Three under the Mistletoe: A Christmas Menage Romance (Christmas Billionaire Menage Series Book 1) Read online

   Copyright 2016 by Tia Siren - All rights reserved.

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  Three under the Mistletoe

  A Billionaire Christmas Ménage Romance

  By: Tia Siren

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  Table of Contents

  Read the Billionaire Christmas Menage Series

  Three under the Mistletoe: A Billionaire Christmas Ménage Romance

  Mail Order Bride Collection

  BWWM Romance Collection

  Mafia Romance Collection

  Billionaire Ménage Romance – The Bad Boy Billionaire

  Four under the Mistletoe Sneak Peak

  More Steamy Romance by Tia Siren

  Read the Billionaire Christmas Menage Series

  Three under the Mistletoe and Four under the Mistletoe are both part of the Billionaire Christmas Menage Series. Although they are related, both can be read as stand-alones. You’ll love reading about the main characters in both stories!

  Three under the Mistletoe:

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01M2A5SDM

  Four under the Mistletoe:

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MSMLOFP

  Three under the Mistletoe: A Billionaire Christmas Ménage Romance

  CHAPTER 1: McKenzie Wallace

  “Holy shit.” I said the words to no one in particular as I stood in the bright California sunshine, peering over my sunglasses at the enormous glass and steel monstrosity that was the Silicon Valley headquarters of my new employer, Kinsey-Palmer Solutions, or KPS for short.

  “I assume you mean holy shit in a good way?” I heard a man’s voice close behind me. My nerves were already on end and his sudden presence made me jump.

  I turned to find a gorgeous guy with the bluest eyes I’d ever seen standing just a foot away. I guess I was blocking his path since we were scotched between my aging Honda and someone else’s new Beamer that was parked over the line. He gave me a sexy grin that made my already shaky knees shake even more.

  I looked him up and down. He didn’t look like someone on his way into work at one the world’s top cybersecurity software companies. I know, we millennials have a rather relaxed dress code, but this guy literally looked like he’d just fallen off of a surfboard.

  Even though it was the first of December and the rest of the country was snowbound, here in San Jose the temperature was expected to hit the mid-sixties for most of the week.

  In fact, if it wasn’t for the red and blue decorations in the store windows, and the never-ending ads on the radio, and the guy wearing shorts that I saw selling Christmas trees on the way into my first day of work, I would’ve had no idea that Christmas was less than a month away.

  Sixty degrees or not, the ocean water had to be freezing, but I knew that didn’t stop the diehard surfer dudes from catching waves, which apparently this guy was.

  If you look up the word “buff” in the dictionary, this guy’s picture would be there. Muscled up, only without that gross body builder look, he was wearing flip flops and flowery surf shorts and a baggy blue tank top with the words “Surf Life” emblazoned on it. His blond hair was long and damp and tucked behind his ears.

  He held a deep tan and had a jawline that would have made John-John Kennedy jealous. His bright blue eyes beamed at me from over the top a pair of expensive Ray-Ban sunglasses.

  I didn’t know what to say. I clutched the computer bag that was draped over my shoulder and pulled it in front of me like a shield. I wasn’t afraid that he was going to accost me or anything. I mean, we were standing in broad daylight with dozens of people around, for Pete sake. I just felt really self-conscious all of a sudden, as if I had forgotten to get dressed for my first day at work and was standing naked in front of this gorgeous stranger.

  I blinked at him again and muttered. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  His smile turned into a broad grin. His teeth were perfect and white. He nodded at the massive building behind me. “You said holy shit. I said, I assume you mean that in a good way. You know, like, holy shit I’m so impressed by the architecture rather than, holy shit what an ugly ass building.”

  “Oh, I see.” I gave him a smile that hopefully hid how nervous I was. I don’t know if it just first-day jitters that was making my heart pound in my chest or the fact that I was talking to a Paul Walker look-alike in such close proximity. I’m not really good around guys, unless we’re trying to hack computer code, of course. Then, I’m a bitch on wheels!

  I swallowed hard and said, “I really didn’t mean it either way. I was just talking out loud.”

  “Ah, I do that sometimes,” he said with a thoughtful nod. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Christopher. I work here. Is this your first day?”

  “Is it that obvious?” I asked. Of course it was. I was standing in the employee parking lot with my computer bag clutched to my chest and a dumb look on my face. I reached out to shake his hand and hoped he wouldn’t feel how clammy my palm was. I sweat when I’m nervous, especially my hands.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, giving my hand a firm shake, but not squeezing too hard. He held on to my hand even after I relaxed my grip. He leaned in until our noses were just a few inches apart. I heard myself gulp.

  He gave me a serious look with one eyebrow raised. He lowered his voice, as if he were about to share a secret.

  He said, “Between you and me, I think it’s an ugly ass building, too, but it’s a great place to work. And if they hired you, you must be as smart as you are pretty. What’s your name?”

