SUSAN MEIER - The Twelve Dates of Christmas

“It’s Langley.”

He smiled at her. Those silky brown eyes held her prisoner.

“And yours?”

“Vaughn.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Eloise Vaughn.”

“If I’m going out with you twelve times, then I’m getting twelve dates’ worth of help.”

“Deal.”

She took in his handsome face. The fine lines that created his chiseled features. Those beautiful brown eyes.

A strange feeling worked its way through her. Real attraction.

Which would only wreck their deal and was the last thing in the world she wanted.

“This is where I draw the line. I’m fine walking myself upstairs.”

With that she turned and strode into her building. She wouldn’t risk being alone with him outside her apartment door when there was so much goodnight-kiss potential. She might be strong, but she wasn’t perfect. She’d learned a long time ago that a smart woman didn’t tempt fate.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SUSAN MEIERspent most of her twenties thinking she was a job-hopper—until she began to write and realised everything that had come before was only research! One of eleven children, with twenty-four nieces and nephews and three kids of her own, Susan has had plenty of real-life experience watching romance blossom in un-expected ways. She lives in western Pennsylvania with her wonderful husband, Mike, three children, and two overfed, well-cuddled cats, Sophie and Fluffy. You can visit Susan’s website at: www.susanmeier.com.

For my sisters …

May we always take care of each other

the way Olivia, Eloise and Laura Beth do.

Contents

Cover

Introduction “I don’t even know your last name.” “It’s Langley.” He smiled at her. Those silky brown eyes held her prisoner. “And yours?” “Vaughn.” “It’s nice to meet you, Eloise Vaughn.” “If I’m going out with you twelve times, then I’m getting twelve dates’ worth of help.” “Deal.” She took in his handsome face. The fine lines that created his chiseled features. Those beautiful brown eyes. A strange feeling worked its way through her. Real attraction. Which would only wreck their deal and was the last thing in the world she wanted. “This is where I draw the line. I’m fine walking myself upstairs.” With that she turned and strode into her building. She wouldn’t risk being alone with him outside her apartment door when there was so much goodnight-kiss potential. She might be strong, but she wasn’t perfect. She’d learned a long time ago that a smart woman didn’t tempt fate.

Title Page The Twelve Dates of Christmas Susan Meier www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author SUSAN MEIER spent most of her twenties thinking she was a job-hopper—until she began to write and realised everything that had come before was only research! One of eleven children, with twenty-four nieces and nephews and three kids of her own, Susan has had plenty of real-life experience watching romance blossom in un-expected ways. She lives in western Pennsylvania with her wonderful husband, Mike, three children, and two overfed, well-cuddled cats, Sophie and Fluffy. You can visit Susan’s website at: www.susanmeier.com .

Dedication For my sisters … May we always take care of each other the way Olivia, Eloise and Laura Beth do.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THERE WAS ALWAYS too much month left at the end of Eloise Vaughn’s money.

“Here, put these crackers in your purse.” Laura Beth Matthews gathered a handful of crackers from the party buffet of their newly married friend, Olivia Engle, and shoved them at Eloise.

She gasped. “So now we’re reduced to stealing crackers?”

“Five crackers are lunch.”

Eloise sighed but opened her Chanel purse and let her roommate dump the crackers inside.

“I’m sorry, Coco.”

Laura Beth said, “Coco?”

“Chanel...” She shook her head. “Never mind.”

Hoping no one saw the crackers falling into her purse, Eloise glanced around the Christmas party at the women wearing shiny cocktail dresses in shades of red and green and the tuxedo-clad men. Subdued gold and silver decorations gave the Engles’ penthouse a sophisticated glow. The clink of ice in glasses, laughter of guests and the air of importance—wealth and power—wafted around her.

For fifty cents she could work this room and probably leave with a date. But she didn’t want a date. She’d had the love of her life and had lost him. Now, she wanted a job, a good-paying job, a permanent position that would support her. Unfortunately, her degree didn’t seem to translate well into actual work. In lieu of a job, she’d take another roommate, someone to help with the rent on the apartment she shared with Laura Beth. Then the pressure would be off, and the salary from the temp job she currently had at a law firm would be enough that she and Laura Beth could buy food again.

But she wouldn’t find a roommate here. All of these people could afford their own condos. Maybe two condos...and a beach house.

Laura Beth studied the remaining food. “It’s too bad we can’t pour some of this dip in our purses.”

Eloise shoved her purse behind her back. “I draw the line at dip. No dip. Not on the inside of my Chanel.”

“You do realize you could sell some of those overpriced clothes, handbags and shoes you own and probably eat for an entire year.”

“Most of my stuff is five years old. No one would want it.”

Laura Beth sniffed a laugh. “You make it work.”

