His Christmas List: – Naughty Stories For Your Stocking
His Christmas List: THE EXPERT: Chapter 1

Monday Morning.

Kerry puts her head around the corner of my door. “Can we go through your schedule for the next few weeks?”

I hit send on my email. “Yeah.” I keep typing. “Can we do it a bit later? I’m swamped.”

“Okay, but I need to book your accommodation for Paris today because everything is booking out.”

I glance up from my computer. “I’m not going to Paris, remember?”

“Um…yes you are.”

“Not possible.”

“Too late, I already accepted the invitation.”

I breathe out, exasperated. I love Kerry, she’s the best PA in the world, but damn it she oversteps sometimes.

“Kerry, don’t play with me, I’m way too busy.” I sigh as I keep typing.

“We need the Reynolds account,” she snaps. “We’re not going to make budget without it.”

“I know.”

“And we want our staff bonuses this year. We’re making budget if it kills me.”

“And it might.” I roll my eyes. “I am not going to the conference in Paris and watching my dickhead ex-husband parade around his new wife while competing with him for the Reynolds account. I would rather eat shit.”

Kerry plops into the chair at my desk, “You know…this little poor me act is getting a little tired.”

I roll my eyes. Here we go.

“I’m not giving poor me vibes.”

“Want a bet?”

I keep typing.

“When you and Graham split the company in two after you divorced, our aim was to take him down. You have always been the brains of the operation, show him how hard we can fuck him and his business up.”

“I know.”

“We are the only two forerunners in the Reynolds account, we can win it. But not if you don’t even go to the conference.”

My heart sinks. “I just don’t think I can go and watch him and Melody….” I shrug.

“Melody is a child who is going to realize that her new husband is a dumb sleazebag.”

“She’s thirty, she’s not a child.”

“Oh please.” She rolls her eyes. “Women don’t even grow their second brain until they hit thirty-five. In five years she’s kicking his ass to the curb and leaving him. And you know where we are going to be?”

“Where?” I sigh.

“Without the Reynolds account because our spineless CEO let her ex-husband win at business too.”

I sit back in my chair. “You’re right, I know you’re right. I really just….” I shrug, disappointed in myself. “The thought of going to that conference that close to Christmas and having to mix with him and all our work associates when he’s there with his new wife is just….”

“Embarrassing?”

“Well just five years ago we were at the same conferences as husband and wife and working together on the same business. Now we’re divorced and own two companies who are in direct competition against each other and he’s got a perky young little replacement for me.”

“So, take a date.”

“Ha,” I explode. “And who would that be?” I scoff. “I hate men, I hate dicks and I especially hate egotistical fuckwits, which coincidentally is the entire dating pool for women my age. So, unless you can organize Santa Claus to be my date I’m not going.”

“Ugh.” She rolls her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

Friday.

Knock, knock, sounds at my office door and I glance up to see Kerry.

“What’s up?”

She comes in and closes the door behind her and I frown. “Why are you closing the door?”

“Tell me you love me.”

I raise my eyebrow. “Why do I love you?”

“So…Paris.”

“Ugh, can we not talk about that dumpster fire, please.”

“I have organized a….” Her voice trails off as she searches for the right wording. “Chaperone for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“His name is Thomas Stone.”

“Who is that?”

“He’s a doctor.”

“A what, what?” I frown. I’m so confused. “What are you talking about?”

“So, my cousin Marcy is friends with his friend’s wife.”

“Who’s his friend?”

“Cameron Stanton is his friend and his wife, Ashley, is one of Marcy’s best friends.”

I roll my eyes at the million explanations. “Not hard to keep up at all.”

“Anyway…there’s this doctor from LA who….” She wobbles her head around as she tries to word it right. “Helps out professional women like you for weekends just like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“So, apparently he did it once as a favor for someone and he was so good at it and enjoyed it so much that he now does it full-time.”

“Does what?” I stare at her, still confused. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“He’s an expert in this field.”

“What field?”

“The escort field.”