  “Mac,” I stuttered. “I mean, McKenzie… McKenzie Wallace.”

  “And what do you do, McKenzie-McKenzie Wallace?”

  I blurted out a laugh. Jesus, I was finding it really hard to concentrate, looking into his eyes, seeing myself staring back with my mouth hanging open. I stammered like a fool. “I’m a…. uh… I mean… I’m a computer scientist… I’m a coder.”

  “Awesome! We need more coders!” His mood turned bright as the smile returned to his face. He gave my hand one more little shake before letting it go.

  My hand hung in the air for a moment, as if hoping his hand might return. I let my arm drop when he gave me a pat on the shoulder and said, “Well, I’m sure you’ll knock it out of the park.”

  “Thanks, I mean, I hope so.” I felt the heat on my cheeks and knew it wasn’t from the warm sunshine. I pressed my backside against my car so he could slide by.

  Our eyes met as he scooted past with his hands playfully in the air to show that he meant no harm. Our faces were so close I could smell coffee and mint on his lips. I took a deep breath. He smelled of sea air and salt water and sweat and freedom. It was a fragrance that should be bottled and sold in every store on the planet. I would buy it a case at a time.

  “Just check in at the front desk and they’ll take care of you,” he said, jarring me from my daydream. By the time I looked up, he was walking bac
kward toward the front entrance.

  “Okay,” I said. I gave him a thumbs-up and immediately felt like an idiot. Like I said, I’m not very good around guys; especially guys that looked like him.

  He laughed and held up two thumbs in return. He wiggled his hands, giving me the surfer wave and said, “Maybe I’ll see you inside, McKenzie-McKenzie Wallace.”

  With that, he turned to join the stream of employees flooding into the humongous, butt-ass-ugly building.

  “McKenzie, you’re a total moron,” I said, shaking my head at my own behavior. I turned to lock my car door – yes, it’s an old piece-of-crap car and I have to use the key -- then it suddenly dawned on me who surfer dude really was.

  I felt myself getting nauseous. I had to brace myself against the car. For a minute I thought I was going to puke right there in the parking lot on my first day at work.

  The surfer dude who was just flirting with me – wait, was he flirting with me or am I just being stupid – was Christopher Kinsey, partner of Patrick Palmer. They founded Kinsey-Palmer out of their dorm room during their senior year at MIT ten years ago.

  Now KPS was one of the top cybersecurity software companies on the planet and my very first employer since graduating from Georgia Tech with a master’s degree in computer science three months ago.

  Kinsey and Palmer were both just thirty years old, but they were co-CEOs of a billion dollar, multinational company, both were billionaires, both single, and both probably had women lined up to grant their every wish.

  And I’d just said “holy shit” in front of one of them.

  I forced the vomit back down my throat, then took a deep breath and headed for the door, hoping that this wasn’t an indicator of how my day – and my time at KPS – was going to go.

  CHAPTER TWO: Christopher Kinsey

  “We need to rethink our ‘no executive parking spaces policy’ because I’m tired of parking my Tesla way the fuck out in the boonies.”

  Teddy something-or-other, the skinnier of the two security guards who manned the front desk during the week, gave me a big toothy grin and played along, as he did every morning. “I’d be happy to park your Tesla for you, Mr. Kinsey.”

  “I’m sure you would,” I said, holding up my employee badge to the scanner sitting on the counter between us.

  Every KPS employee, even me and Patrick, had our badges scanned before getting past the front desk, though I was pretty sure Teddy would let me pass if I simply ignored him and kept on going. But Patrick was a stickler for security, so I held up my badge till the scanner beeped.

  My name, badge number, and the time-date stamp was logged into the security system’s database, just like everyone else’s. The only difference between my badge and the badges of the other three hundred or so KPS employees that worked at this location was that my badge had EMPLOYEE NO. 1 on it. Patrick was EMPLOYEE NO. 2. I’m sure he never gave it any thought, but I thought the sequence was appropriate.

  “Have a good day, sir,” Teddy said, giving me a thumbs up.

  “That’s the second thumbs-up I’ve gotten today,” I said, smiling, looking back through the wall of smoked glass toward the parking lot. The new girl had made it nearly to the front door. She was still clutching her ragged computer bag to her chest and talking to herself.

  She looked terrified. I loved it. That meant she actually cared about the work and wasn’t here just to build her resume.

  We had enough of those assholes already on the payroll. I would have fired them all today if the old adage “good help is hard to find” hadn’t been so true. It was especially true in our business, where the best minds could write their own tickets and work wherever they pleased. Even if you gave them a million dollars in stock options, they’d still jump ship for a million and one just across the street.

  But I could tell this new girl would be different. It wouldn’t be all about the money with her. It would be about the work. That’s what we needed here at KPS; people who actually gave a shit about the work. Oh, and it didn’t hurt that she was smoking hot in a geek-goth girl kind of way.

