons estate, even though I was engaged to Terrence, should have been yet another red flag in our relationship.

“It’s humongous,” Jamie says as we get out of my car.

We park next to a string of silver and sleek black Lexus sedans. At the base of the palatial mansion’s front steps, an artesian fountain displays its marble angels that pour water into a small pond surrounded by a cobblestone pathway. At the top of the stairs, a man in a dark grey butler’s uniform awaits.

“They’ve had this place for generations,” I tell Jamie. “I’m pretty sure they built it from the ground up, somewhere around the turn of the twentieth century.”

“Well, the Morgans have been rich and around since long before that,” he says. “They probably wanted a summer palace, like the European royals or something.”

“It does make you wonder.”

“Wonder what?” Jamie asks.

“What they’re like. I mean, the brothers are dashing, charming, and handsome, but what are they really like?” I wonder aloud. “Are they as entitled as Terrence, just better at smooth talking?”

Jamie leans in. “I don’t think you should use a loser like Terrence as a blueprint for the Morgan brothers. Just remember that he’s not really⁠—”

“A Morgan,” I say, finishing his sentence for him. “You’re right.”

Some skepticism is healthy, but I’m probably delving into overly cautious territory, and the chemistry I felt with Cole, Asher, and Toby hit differently. It was deeper, more intense, and more intentional than anything else.

“Good morning and welcome,” the butler says, greeting us as we reach the top of the stairs. “My name is Ian. I hope you had a nice ride out.”

“There was not as much traffic as we expected,” I reply with a smile. “Then again, the cold weather is upon us. I assume most of the Hamptonites have already gone back to the city to prepare for the holidays.”

“They have. The Morgan family will be moving their operations to the upstate winter estate, as well, by the end of next week,” he says. “Now, if you would both follow me inside.”

We do, quiet and observant as we walk through the massive double doors. The mansion’s exterior is painted white with dark blue window frames, and the wood bears a dark, almost chocolatey grain. It’s a dramatic and imposing contrast, reminiscent of the nineteenth-century nautical theme so many of America’s bourgeoisie chose for their summer homes.

The interior is exquisite and enormous, with tall ceilings and lacquered parquet floors. The windows are equally tall, providing a constant source of abundant light, while the textiles are light in color. Paintings of nautical scenes and family portraits adorn the walls, along with vintage photographs of some of the Morgan men’s most treasured yachts.

We’re taken to the tearoom, and as soon as we walk through the French doors, my stomach begins to violently churn.

Sheila stands up from one of the embroidered chairs while steam rises from a porcelain pot on the table next to her. “Glad to see you both made it,” she says, looking elegant and composed in her white silk shirt and black pencil skirt, heels clicking on the marble floor. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“Yet here we are,” I reply, my tone clipped and my blood close to a boiling point, but Jamie takes the lead, like we agreed.

“Thank you for the invitation,” he says.

We cautiously approach as the butler steps back. I steal a glance at the man in his late fifties and notice the discomfort deeply etched into his face. He doesn’t like Sheila that much either. At least I’m not alone in this sentiment.

“I had tea prepared. Have a seat and make yourselves comfortable,” Sheila replies, motioning toward the other seats around the table.

I sink into one, while Jamie takes the other next to mine, and Sheila returns to hers, proceeding to pour some freshly brewed, rose-colored tea into one of the dainty cups—part of an elegant set prepared for this occasion. It smells nice, but her perfume is so intense and far too sweet, quickly overpowering my senses.

“I had Ian supply us with an artificial sweetener,” she says, looking at me with a flat smile. “Assuming you’re watching your calories.”

And there it is. Another jab. But I need the money, and I need this project, so I clamp down on my pride and flash a cool grin. “No, I’m good with regular sugar, thank you,” I reply and pour a cup of my own, adding two teaspoons of brown sugar for good measure.

The muted horror in her eyes gives me tremendous satisfaction.

“Now I understand you’re organizing a wedding,” Jamie says with a polite nod, as he takes out his iPad for meeting notes. “Who’s the happy couple?”

“As if you didn’t know,” Sheila shoots back, smiling from ear to ear. “Terrence and Katrina are eager to tie the knot just before Christmas, so⁠—”

“Just before Christmas?” I blurt out, almost choking on my tea. “That’s less than four weeks away. I assume you want a big, lavish wedding.”

“Exactly,” she says, as if her request is completely reasonable. “Are you not up to the task?”

“Sheila, you know we’re up to the task. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have had your people reach out to us. But I want to know… why us?”

I give Jamie an apologetic nod. He was supposed to handle the discussion, but she’s just too much for my tired nerves.

“Because while I may dislike you as a person, I do appreciate the skill with which you deliver your services,” Sheila says. “I’ve only heard good things from your previous clients.”