“The what field?” I gasp, horrified. “Are you on crack?”

“It would work.”

“I’m not taking a sleazebag escort with an STD to a conference as important as this.” I drag my hand down my face. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”

“You’re not going to go at all?”

“Not going is better than this option.”

“And he’s not an escort that sleeps with women, he’s not that kind of escort.”

“Oh please,” I scoff. “He’d be banging like a barn door.”

“He’s a professional well-educated man who would escort you to all of the social things and pretend to other people that you are together and then at the end of the night, he goes back to his room. No sex involved, it’s a business transaction…and a pricey one at that.”

“How much does he cost?”

“Fifty thousand dollars for a weekend.”

“What?” I explode. “Are you fucking crazy?”

“He keeps his prices high because he only caters for a certain level of professional business women. He doesn’t want to waste his time on lower paying jobs.”

“Well…we are not paying for any kind of….” I widen my eyes. “Expert.”

“So, you have to apply for his company through his manager,” she continues.

I roll my eyes. “Does he think he’s Fabio or something? For fifty thousand dollars he should take what he’s fucking given. No dick is that good.”

“He accepted our job so I paid fifty percent this morning,” she blurts out in a rush.

“What?” I explode.

“You gave me management of the accounts.”

“To spend wisely.”

“This is an investment,” she fires back. “It’s tax deductible because he has a legitimate consulting business he works out of.”

“What does he consult on…?” I gasp. “Vagina waxing?”

“Probably…who cares anyway? Listen here, you are going to suck it up and go to this thing with Thomas Stone and play nice and wow the conference with your sparkle and bring home the fucking Reynolds account.”

I stare at her; my mind is officially blown.

She opens a manilla folder and passes me a photo. “This is him.”

I stare at the photo for a beat and frown. The man is wearing a black dinner suit and smiling. He has dark wavy hair and big dimples on a square jaw, he looks very distinguished and cultured, my eyebrows rise by themselves. “He’s ….”

“Gorgeous.” Kerry smiles. “And if all you achieve by doing this is to make Graham realize that he made the biggest mistake of his life by cheating on you…then I’m happy.”

My eyes linger on the photo.

“Fuck Graham. Don’t let him win,” Kerry whispers. “Nobody will ever know and if this helps us get what we need…then why not? We both know that Graham would do anything in his power to get that account…stop being the nice guy and do the same. Fuck Graham and Melody, wipe their faces in it.”

She does have a point.

“Success is the best revenge.”

My eyes rise to meet hers. “No sex?”

“None.”

“Separate rooms?”

“Uh-huh, his only prerequisite is that you privately meet the day before to set out a game plan and strategize. He doesn’t want this to fuck up either, he’s a professional and wants it to stay that way.”

“It’s tax deductible?”

“He’s an expert.” She widens her eyes. “And you could sure use some expertise.”

I smirk. “I’m going to kill you, you know that, right?”

“Absolutely.”

Three Months Later.

The cab pulls into the hotel in Paris and I want to crawl into the trunk and never come out.

What in god’s name was I ever thinking agreeing to this?

I’m here to meet Thomas Stone ahead of the Christmas work conference that starts tomorrow. Who goes to a conference two weeks before Christmas? This is just stupid.

He wants to strategize…strategize what?

Help!

I’m shaved, primped and primed and to be honest I think I’m more nervous to meet Thomas than I am to go to this stupid conference alone.

My car door opens and the doorman smiles at me “Bonjour.”

“Bonjour,” I timidly reply as I climb out of the car.

“Your bags will be taken into reception for you.”

“Merci.”

Thump.

Thump.

Thump goes my heart.

I take a deep steadying breath. It’s fine…this is all going to be fine, I try to tell myself, but I’m quite positive that it won’t, someone is going to realize this is all fake and it’s going to blow up and come out that I had to hire a date and then I’m going to have to move to Mars to escape the retribution of embarrassment.

I walk into the foyer and without looking around I walk straight to the desk; a man is in front of me checking in so I have to wait.

I know Thomas is here somewhere and I really, really don’t want to see him.

