Chapter 1: Chestnuts Roasting...

Angus Gold hated parties. Loathed them. Detested them with every fibre of his being. While he exceeded at social politicking, he had never found much need for interaction outside of an office setting. But 'twas the season and he needed to make nice in hopes old St. Nick would take pity on his latest merger. All his life he'd been turning lumps of coal into diamonds, applying just enough pressure with the right amount of patience. Then that bitch Regina had taken half his client list out from under him when she absconded. He should have known that blood would out. Cora's daughter had been an excellent apprentice when she started. After college, a rebellious Regina was all too happy to go to work for the man that pissed off dear old Mom. Unfortunately, time had hardened Cora and softened Regina. It took only a few words of poison dripped into Regina's willing ear and Angus's carefully built infrastructure was splintered from within.

Oh, he had a failsafe or two, of course he did. This deal with Moe French was one of them - hence the flight to Boston in this wretched weather. So, here he stood on the doorstep of a large, handsome brownstone, in his second-best tuxedo. He held an exceedingly expensive bottle of wine in one hand and his cane in the other. Before ringing the bell, he took a moment to compose himself. Regina's trifling with his work would not go unpunished, of that he was sure. Tonight, however, he had to remember how to be charming. He had been once, after all. Cora was ambitious in her youth, but she would not have fallen so easily into his life (and his bed) without a little finesse.

He squared his shoulders and used the handle of his cane to press the buzzer. A plump, pleasant-looking woman in a linen uniform and what appeared to be reindeer antlers opened it. She smiled warmly at him and offered to take his coat. He gave it to her and she promised that Moe French would be right down. He realized with an unpleasant shudder that he was the first to arrive. As the housekeeper (maid?) led him into a sitting room, he took in the garish decorations adorning each wall. The house was positively covered in tinsel and wreathes. Popular music he vaguely recognized as having a Holiday theme crooned from small speakers set into various nooks. The most appalling of all was the giant tree that loomed nearly to the ceiling, set close to the back of the room. It was ringed with flickering lights and weighed down in every direction with baubles that glinted and sparkled.

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. French may not have an iota of good taste but he ran a damn fine business and Angus was here in a show of good faith. He would compliment the crass finery, have a drink, listen to the cheesy music and shuffle off to his hotel as quickly as could be considered polite. He drew the line at sampling the fruitcake that took center stage on the table. Experience had taught him to avoid that unholy confection.

The uniformed woman re-appeared and offered him a glass of wine. He accepted gladly and took a seat as far from the tree as he could find, setting the wine bottle on the table. The song changed and for a moment he thought of many, many Christmases ago when trees and wreaths and all that good cheer had not seemed so trite and hollow. The song that played now had played in his own house once, and he could almost hear the small, high-pitched voice that had tried to sing along…

"Angus!" A male voice with a distinctive Australian accent broke through his reverie and he was both disappointed and grateful for the interruption. Moe stood half a head over him, wearing an elegant tuxedo with a red tie that lit up in the middle. He held a drink on one hand and stretched the other in front of him, in greeting.

Angus rose and took the extended hand. "Moe. Always a pleasure."

Moe laughed as they shook hello. "You're a rotten liar, Gold. You look like the cat spat you up and then dragged you here."

"My apologies. I got in rather late last night and I'm afraid I did not get much sleep." What little sleep he did get had been a drunken stupor, but he would omit that fact.

Moe clapped him on the shoulder and Angus tried not to flinch. "Whatever the circumstances, I'm glad I finally got you out here for one of my world famous soirees! "

Angus glanced around the empty room. "Yes, it seems quite… festive."

"You're early, my friend. It won't get busy until at least 9 or 10. Everyone loves to be fashionably late in the city. I see Marcia already got you a drink. Wonderful woman. My little girl and I wouldn't know what to do without her. Well, not so little anymore, my girl. Have you met my Belle?"

"Not in person. She was away at school the last time I was in town, if I remember correctly. However, I believe that since she graduated, my assistants and I have exchanged more emails with her than with yourself. " Angus smiled thinly. Moe's daughter had taken on quite a good deal of her father's workload after she finished graduate school. He was very familiar with her environmentally conscious email signature and her propensity for florid language. In all, she seemed to have a good enough head on her shoulders, even for someone hired through obvious nepotism. Moe's business had flourished in the past few years and he had a sneaking suspicion that little Miss French may have had a hand in that development.

"Ah, well she'll be here tonight, with her young man. I'm not ashamed to say, I think she's made an excellent choice there. They were both at the top of their class at Harvard. She won out for Valedictorian, of course, but I've heard that Grayson gave her a run for her money!" Moe laughed again and took a long sip of the amber liquid he was swirling in the crystal glass before continuing.

Angus gave as interested a look as he could muster. As Moe rambled on about his progeny's stunning accomplishments, Angus's mind kept wandering pleasantly back to the wee hours of the morning. His foray to a local bar had taken a rather unexpected turn the night before. If there was time before his plane left, he fully intended to stop in that same bar once more. Moe's galloping monologue was finally halted as they heard the front door open and shut.

"Papa? Are you in here?" A female voice, also Australian, echoed into the parlor. Gold shifted his weight so he was relying less obviously on his cane for support.

"In the parlor, sweetheart." Moe called back. "Our first guest has arrived."

"Oh? Really? And I'm not even half presentable… Grayson is parking the car. I was going to run up to my old room and… " Her voice trailed off as she entered the room, hands busily tucking her messy curls into an up-do. Her eyes went wide as she saw him and her hands paused in mid-air. She was a vision in champagne colored satin, fitted perfectly to her curves and slit just high enough to showcase a set of truly remarkable legs.

Angus swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. Her accent was different, her clothes far more expensive, and her makeup less pronounced. Yet, he would know her in a heartbeat even if he were blind and deaf. He knew what those sinuous legs felt like wrapped around his waist. He knew the sounds she made at the height of her pleasure. Right now, he could read the panic in her gaze, saw her lower lip tremble. He blinked rapidly and opened his mouth to speak but Belle recovered first.

"Hello, you must be a business associate of my father's. I'm Belle French." She reached for his hand and he gave it dumbly.

"Your… your father speaks very highly of you."

"Well, don't believe everything he tells you. I promise I did not invent sliced bread or penicillin." She smiled winningly, wrapping an arm around her father's much larger one.

That surprised a genuine laugh out of him and the initial shock abated. "I have seen quite a few of your emails, actually. I think the praise is like to be well earned."

She blushed prettily at that and he felt a glimmer of self-satisfaction. "I'm afraid I didn't catch your name?"

"That's because I didn't throw it." He cringed immediately after the words left his mouth but Belle laughed lightly. "It's Angus Gold."

"Oh! Yes, we have spoken quite a bit, haven't we? You always sign your emails as A. Gold, I think, right?"

He nodded.

"Well, it's very nice to meet you at last, Angus." She rolled his name around in her mouth as though she hadn't been screaming it the night before. An agreeable shiver ran up his spine with the memory.

"Wonderful to finally meet in the flesh, Miss French." He caught and held her gaze until she blushed again and looked away.

"Call me Belle, please." She turned to her father. "Papa, I hope you'll excuse me while I finish getting ready. Grayson will be along any moment so you boys can talk football to your hearts' content." She placed a light kiss on her father's cheek and, avoiding Angus's eyes, walked out of the room.

He released a long, slow breath. Tonight had suddenly become a lot more interesting.