“Is that why you poached four of our existing clients and sent them off to your friend’s agency?” I ask sharply.

She looks surprised, but I’m not buying it. “I don’t take kindly to unfounded accusations.”

“Then you should enlist your friend’s agency to handle this event,” I reply.

It’s a gamble, I know. And judging by the not-so-subtle ankle kick Jamie just gave me as his eyes throw daggers at my face, he knows it too. Yet I find comfort and certainty in the fact that Sheila asked us to come over—fully aware that I’m not the type to bend over so easily. She must’ve seen this coming.

“They’re too busy with their new clients to give us the attention and the dedication we require,” she states, sounding way too satisfied for my own ego. I walked right into this one, didn’t I? “So, are you capable of handling this?”

“You want a wedding before Christmas,” Jamie says. “Four weeks. It means we’ll need to mail the invitations out before the end of next week. It’s a stretch, but doable.”

“Good. Glad to hear that.”

“Do you have a location in mind?” he asks.

“Our winter estate in Thornwood,” Sheila says. “The ballroom holds up to a thousand guests.”

A troubled look passes between Jamie and me. “How many guests will you expect?”

“About a thousand.”

My stomach drops. That’s a large number for a short window of time. “It’ll be close to Christmas, and there’s bound to be heavy snowfall by the second week of December, which might make the Thornwood inaccessible.”

“Oh, they’ll come,” she replies with another confident grin. “It will be the event of the year, and we insist on a luxurious winter theme.”

“Design and visual-wise, what color scheme are you considering?” Jamie tries so hard to be professional while all I want to do is throw this cup filled with hot tea at the woman’s face. “Perhaps white and silver?”

“Precisely,” she says. “With some pale blue or a metallic, deeper blue for accents. Or white and a smidge of gold? Some cream on the side? What would you suggest?”

Jamie thinks about it for a moment. “White, silver, and blue is as distinguished as they come. The Romanoff family’s winter balls had that color scheme, and they smashed it every time.”

“Oh, yes, I remember seeing photos. So bejeweled.” Sheila laughs lightly.

The tearoom door opens. Terrence and Katrina walk in—hand in hand and dressed like an uppity J Crew catalogue couple that’s about to go sailing together.

“Hope we’re not late,” Terrence says as the two of them join us. “We’re just popping by to say hello. Mom will handle all the wedding details.”

“Without any input from the bride?” I quickly pick up on the unspoken tension as I give Katrina a wry smile.

“Sheila says I only have to worry about my dress and makeup. She’s got everything else covered,” Katrina replies, trying to sound cool with this arrangement. “It saves me a lot of stress and effort. I couldn’t be more thankful.”

“I’m sure you couldn’t,” I mutter.

“Well, I’m glad we were able to get some cash flowing your way,” Terrence cuts in, looking at me. “I heard you weren’t doing so well, so Kat and I decided to work with you, despite our history.”

Our history.

Oh, now he’s just begging for a kick in the nuts. Was I so blind to this man’s charm that I really didn’t see who he truly was? Or was the fear of never being chosen simply powerful enough to blind me? Either way, it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s a lesson learned, not a mistake meant to define me.

“It’s greatly appreciated,” I reply, but the strain in my voice is impossible to hide, and it draws a dark glare from Sheila.

“I can’t wait for you to see Katrina in her bridal gown. I saw the preliminary design earlier this morning. It’ll be downright stunning,” she says. “Perfect for her slim, delicate figure.”

“I’ll need to focus on the last-minute request of the event itself,” I reply. “I hope you understand that there will be additional fees attached to the final bill, and we will need timely responses on every selection, from fabrics and theme colors to decorations and the catering menu. Not to mention the drinks, the cake… everything. It will cost you a fortune.”

“We have a fortune,” Sheila laughs. “I will spare no expense for my son’s happiness, Willow.”

Bitterness tests the back of my throat as I remember how I spent six months engaged to this man, and not once did she ever sit me down to talk to me about the actual wedding. Hell, she’s fast-tracking this, like the engagement to Katrina might expire before the new year. It makes me angry.

But Jamie’s right, and so is my business instinct. We need the money, and with the amount of additional fees we can charge for this event, we’ll have enough to brave the winter, without worrying about most of our monthly expenses.

“I hope you’re not bitter about this.” Terrence continues to run his mouth.

Sheila sighs deeply. She doesn’t seem happy about what he just said, but she stands by her son with a stern, bold smile, looking at me as if she expects me to react. In the meantime, Jamie’s shoe keeps nudging mine to the point where I might have a bruised ankle.

I’m just about to answer, when the tearoom door opens again. To my astonishment, the Morgan brothers come in.

“When Ian said you were here, I thought he was mistaken.” Cole laughs as he and his brothers join us. “You look fantastic, Willow.”