Fuck this ridiculous plan, I’m calling it off.

I text Kerry.

I wait for her reply….

Fuck, where is she? I text again.

I begin to sweat.

Oh my god, she’s asleep or reading her stupid book or something and isn’t going to get the message and then the whole conference is going to replace out I had to hire a date and my life will be officially over.

I dial her number. Ring, ring…ring, ring…ring, ring….

Please pick up.

“Elizabeth….”

I turn to see a tall man in a suit. He has dark hair, a chiseled jaw and big blue eyes. “Hello, I’m Thomas Stone.” He gives me a big breathtaking smile as his aftershave enslaves my senses…good fucking god.

What is happening right now?

“Hi,” I squeak.

“Nice to meet you,” he says as he shakes my hand.

“Hi,” I reply.

You already said that, you fool.

He smiles and gives me a playful wink…he knows he just fried my brain.

Help!

“Next,” the person at the reception desk calls.

I step forward and Thomas stands behind me.

“Hello, I would like to check in please?” I whisper. “The name is Elizabeth Burchmore.”

“Of course.” He goes to typing away and Thomas is standing so close behind me that I can feel the heat radiating off his body. Hasn’t he ever heard of spatial awareness?

I begin to feel faint.

“We have you in a …blah blah blah…” the reception man goes on but I can’t hear a thing over my hammering heart.

This is bad, bad, bad. Nobody on earth is going to believe I pulled this man.

He slides the key over the desk. “You are in room 402 on the fourth floor.”

“Thank you.”

“We’ll take your bags up to your room for you.”

“Thanks.”

Thomas grabs my elbow. “Let’s get a coffee.”

I glance over my shoulder at him, why is he acting so familiar? “I don’t have time for coffee.”

“Wrong answer.” He takes my hand in his and begins to pull me toward the hotel restaurant. “We are having coffee. We have a lot to discuss.”

Exactly, like why are you holding my hand?

I snatch my hand from his grip. “Fine.” I follow him to the restaurant, the decorations are beautiful and Christmas wreaths that hang from the ceiling light up above, he pulls out my chair and gestures to the waiter. “Bonjour, nous aimerions commander du café, s’il-vous-plait.”

Oh…he speaks French.

“Oui, bien sûr,” the waiter replies.

Thomas’s eyes flick to me. “What would you like?”

“A cappuccino.” I shrug. Do they even have that here?

“Un cappuccino et quelques pâtisseries,” Thomas replies to the waiter.

“C’est noté.” The waiter smiles before disappearing.

Thomas’s eyes come back to me and he sits back in his chair. “It’s lovely to meet you, Elizabeth.”

“I wish I could say the same.”

His eyes hold mine.

“I’m sorry that sounded so rude, I just…I think this is a really bad idea and I don’t know why I let Kerry talk me into it.”

He smiles as he leans onto his hand as he listens.

“I…if anyone realizes that this is a business deal I will never live it down.” I continue my babbling. “So, thank you so much for the offer and I know you must be very busy but I don’t think this is actually going to work and I….”

“Elizabeth.” He cuts me off. “Calm down and relax. It’s one weekend and nobody will ever replace out.”

“They’re going to know.”

“I’m never going to tell anyone, so the only way they will ever know is if you tell them.”

My eyes search his. “Are you sure?”

“I’m a professional, trust me. We’ve got this, but we have a lot of work to get through today.”

“Work.” I frown. “What kind of work?”

He reaches down into his briefcase and pulls out a leather-bound A4 notepad and opens it up, he clicks his pen. “We’ll get through the paperwork first before we tackle the other things.”

What other things…?

“Okay.” He writes at the top of the page.

Elizabeth Burchmore

“So….” He looks up at me. “What are our goals for the weekend?”

“Goals?”

“Goals. Like what are we achieving?”

“Oh…um?” I frown. “I hadn’t really thought about goals.”

“Why not?”

“Surviving the weekend would be a bonus.”

