The Billionaire's Christmas Baby

By: Victoria James



The minute she had picked up that baby outside the church she knew it was for a reason. Louise believed in her. And Louise believed in her brother. There had to be more to this man than what she’d just witnessed. She owed it to Louise. She had to honor Louise’s wishes, no matter how miserable of a man Emily’s uncle was. She couldn’t chicken out now.

Hannah took a deep breath, straightened out her not at all fashionable hat, and knocked on the door again. She didn’t know what she was going to say, but Jackson Pierce was not going to get rid of her that easily. Adrenaline and panic intertwined and wove their way through her body as she gave herself a mental pep talk. She wasn’t a quitter. Emily needed her.

There was no answer.

She ripped off her mitten and pounded. Hard. But there was still no answer.

Fine. Jackson Pierce thought he was stubborn? Well, he was about to meet his match. She lifted her foot and gave the door a swift, hard kick. Just as she was about to give it another one worthy of a champion soccer player, he whipped open the door. She struggled not to fall backwards as she almost lost her balance. She quickly lowered her foot, composed herself, and forced a smile on her face.

He didn’t smile back.

“Look, Mr. Pierce, this is a matter of life or death.”

He raised his eyebrows, clearly unimpressed. “Whose death?”

She frowned at him. “It’s really a matter of life, actually.”

“What’s your name again?”

“Hannah, Hannah Woods.” She was relieved by his more reasonable tone. The life or death line was always a winner at getting someone to take her seriously.

“Do you realize, Hannah Woods, that you are trespassing on private property?”

Okay, so maybe that line didn’t work on Mr. Pierce. She felt her insides twist into a knot as she stared into hostile brown eyes.

She nodded carefully. “Yes, I realize that. I don’t usually do this sort of thing, but your sister Louise died…”

He cursed loudly. “And let me guess, she left a pile of bills?”

She shook her head. She was about to explain when he cut her off.

“I don’t associate with money-grubbing, junkie friends of my sister. So get your ass off my property and—”

“I’m not a friend of your sister’s.”

He leaned forward so that his face was a few inches from hers. “I don’t care,” he hissed. “I don’t care if you were a friend of hers or a friend of the frickin’ Pope. I. Don’t. Care. So get the hell off my property.”

He stepped back and this time he slammed the door so violently that she actually shuddered. It took her a few seconds to process what had happened.

Jackson Pierce was a jerk.

In all her imaginings about how this was going to unfold, him yelling at her and slamming a door in her face, twice, wasn’t what she’d envisioned. She’d thought he’d at least hear her out. But he hadn’t even given her a chance to tell him about Emily. She knew deep down, under that nasty temper, there had to be a good man. Louise had told her all about him, what a good brother he’d been. But that had been a long time ago, and Louise had made so many mistakes. He had obviously never forgiven her. When he hadn’t been at the funeral Hannah assumed it was because he didn’t know she had died. But now, after witnessing his palpable anger toward anything Louise, she wondered if he just hadn’t cared to show up. So where did that leave Emily?

Hannah stood unmoving on the porch, the harsh wind hammering snow and ice up and down her body as though it too were taking a turn at trying to knock her down. Her car was already buried under the snow and must have lost most of its heat. She wasn’t a quitter, but it was obviously time to think of a Plan B. She needed to get moving. But where the heck were they going to go at eight o’clock at night during a blizzard?

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Pierce,” she grumbled to herself, as she carefully climbed down the porch steps, still holding her Santa tin filled with cookies. She could sit in her car and gorge herself on cookies until she came up with a plan. Luckily, she had two cases of baby formula in the trunk.

So much for the lucky hat. Maybe she should rip it off and then stomp on it. She was exhausted and cold and now, thanks to Jackson Pierce, miserable. She trudged through the snow as quickly as the wind and snow would allow, her sights on the car. Emily was going to need to eat again in under an hour, and the last thing she wanted to do was pull over in the middle of nowhere to give her a bottle. Maybe she could try and knock on the door of that charming bungalow at the end of the street—it had been adorned from top to bottom in Christmas decorations and lights. Surely, whoever lived there wouldn’t turn a woman and a baby away in a blizzard.

▶ Also By Victoria James

▶ Last Updated

▶ Hot Read

▶ Recommend

Top Books