I stand up, beaming like the sun, as I greet all three. They lean in, one at a time, dropping a soft kiss on my cheek as we say hello, then shift their focus to Sheila, Terrence, and Katrina—who look like they just swallowed a keg’s worth of lemon juice.

“So, you’re really doing this, eh?” Cole asks Sheila, albeit rhetorically, by the sound of his voice. “You get an A for audacity.”

“Willow’s agency has great credentials,” Sheila replies with a careless shrug.

“What are you three doing here?” Terrence grumbles at his stepbrothers.

Asher gives him a wry smile. “We’ve been living here since before you were born, squirt. Mind the tone.”

“Gentlemen,” Sheila tries to stifle the brewing conflict.

“Are they treating you well?” Toby asks Jamie and me.

“Well enough, thank you,” I say, while Jamie stands up and puts his iPad away. “We’ll draw up the contracts and have them sent to your office by the end of the day,” I tell Sheila, “with a complete breakdown of the prices and a specific mention about the estimates. There’s no telling what the suppliers will charge for such last-minute requests, particularly so close to the winter holidays.”

“I’m fine with that, as long as my son has the wedding of his dreams in Thornwood,” Sheila says.

Cole gives her a hard frown. “What did Dad say about Thornwood?”

“He’s been under the weather. I didn’t bother him with the details,” she replies, her shoulders squared as she looks up at him.

There’s tension between them, the kind of tension that spans years and has been kept in check for far too long. They clearly can’t stand each other, but they’re also forced to share the same space. I wonder what’s going on under the surface.

“You should. He married our mother at Thornwood. That place is sacred to him. Last I remember, he was hoping for a spring wedding for Terrence and Katrina, so he’d be in better health and able to have it here,” Cole insists.

“I will not have this discussion here right now,” Sheila replies. “Take it up with James when he comes back from the clinic.”

The last thing I need right now is a crash course in Morgan family drama. I put on my bravest smile and decide to put my business above all else.

“If that is all, Jamie and I need to get going,” I cut in. “There are plenty of preparations to make if we’re to deliver Katrina and Terrence’s perfect winter wedding.”

“Oh, I love the spirit,” Sheila quips.

Terrence and Katrina seem pretty content, as well, cuddling and smiling with an almost perverted satisfaction as they look at me. I turn to Cole and gently squeeze his wrist, the touch of his skin quick to alter my senses, then give Asher and Toby a playful wink.

“And I will see the three of you on Friday for our date,” I add.

With lightning speed, the humor fades from Sheila’s and Terrence’s eyes. Katrina’s just surprised, but nowhere near as emotionally invested in my downfall—so she doesn’t have a dog in this fight.

“Date?” Terrence manages.

“I’ll be in touch with the contract shortly,” I say, shutting down the conversation.

“We’ll walk you out,” Asher says. “And yes, Friday is all set and ready to go.”

“Wonderful!”

I walk out with my head held high, fully aware that Sheila would sell her soul to the devil himself for a chance to gouge my eyes out. But she can’t do anything about this. And Terrence looks downright pitiful, standing next to his belle while I am accompanied by his three stepbrothers.

His ego must be screaming in pain.

By the time we reach the top of the front steps again, Jamie is one breath away from struggling to hold in his laughter. I hook my hand through his as we make our way down the stairs, but not before I give the Morgan brothers one more thankful smile.

“See you,” I tell them.

“Oh, God, that was just too much on so many levels,” Jamie gasps as we get in the car. I turn the heat on first, then let the engine rev till it’s purring softly. “It was savage, Will.”

“But we got what we wanted, didn’t we?”

“Plus, a side dish of sweet revenge. My lord, Terrence was transfixed. He did not see any of it coming. And Sheila. I have to give that cold-hearted shrew credit. She held it together. We’ll need to be careful, though. You need to be careful,” he says, gradually assuming a more serious tone.

I offer a sigh as I pull out of the parking space and head for the estate’s main gates. “Yes, I know. She’ll keep poking and prodding every chance she gets.”

“And we’ll keep taking her money,” Jamie says. “That’s not the problem. You do need to be careful about how she might interfere with your dating life.”

“Sheila has no control over the Morgan brothers. They made that much obvious just now.” I giggle softly. “Man, she almost choked on that bitter pill, didn’t she?”

“She might’ve had a little trouble swallowing.”

However, Jamie does raise a solid concern. Sheila is playing a game here—and chances are, it’s the kind of game that will burn me, if I’m not careful. We need to make this wedding happen at any cost, and we need to make it happen at the standard we always promise to deliver.

High end. Perfect. Sublime.

Without any compromise. Without complaints. Without any reason for Sheila to turn around and claim we botched Terrence and Katrina’s wedding in any way, shape, or form. Otherwise, she’ll use my status as Terrence’s ex-fiancé to trash me and our agency. She will bury us, if I give her the chance.

I won’t.