“Okay.” He clicks his pen a few times. “Who is going to be here that makes you feel like that?”

“My ex-husband.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere. What is his name?”

“Graham.”

“And how long have you been separated?”

“Divorced for four years.”

“I see, and does he have someone new?”

“A wife, her name is Melody.”

He scribbles the notes.

“Do you have children together?” he asks.

“No. Neither of us ever wanted children.”

He smiles as he scribbles down notes. “Agree with you on that one.”

“Here you are.” The waiter arrives with our coffee and a huge plate of pastries.

“Merci.” Thomas smiles, the waiter disappears, and he slides my coffee across to me and serves me out a plateful of pastries.

“Oh no thank you, I don’t eat pastries,” I lie as I try to sound skinny.

“Please,” he scoffs with an eye roll. “Let’s get something completely clear here, Elizabeth. I don’t give a flying fuck if you eat pastries, in fact, if you don’t eat French pastries while you’re in Paris you are officially really fucking boring.”

I give him a lopsided smile.

“You don’t need to impress me…at all. I am on your side already,” he says as he takes a giant bite of a croissant, he closes his eyes in ecstasy. “So good.” He gestures to my plate of baked goods. “Eat.”

“Maybe just a sliver.” I take a knife and cut a tiny corner off the croissant and daintily put it into my mouth.

He smiles into his coffee as his eyes hold mine. “Just a sliver of cake is the same as just the tip of a cock. It never happens. Once you try it you’re getting the whole thing.”

I smirk and sip my coffee.

“Okay, back to business.” He picks up his pen. “Why are we here?”

“Graham and I used to run a human resources company together and when we separated we split the company in two. We are now in direct competition with each other and this weekend is a decider for the biggest account we had.”

He furiously scribbles. “Tell me about this account.”

“It’s for Gaynor Reynolds, she has seven thousand employees that she runs through a company and it’s up for tender. A five-year contract that will be worth an absolute fortune.”

His eyes rise to meet mine, “Female?”

“Yes.”

“French?”

“Yes.”

He smirks, “You’re already a front runner for this account.”

“Why is that?”

“French women are my specialty.”

I giggle at his confidence. “Well if you can schmooze your way into winning this for us please be my guest.”

“Okay.” He keeps scribbling. “Company name?”

“Of what?”

“Gaynor’s company, I need to research her.”

“Reynolds.”

He keeps scribbling. “Okay so…. Why did you and Graham split?”

I stay silent, the words too painful to say out loud.

His eyes rise to meet mine.

“He met someone else,” I force out.

“Well….” He gives me a big, beautiful smile. “More fool him.”

He writes the words.

Make Him Pay

He underlines it twice.

I squirm in my chair with embarrassment.

“So, tell me about you.” He sits back in his chair as he holds his pen in his hand.

“Not much to tell.”

“How many boyfriends have you had since the split?”

I exhale, unable to answer.

He frowns. “You haven’t?”

I give a subtle shake of my head.

“How is that possible? A woman as beautiful as you would be fighting them off.”

“With a stick.” I widen my eyes.

He stares at me for a beat as if thinking. “So….”

“So, what?”

“Do you always dress like this?”

I glance down at myself. “Like what?”

“Mumsy.”

My mouth falls open in horror. “This is not mumsy, this is designer.”

“Designer mumsy.” He stands. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“To your room, I need to go through your clothes for the weekend.”

“What?”

“You need to look irresistible and designer mumsy is not fucking cutting it.”

Fifteen minutes later he peruses my outfits that are all laid out on my bed.

“No.” He picks up a dress and throws it on the floor. “No.” Throws another one off. “No, no, no. Absolutely fucking not.”

I put my hands on my hips, indignant. “These are new clothes. I was told by the saleswomen they are the highest of current fashion.”

“Yeah well…. That saleswomen fucked you up the ass. Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“Shopping.”

Half an hour later we arrive at Le Bon Marché and Thomas walks in front of me at speed. “Hurry up, woman.”

“What’s the rush?” I call as I try to keep up.

