One Hot Winter: A Sexy Bad Boy Holiday Novel (The Parker's 12 Days of Christmas Book 9) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Table of Contents

  One Hot Winter

  Description

  Introduction

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Want More?

  Insider Group

  About the Author

  One Hot Winter

  By

  Weston Parker

  Description

  Set in Boston, MA -- He is in his Master’s program and is president of his fraternity; a total playboy. She's a do-gooder and is in charge of a toy drive for kids. His fraternity gets in trouble and has to do community service so he has to get involved with the toy drive. Lucky for him, the kids aren't the only ones getting a wish this Christmas...

  Introduction

  Checkout the other 12 Days of Christmas Novellas

  Find them all HERE

  One Hot Winter

  Copyright © 2017 by Weston Parker

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  The novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and plot are all either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons – living or dead – is purely coincidental.

  First Edition.

  Editor: Mary Wolney

  Designer: Kellie Dennis, Book Covers By Design

  Chapter 1

  Arianna

  I can't deny my excitement to go back to work for Jacob and Sons Advertising. They paid well, and the work was exciting. As an advertising copywriter working as a freelancer, it wasn't easy to find steady work, which was good and bad. I liked the change up of working for different clients. Unlike a lot of people, I liked first days. The first day at a new job was invigorating, and I always found I worked harder because I wanted to impress whoever it was I was working for.

  I would get bored doing the same thing day in and day out. Unfortunately, freelancing could be tough to pay the bills if the work dried up. It had taken a few years, but I had managed to create a solid reputation for myself, and the work had been fairly steady as of late.

  Jacob and Sons had called early this morning, asking me to come in today. It was short notice, but they were in a pinch and needed to get the campaign wrapped up by the end of the year. I had the time and could use some extra cash, so I accepted right away.

  I took a quick look in the mirror. Professional but not matronly. It was a fine line I walked when I had to actually meet clients and work in their offices. I tended to work from home on most jobs, but there were some that required me to be on-site. I wiped off a little bit of the eyeliner I had on, not wanting to overdo it. I didn't like people to look at me and think, “Oh, there's that has-been model.”

  The modeling had paid for my education so I could do what I do now. It was never meant to be a permanent job. I was obviously thankful for my good looks, but people—especially other women—tended to be real bitches when they saw a beautiful woman. They made a lot of assumptions about me without me ever saying a word. I had lost more than one job because a woman in charge didn't like the fact I was prettier than they were.

  There were a lot of insinuations about excessive dieting and other nasty rumors. Despite their assumptions, I did eat, as my mother would attest. She always complained I ate more than a proper lady should.

  My black skirt, white button-up shirt, and blazer paired with plain black pumps made me look a bit like an FBI agent, but it was the perfect outfit. It was professional and attractive without being overtly sexy. Declaring my appearance good enough, I headed out the door.

  When I arrived at the office, Donna Gray met me with a big smile.

  “Hi, are you ready for this? The office is in a panic, but I know you’ll make sure this all gets done on time,” she said, walking quickly with me following behind.

  “Sooo,” I said, dragging out the word, “what's new around here?”

  I didn't get the thrill of regular office gossip since I never worked in one place very long. Donna was my go-to girl and kept me filled in on the latest happenings around here. I did really enjoy working for this company, and the people who worked here were kind and always welcomed me with open arms, even though I wasn't one of their own.

  Donna laughed. “Oh, boy. It has been eventful. The company hired a new advertising manager. He's really shaken things up around here.”

  “In a bad way?”

  She laughed. “Maybe for some people. He's nice to look at,” she said, winking at me. “Like really nice. Unfortunately, he's a bit of a hardass,” she whispered.

  I laughed with her. “That’s always important,” I said, heavy on the sarcasm. “The good-looking part and quite frankly, I kind of like hardasses. People work when someone is there to crack the whip.”

  She moaned. “You Type A's tend to stick together.”

  I laughed. “As long as his whip stays away from me, we'll get along fine.”

  “You're single, right?” she asked, grinning as she did.

  “Yes, but I don't mix business with pleasure, and from what you’ve said, it doesn't sound like I would want to.”

  “Oh honey, when you see Mr. Frasier, you may change your mind.”

  “That hot, huh?”

