Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 22407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Billionaire Weston Wilcox is possessive.
Protective.
And making his family very unhappy during what is supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year.
However, the unstoppable, business tycoon, can turn everything around if he gives up his grumpy ways to make his only son’s Christmas wish come true.
Due to his haunting past and lingering survivors’ guilt, he’s not certain he can.
With the big two-five, just days away, Weston will have to decide how to prove to his family that their joy is truly his top priority this holiday season.
Billionaire Romance
Christmas/Holiday Romance
OTT Alpha/Protector
Tortured Soul
Family
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter 1
Wes
One minute I’m frustrated looking for actors that portrayed Batman – both live action and animated – in this word search gifted to me by my wife this morning, and the next I’m frustrated by the developing confrontation I somehow idiotically stumbled into with my only son.
Who is just like his mom.
Down to the tiny eye twitch that precedes a heated argument.
I adjust myself in the seat that I’m occupying across the table from him on our private jet and wordlessly meet his crystal glare.
Despite the fact that I’ve become more accustomed to flying over the last decade, I still don’t like it.
It still fills me with a sense of uneasiness, just like it did when I flew to bring him home after his first “plane-vacation” during our darkest times as a family.
And I become even more uncomfortable when the turbulence of the flight matches that of my child.
I can only handle one choppy thing at a time.
I would appreciate him waiting his turn.
The smoothness of our journey finally resumes allowing me to calmly declare, “We’re not going to Doctenn for Christmas, Wyland.”
“How is this fair?!” he squawks, damn near knocking over his holiday flavored energy drink. “How come we can fly to fucking Texas for you to be seen at some stupid fucking hockey game – a sport you don’t even give a shit about – but when I ask for us to go to somewhere that matters to me, you won’t even bother to hear me out?!”
“This was a work trip. Part of our sponsorship agreement with the league.”
“And I’m asking for a family trip. Part of your dadship agreement with your son.”
“Dadship is not a real word.”
“I used it like it was real.”
And there’s more of his mom along with her attitude.
“We’re not going to Doctenn for Christmas, Wyland.”
“How come you’ll do shit for everyone else in this family but me?”
“That’s not true.”
“It is true!”
“It is not.”
“It is!”
“It is not.”
“It is!”
Thirteen on the verge of fourteen yet still fights with me like he’s two and half on the edge of three refusing to eat grilled chicken nuggets because they aren’t shark shaped.
Has his passion for the ocean dissipated since then?
No.
It’s actually increased.
Exponentially.
Yet rather than be ocean creature obsessed like his mother – or his veterinarian uncle – he’s surf obsessed, which is its own fresh hell of difficult for me to understand.
And the only thing that’s even more difficult?
The fact that no part of him is remotely interested in my favorite branch of our multifaceted company.
At least not yet.
The closest I’ve come to bonding in that department is when I agreed to check out potential athletes the company could sponsor to expand into that market – after explaining the general process of how companies choose figureheads – something I only did as an excuse to spend more time with him.
Unlike J.T., I’m not sold on the notion that branching out into the world of surfing – whether it’s whiskey or beer – is the right risk for us.
Our legacy.
All of which is not something that’s easy to explain to your son.
Particularly when he’s just as headstrong as you are.
The twins?
Somehow didn’t get this level of stubbornness.
My assumption?
Wyland inherited it all first.
Rather than let the argument die down, he scoots to the edge of his cushioned seat to emphasize his examples. “You flew Uncle Calen and Aunt Lani to Hawaii so he could study Monk Seals!”
“Technically, it was a joint, aquatic institute, extending education, charity venture; therefore, our company covered the cost for their commitment to continue to better the environment for us as well as the wildlife we serve.”
“You flew Park to Vegas – where he choked out that magician – for some Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu boot camp refresher thing!”
“He’s head of security. It was technically a business training expense.”
“You fly Gami and Gramps to Switzerland all the time to visit Aunt Penny, Uncle Scott, Patty, Ginny, and Weaver!”
“Because your Aunt Penny isn’t allowed in this country.”
He doesn’t need to know that’s my fault.
Or that I won’t amend that decision despite the healthy bond our families have come to build over the years.
While I don’t anticipate Penny – or any member of her current family – to launch another attack, I refuse to let our guard down.