“Only because I know how to change a collar or add a belt.”

“So update your stuff and then sell it.”

She couldn’t. Not that she loved clothes and dressing up so much that she’d die without accessories. It was more that these clothes were the last piece of herself she had. The last piece of the starry-eyed college junior, one year away from graduating, who’d run away and married her Prince Charming.

Her heart pinched. Prince Charming seemed like an odd description. Especially given that she and Wayne had had their troubles. After they married, her wealthy parents had disowned her, and Wayne couldn’t find a job. So she’d had to work as a waitress, and they’d fought. A lot. Then he’d been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, and in what seemed like the blink of an eye, he’d died. Overwhelmed with grief and confused that death could be so swift and so cruel, she’d gone home, hoping her parents would help her cope. But they wouldn’t even come to the door. Through the maid, they’d reminded her that they had disowned her and didn’t want her and her troubles visiting their doorstep.

At first she’d been crushed, then she was sad, then she got angry. But that only fueled her determination. Come hell or high water she intended to make it. Big. She didn’t know where or how, but she intended to make it. Not just to show her parents, but so she could be happy again.

* * *

“I’d like you to meet my cousin.”

Ricky Langley glanced up in horror as his lawyer walked up to him with a thirty-something woman. With her hair in a tight black ball on the back of her head and her bright red dress clinging to her curves, she eyed him appreciatively.

“Janine Barron, this is Ricky Langley.”

“It’s a pleasure.” Her voice shivered just the tiniest bit, as if she were so thrilled to meet him she couldn’t quite catch her breath.

Another man might have been pleased—maybe even proud—that his lawyer liked him enough to introduce him to a relative. But since his son had died, he’d been besieged by a loss so intense that thoughts of love, romance or even meeting somebody weren’t anywhere on his radar.

He said, “It’s nice to meet you,” and managed ten minutes of polite conversation, but when he found an opportunity, he slipped away.

He wove through conversation groups as he walked across Tucker Engle’s sleek living room. Although Tucker had married six months ago, his New York City penthouse still claimed the sophisticated furnishings of a bachelor pad. Chrome and black leather furniture sat on white shag carpet atop dark hardwood floors. The Christmas tree Tucker had decorated with his new wife, Olivia, glittered with all silver and gold ornaments. The cherrywood mantel over the fireplace boasted one stocking...for Baby Engle. Not yet born, the child hadn’t been named. They wouldn’t tell the sex either. It was all to be a grand surprise.

He pursed his lips as his breathing stuttered. He thought of the one and only Christmas he’d shared with his son. Blake had been born December twenty-seventh, so he was two days shy of a year on his first Christmas day. He’d clapped when he’d seen the tree lit with brightly colored lights that reflected off the tinsel. He’d eaten Christmas cookies. And he’d gone just a bit bananas when he’d awakened Christmas morning to find tons of gifts all for him. He couldn’t talk, so he squeaked and squealed for joy. He had torn off wrapping paper, liked the boxes better than the actual gifts and in general made a mess of Ricky’s pristine penthouse.

It had been the best Christmas of Ricky’s life. And now he had nothing.

He sucked in a breath. He shouldn’t have come to this party. He might be eighteen months into his grief, but some things, like Christmas celebrations, would always level him. Worse, he had twelve more of these events on his calendar. Ten parties, one wedding and one fraternity reunion. Last year, six months into his grief, he could reasonably bow out. This year, people were beginning to worry.

He turned to race away from the mantle and bumped into somebody’s purse. He swore he heard a crunch as his hands swung around to catch his victim.

“Damn it! I think you crushed my crackers.”

The scowl on the blonde’s beautiful face surprised him so much he forgot he was too unhappy to talk with anyone. “You have crackers in your purse?”

She sighed heavily and tucked a strand of her long yellow hair behind her ear. “Not usually.” She glanced at his tuxedo, gave him a quick once-over, then shook her head. “Never mind. You’re a little too rich to understand.”

“Oh, you took crackers from the buffet table for lunch next week.” At her horrified look, he inclined his head. “I used to be poor. Did the same thing at parties.”

“Yeah, well, this was my roommate’s idea. Typically, I’m not the kind of girl who steals.”

“You’re not stealing. Those crackers were set out for the guests. You’re a guest. Besides, it’s the end of the night. Once we all leave, the leftovers will probably be thrown away. Or given to a homeless shelter.”

She squeezed her eyes shut in misery. “Great. Now I’m taking crackers out of the mouths of homeless people. I hate this city.”

He gaped at her. “How can you hate New York?”

“I don’t hate New York, per se. I just hate that it costs so much to live here.”

She suddenly straightened. Right before his eyes she changed from a frantic working girl into a princess.