  She fanned her face. “If I wasn't happily married going on twenty years, I would certainly take a run at him.”

  I put my hand over my mouth to hide my shock. “Donna!”

  “You haven't seen him. Trust me, when you do, you are going to lose your mind.” She winked.

  “I doubt that,” I mumbled.

  I waved as we passed cubicles filled with familiar faces. The office was humming. I loved the rush of a deadline. It energized me. I had my game face on, and I was ready to help the team meet their goal.

  “Here you go, hon. I know it's a little cramped, and it’s very disorganized, which I know is going to drive you crazy, but this is all very last minute. The last copywriter was fired, rather abruptly I might add, and this is what we were left with. The documents you need for the project are printed as well as on file.”

  “Oh,” I said, surveying the workspace I was to occupy.

  I tried not to cringe at the papers scattered about and the mess in general. I couldn't get started until I had the desk organized. I could never bring myself t
o work in clutter.

  Donna put her hand on my forearm. “It's okay to relax. No one is going to hold you accountable for this area. We all tend to have a bit of a mess at our desks. Completely normal. Don't let it get you all worked up.”

  I took a deep breath. “I’m hired because I pay attention to detail. Because I am a stickler for the little things. I do tend to be a perfectionist, but that is what gets me work.”

  “I know, dear. You're right. Just don't let this get you flustered. We all know you’re excellent at your job. I'll leave you to it. Holler if you need me,” she said, heading back toward her own desk across the room.

  I stood there, staring at the papers with various notes scribbled on them. It wasn't going to help me. I grabbed the garbage can and started tossing everything but the writing utensils and stapler. Nothing the person before left behind was going to help me. It took me about an hour, but once I had everything tidy and the clutter gone, I dove in and got to work.

  My phone rang. I had been steadily working and didn't even realize it was past noon.

  “Hello, Mom,” I said, not exactly thrilled to talk with my mom. I know, I know. One day I would regret not having a closer relationship with my mom, but for now, it was what it was.

  “Arianna?”

  “Yes, Mom. You called me. What's up?”

  “Don't get cranky. I wanted to find out if you were coming for Christmas Eve or will it only be Christmas Day?” she asked, even though we’d had the same conversation about ten times already.

  “Mom, I said I would be there for dinner on Christmas.”

  “Oh, well, I thought you may have changed your mind. You know, wanted to spend the holidays with your family,” she added the last bit with a heavy dose of guilt.

  I sighed. “Mom, I have plans. I told you that.”

  “Fine. What are you doing today?”

  “Working.”

  “Oh, really? Another temp job?” she asked with a hint of disdain.

  “It's not a temp job, Mom. I am a freelancer. I work for a number of different people when they need me,” I explained, again.

  She hated my line of work and didn't feel it was a real job.

  “Well, I doubt you get benefits. A real job would offer you benefits, a retirement plan, and things like that. Arianna, you are better than a temp worker. I really hope you find your way by the time you’re thirty.”

  “I have four years. I guess we better hope some magical map falls into my lap before then. I have to go, Mom. Despite what you may think, I actually have work to do. Work that pays the bills and allows me to live my very comfortable lifestyle,” I threw in for good measure.

  “Fine. I guess we'll see you on Christmas.”

  “Bye,” I said and ended the call.

  Conversations with her always left me feeling spent. People thought I was an uptight perfectionist, but they should meet my mother. Growing up with her breathing down my neck to be better, prettier, and more successful had made me a little uptight. That, I could admit.

  I stared at the screen, all concentration lost. She had a funny way of doing that to me. I stood, stretched, and decided to run down to one of those food trucks outside and grab something to eat. A walk would help clear my head and shake off my mother.

  Chapter 2

  Carter

  It was only Monday, and it already felt like it should be Friday. Taking over this department two months ago had been an exciting challenge I was willing to take on, but it was taxing. I was looking forward to the holiday break. I needed to unwind and recharge. It wasn't easy stepping into someone's mess and trying to clean it up, but I had high hopes for the advertising department. We could do this.