“We have to buy new clothes and get your hair done; we don’t have much time.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Sweetheart.” He crumples up his nose. “Don’t talk.”

My mouth falls open in horror. “You’re being obnoxious, Thomas.”

“It’s my specialty.” He keeps walking and goes to the information stall. “Bonjour, avez-vous un personal shopper disponible ?”

The woman smiles, “Laisse-moi vérifier.” She types into her computer.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

“She’s checking if there is a personal shopper available.”

“What?” I screw up my face. “I don’t need a personal shopper, I’ll just pick something myself.”

He widens his eyes. “I saw what you picked last time.”

Ugh… this man is pissing me off, I cross my arms in a huff.

“Phillipe va s’occuper de vous.” She smiles.

“Merci.” He smiles.

“What did she say?” I ask.

“Phillipe is coming now.”

“A man?” I whisper, horrified. “I don’t want a man to style me.”

“I told you not to talk, remember?” he whispers.

“Bonjour,” a man says from behind us.

“Hello.” I smile awkwardly, well isn’t this just the most cringey moment of my life.

A man I am paying to spend the weekend with me asking another man to style me because I am mumsy…and I don’t even have fucking kids.

This is just great.

“How can I help you both today?” the man says in English, he smiles as he looks between us. Gorgeous and stylish, he’s definitely in the right job.

“Bonjour,” Thomas says. “Elizabeth has a weekend work conference and unfortunately her douche ex-husband will be there and basically…we need to bring the fucker to his knees.”

Phillipe nods and circles me as he looks me over. “Something…. More….”

“Sexy.” Thomas cuts him off.

“Less baggy…more fitted.”

“Precisely.” Thomas looks around, “Is there a hair salon in here?”

“Oui.”

“Can you try and squeeze her in for an appointment?”

“Of course.”

Thomas smiles. “I’ll leave you two to it.” He glances at his watch. “How long?”

“I’m going to need a few hours,” Phillipe replies.

He kisses me quickly on the cheek. “I’m going to go and get a massage, I’ll be back for you later.”

“Okay.”

“She needs lingerie too,” Thomas adds. “Something pretty and feminine. Super seductive.”

“Of course.”

I feel my face blush with embarrassment, I just want the earth to swallow me whole, two gorgeous men working out what I should wear while I clearly have no idea about anything.

Why the hell would I need lingerie?

I don’t think I’ve ever felt so vulnerable and unattractive. I’m going to kill Kerry for making me come here and do this.

Four Hours Later.

The hairdresser spins my chair back toward the mirror and my eyes widen.

My long brown hair is now blond and cut into a sharp bob. A lady from cosmetics came and gave me a makeup lesson and I have twelve bags of new clothes and a major dent in my credit card.

I’m hardly recognizable, even to myself.

The hairdresser smiles. “What do you think?”

“It’s…amazing,” I reply as I turn my head to look at both sides, not a joke, it really is amazing.

“It really suits you, this color.” She takes the cape off and I walk to the reception and see Thomas sitting and waiting with a magazine, he glances up and his eyes light up as he stands. “Wow.”

I blush again…. Oh man, this is the chorus of the blushing weirdo.

“That will be four hundred and ninety euros,” the hairdresser says.

My mouth falls open. I didn’t get a hair transplant, bitch.

Jeez.

I pay her and I don’t want to think about what I’ve spent today; I’ve never spent so much money on myself in my life.

Thomas smiles as he circles me and looks me up and down. “Seriously…fucking hot, Elizabeth.” He smiles to the hairdresser. “I’m a lucky man.”

The hairdresser giggles on cue as she stares at him dreamily.

Ugh….

We leave and walk back into the shopping center; he takes my shopping bags from me to carry them. “Okay we have to go back to the hotel and practice.”

“Practice what?” I reply as I look around.

“Kissing.”

My eyes flick to him. “What for?”

“Well if we want to nail this we have to be all over each other.”

“Thomas.” I stare at him, horrified. “We’re not kissing.”

He raises his eyebrow. “Want to bet?”