  She reminded me of the lead character in that movie, Girl with The Dragon Tattoo; Lisbeth something or other. When I first saw her standing in the parking lot staring at this ugly-ass building that Patrick designed, I detoured from my direct path so that I could “accidentally” meet her. I was glad I did.

  She was striking without trying to be. She wasn’t wearing much makeup, other than a little black liner around her beautiful green eyes. Her hair was cut short and dyed black, in one of those styles that looks messy on purpose.

  She was tall for a girl, and thin, with enough meat on her bones and enough curve to her hips to firmly put her on my radar.

  She was wearing tight black jeans and boots, and a sleeveless blue blouse that showed off her small boobs nicely. I expected her arms to be covered in tattoos, but other than a cheap Timex on her left wrist and black polish on her nails, she was otherwise unadorned.

  An interesting girl, to say the least. I wondered what she would be like in bed. Most goth girls I’d been with had been like dead fish in the sack. Maybe she’d be different. I know, I’m a horn-dog, but I can’t help it. I’m a good looking guy with loads of money, a good sized cock, and a smile that makes my orthodontist proud. What else would you expect from me?

  I walked to the elevator and punched the button, making small talk with the others already waiting for the doors to slide open. I glanced back toward the front desk before stepping onto the lift.

  The new girl had made it to the front desk, no doubt telling Teddy that she was reporting for duty. He’d tell her to take a seat and wait for the HR rep to come fetch her.

  I made a mental note to check in with HR later in the day to find out where this interesting creature would be working in the building.

  I would casually drop in and ask if there was anything I could do to make her first day at KPS a little better.

  And then I’d ask her what she was doing tonight.

  CHAPTER THREE: Patrick Palmer

  As I have done every day since we started KPS nearly ten years ago, I beat Christopher into the office by a good two hours. Granted, he’d probably been surfing since the sun came up, but while he was out “catching some waves” I was in the office getting things done.

  I was usually the first one to arrive in the morning (even before our 307 employees) and the last one to leave at night.

  It had become somewhat of a point of pride with me, knowing that I could safely say no one worked harder or put in more hours than me, but Christopher could not have cared less. As long as business was good and the money was rolling in, he was as happy as a kid who owned a candy store.

  That’s why our partnership worked so well. Christopher was the free spirit and I was the work horse. He was Yin and I was Yang. He was Steve Jobs and I was Woz. He was Steve Ballmer and I was Bill Gates. He was a barrel of monkeys and I was the guy who built the barrel. And cleaned up the monkey shit he left behind.

  He was the visionary with the contagious smile who could sell ice water to Eskimos and I was the analytical geek who took his visions and made them a reality.

  I couldn’t imagine anything coming between Christopher and me. Even with all of our personality differences, we were usually in sync when it came to product development, business strategy, and new technology.

  The only thing that really bugged me about Christopher was his inability to keep his dick in his pants and his hands to himself, especially when it came to our female employees.

  Don’t get me wrong; Christopher would never do anything that was not consensual between both parties, and he’d certainly never do anything that would get us sued. Christopher had never forced himself on a woman because he never had to.

  I had known Christopher since grad school and even then he seemed to have women lined up around the block waiting to sleep with him. He could blink and half a dozen coeds – and now KPS employees – would strip naked and await furth
er commands.

  The problem was, having such a ready supply of willing females had started to bore Christopher. He had started rejecting the troves of women who fell at his feet or flocked to him at Vegas parties.

  If a man could ever be bored by too much pussy, Christopher was that guy at that point.

  “There’s just no challenge anymore,” he’d say as we sat around chewing the fat. “Getting tons of pussy is no fun if it just drops in your lap. It’s the thrill of the hunt that I miss. The rush of the chase. I need a challenge.”

  That was my greatest fear: that someday our friendship, and the very life of our company, would be tested simply because Christopher Kinsey needed a challenge.

  * * *

  “He’s doing it again,” my assistant Laura said, breezing into my office and going to the wall of windows to the right of my desk.

  “Who’s doing what again?” I asked, barely looking up from the new batch of code that lined my computer screen. Yes, we have lots of code testers, but I insisted on testing every line myself before it was added to our flagship software. No, I’m not anal. I am simply the best at poking holes in supposedly-perfect code.

  “Christopher,” she said, waving me over. “He’s land-sharking another helpless victim.”

  “Great,” I said with a long sigh. It was barely eight in the morning and already Christopher was seeking that challenge he’d talked about.

  Land-sharking in this case meant that Christopher had parked his Tesla at the back of the lot and was now swimming around the lot looking for victims, i.e. girls, to sink his teeth into.

  Watching Christopher land-shark had become an almost daily occurrence, weather permitting. If it was cold and rainy, he’d park his car at the front door. Otherwise it was land-shark season. It had become a spectator sport of sorts. So much so that there were probably a dozen people at various windows at that moment, watching him maneuver through the lot and placing bets on which unsuspecting fish the shark would bite.