  It wasn't hard to see where my predecessor went wrong. I could fix it. We could make the advertising department a success—if I could get a good copywriter to stick around long enough. Speaking of, I needed to meet with the freelancer Donna had recommended. I wanted to make sure we were all on the same page. I wouldn't tolerate laziness or substandard work. These freelancers showed up, did a shitty job, got paid, and weren't held accountable. Not in my department. No way.

  “Donna,” I pressed the call button on the phone.

  “Yes, Mr. Frasier?”

  “Can you have the freelancer come in? I'd like to go over what I expect and our deadline.”

  “She's out to lunch, Sir. I'll tell her the minute she comes back in.”

  I bit back the curse word I wanted to shout. “Fine. I'll be waiting.”

  I leaned back in my chair and growled. This was the kind of shit that had been allowed to happen in the past, and this was why this department had been dragging the entire company down. No more. Not on my watch. People needed to focus more on meeting deadlines than worrying about what they were going to stuff their faces with.

  It pissed me off that people took their jobs for granted. I remembered how hard my mother fought all those years to hold a job as she worked to raise me on her own. She’d had no education and was always the first to be let go when it came time for budget cuts. My mother had managed to keep food on the table, but it hadn't been easy. I had gotten a job when I was fourteen to try and help. She hated that I had to work, but I always assured her it was making me a better man. And it had. I had a strong work ethic because of my mother.

  I checked my watch and realized it was almost one. It was a pretty standard lunch hour, but if this guy didn't show up by one thirty, he was fired.

  There was a soft knock on my door not two minutes later. “What?” I grumbled.

  The door opened slowly, and a woman's shapely leg stepped inside followed by the rest of her gorgeous figure. I stood up, wondering who this beautiful woman was entering my domain. Christmas had come early.

  “Can I help you?” I asked, a little stunned by her beauty.

  She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn't quite place her. Judging by her refined looks, I assumed she must be the girlfriend or wife of one of the executives. I had yet to meet everyone. My eyes drifted to her ring finger and saw it was empty. I would be putting a ring on that if this woman was mine. She was far too stunning to let walk around looking single and available.

  My eyes drifted to her face. She was smiling and showing off a set of perfect, gleaming white teeth. Her dark brown eyes were perfectly highlighted by sculpted brows. Her hair, a light brown color, looked natural. She didn't look high-maintenance, but I had a feeling that was the product of some very well applied makeup. Understated beauty had always been something that drew me in.

  “Hi,” she said, taking a step toward me. “Are you Mr. Frasier?”

  I nodded. “I am.” I extended my hand. “Carter Frasier. And you are?”

  Another award-winning smiling. “I'm Arianna Clark. I'm the freelance copywriter. Donna said you wanted to see me.”

  I dropped her hand and took a step back. I didn't let my employees see me as a person. Shaking her hand and giving her my first name had been a misstep. I had to keep a firm line between boss and employee if I wanted to be effective at my job.

  “Oh,” I mumbled, walking back behind my desk and gesturing for her to sit down.

  I saw the moment she noticed my change in demeanor. She quickly followed suit. Her chin raised up a bit and her eyes narrowed. The warm smile dropped away as she sat down in the chair, her hands in her lap and her legs crossed.

  “What did you need?” she asked in a cool tone.

  “I have a list of requirements for the copy.”

  She nodded. “I have the assignment already. I began working on it this morning.”

  “Yes, but I want to follow-up and make sure you understand what I expect.”

  “Is that not outlined in the document that listed the goals of the piece?”

  I cleared my throat, sat forward, and narrowed my eyes. “It is, but I want to make sure the copy is completed to my high standards.”

  She leaned forward, matching my pose. “I only produce work that is to my standard, which I assure y
ou is the best. It’s why I was called back today. It’s why I’m called back to do more work for every company that has ever hired me. I know the job, and I’m the best.”

  I shrugged, leaning back in my chair, feigning arrogance that I didn't really feel but needed to convey. “I haven't seen your work, so I don't know what your standards are. As far as you being called back because of your quality, well, you must know I'm new to this department. I was hired to fix this department, which says what was being done before I came on wasn't good enough.”

  Her lips spread into a thin line, her right brow arched, and she narrowed her gaze at me. “I know my work is superior to good enough.” She used air quotes around the term I had used. “What exactly is it you’re looking for? I would suggest you’re clear and concise with your expectations to ensure I fulfill your every need.”