Page 3 of A Billionaire for Christmas

SO MANY BOXES, SO LITTLE TIME… TICK, TICK, TICK

Stepping out of the staff changing room moments later, Molly was transformed.

She had managed to brush her matted hair into a blanket of silk that fell into waves down one side while the other had an ornate feathery creation pinned to it.

Thanks to all the make-up lying around, she’d created the face of what she hoped was a worldly-wise catering expert.

One who was decidedly above all of this dressing-up nonsense; bold red to her plump lips, dark smoky eyes, strong eyebrows and a golden shimmer to her skin.

The costume was more elaborate than any she’d ever worn.

She was wearing a tightly fitted blood-red corset with black lines running up the front that accentuated her curves.

There was a sweetheart neckline with a black silk bow in the centre drawing the eye to her ample cleavage, the ridiculously tiny skirt and knickers a mix of ruffled red silk with black lace – but at least the frill covered her bottom, if nothing else.

Theatrical, sheer black striped stockings ran the length of her long, lean legs up to her thighs and were each topped with a small, red satin bow.

A sharp contrast to the milky white smoothness of her legs that disappeared beneath the ruffle of the skirt.

In her long black gloves to the elbow, she appeared dramatic, vampish, emboldened, as though she did this every day of the week.

She looked the opposite of how she felt inside.

The things one had to do to save one’s business!

She swallowed her nerves, threw a nearby apron over her costume and began prepping the food.

Once the platters of bite-size gourmet appetisers looked like a prize-winning art installation, Molly stood back to observe her handiwork.

She inspected the blaze of colourful, delicate petals and swirls of intricate purées on top of sumptuous hors d’oeuvres.

All carefully designed to take the breath away, before melting in the mouth.

When Molly and Ava had set out to impress with their fledgling business, they wanted to be twice as good as their competitors, and it showed.

The complex designs and the implementation of cutting-edge ideas had been the perfect distraction for Ava during treatment for her illness.

The friends had spent hours and hours perfecting the art of world-class molecular gastronomy – in particular, culinary aphrodisiacs.

But Ava had always been the driving force behind making smart and risky business decisions and pushing boundaries, while Molly revelled in the safety of being the behind-the-scenes creative.

When they had taken over the struggling restaurant from Ava’s great-aunt, they had given the old French menu a fresh, new, scientific twist, and customers seemed to love it.

She carefully placed the trays on a trolley.

‘Wow, you look fantastic,’ Keela said, bustling through the door. ‘It’s manic out there. I’ve just restocked the bar, up in the Stockings and Garter Room on the first floor. Can you take that trolley up there, please? Then come and meet me downstairs.’

In a daze, Molly pushed the trolley through the kitchen door.

Her costume (along with her remaining vestiges of pride) was well and truly hidden beneath her catering apron, where it would stay until the very last second.

As the lift pinged to signal the first floor, Molly took a deep breath and stepped out onto the sumptuous carpet and turned left.

The corridor was wide and brightly lit with a mix of wooden panelling and luxurious silk fabric wallpaper.

Expensive-looking artwork hung between large, heavy wooden doors.

It had an atmosphere that oozed the extravagance of old money.

She caught sight of her reflection in a huge mirror hanging on the wall and barely recognised herself.

What the hell am I doing charging around like an underdressed pantomime dame?

Nerves and curiosity were starting to get the better of her.

She tried to forget she was an award-winning chef as she took off her apron, folded it neatly and stuffed it onto the lowest shelf of the trolley.

She knocked tentatively on the first door she came to and opened it cautiously.

In the split second on entering, the warm smell of cigar smoke, brandy and cinnamon hit her.

Gentle music filled her ears. She wasn’t at all prepared for the sight that greeted her.

She took in a hazy room full of women sauntering around with stockinged legs and designer sky-high heels, their pert bottoms in black lacy thongs on display and ample breasts housed in expensive, couture lingerie and balconette bras.

More men and women, in varying degrees of undress, lounged on huge wide sofas.

The scene was as decadent as an eighteenth-century portrait, and as sizzling as a high-class brothel.

Molly lowered her gaze and wheeled the trolley further into the room, silently closing the heavy door behind her.

With her pulse racing triple time, she made her way to the elaborately decorated banquet table at the side of the room, and keeping her back to the sizable crowd of semi-naked people, she deftly replaced the empty canapé trays with full ones.

As she worked, she heard amiable chatter rising above the low hum of music, and soft bursts of giggling.

When people approached the banquet, she overheard a variety of compliments for the exquisite culinary delights she was speedily setting out.

She had no urge to take any credit, preferring instead to get out of there as quickly as she could.

She wheeled the trolley full of empty trays to the corridor outside.

As she bent down to retrieve her apron, she spotted a forgotten plate of canapés.

She grabbed it and went back into the room to put it with the others on the table.

Her stomach growled, reminding her that she had yet to eat today.

Sure that no one would notice her, she took an hors d’oeuvre and popped it quickly into her mouth.

She was pleased with the burst of flavour, the texture and the smokiness of the apple crisp against the sweetness of the fig leaf oil.

These half-naked, randy swingers would have to go a long way to find food as tasty as hers.

‘These are amazing,’ said a woman in a low, cordial voice next to her. ‘I’ve never seen anything so extraordinary. Really, darling, this place is always full of surprises, isn’t it? These are Michelin-star standard.’

Since Ava’s death, Molly had felt no great pleasure in receiving compliments, but she turned around out of politeness without thinking.

Suddenly time slowed. Nothing in her life so far had prepared her for the bolt of lightning that now struck.

The lady was standing next to the most handsome man Molly had ever laid eyes on.

She only caught a glimpse of his profile each time the lady moved, but she was instantly captivated by the way his eyes crinkled, the straight nose leading to the full lips and a jaw covered in stubble.

When he turned, it was enough to knock the breath from her lungs.

She clutched the table, averting her gaze.

She remembered Petra telling her that only the super-rich were allowed to stay at the members-only Cigar Lounge.

The billionaires, the celebrities, the politicians.

Her mind flew to the bucket list and the first of the remaining twelve challenges.

Drink champagne with a billionaire while naked in a hot tub overlooking the Alps.

What were the chances of this man being super-rich, single and in the mood to skinny dip while drinking champagne?

Against her better judgement, Molly dared to sneak another look at him.

He had kind, intelligent eyes, and a tanned face framed with dark, neatly trimmed hair.

She stared just long enough for him to sweep it casually away from his forehead.

Before she could help herself, her eyes wandered the length of his body.

He was tall and lean, his arms strong and muscular beneath the tailored jacket.

She’d never seen a man so well proportioned.

Ever. Molly tried, and failed, to tear her eyes away.

It was such a shame he wasn’t blind, or she’d have frogmarched him straight to the nearest hot tub.

‘And putting in that pit-stop halfway down the red slope was a genius idea,’ the lady rattled on. ‘I’m always desperate for an espresso martini by the time I’ve lugged myself all the way to the top. No one could accuse the staff of not pouring generous measures.’

‘We can’t have people skiing sober, can we? It’s just like golf; they’ll realise it’s an expensive waste of time,’ he replied drily, tossing a canapé down his throat. ‘You’re right. These are delicious.’

The lady honked with laughter as pride bloomed unexpectedly in Molly’s chest. He gave a small bow and disappeared deeper into the room. The lady gazed after him with a contented sigh.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ said another woman, approaching. The two ladies exchanged air kisses. ‘If ever I was going to seduce a man, surely it would be him.’

‘Levi? Get in line. Anyway, I’m not sure your husband would agree. You look fantastic by the way.’

‘As do you. It’s a pity Levi is such forbidden fruit. He’s uncommonly handsome.’ The two women stared after him longingly.

Adrenaline was coursing through Molly’s veins. ‘Handsome’ was something of a major understatement. Maybe it was just because she’d been cooped up in the kitchen all year, but every one of her nerves was on end.

‘At thirty-six, he’s too energetic for you, my dear. Think of your new hip. Besides, he’s the despair of women the world over. If you’re going to pick a billionaire to have a casual affair with, might I suggest Old Walt over there?’