Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 59022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
“Let’s go,” he says to me and pulls me out of the reindeer room, up the stairs again and into another room that looks like some sort of control tower that connects to the entire world.
Seriously.
I’ve never seen anything like it.
It’s a room with what feels like a million screens.
Okay, I’m exaggerating. Maybe, like a hundred. Or something close to that—and it’s high tech and super cool and looks like some sort of geeked out sci-fi concoction.
“Holy shit, what sort of recon do you have going on in here? Are you a secret agent?” I gasp out loud as I stare around the room in awe. “Oh is that why I had to sign something?”
I feel so much better. He’s not crazy! He’s not crazy!
He’s in the CIA!
“These are my headquarters on this boat,” Stetson says as he walks to the center of the room and crosses his arms and stares at all the screens.
“Headquarters?” I look over at him, my stomach finally righting itself. “You sell toys for a living as a front then or are you planning on taking over the world with a new version of Labubu?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Definitely not using Labubu’s to take over the world.”
“You do realize this closely resembles something you’d see in a Batman movie? Like in his cave?” I nod. “I always wanted a secret hide out.”
I can tell he likes this analogy.
“You’re closer than you think.”
“Come on,” I laugh then tease. “Billionaire by day and vigilante by night?”
Stetson’s bright blue gaze burns into mine, the tone in the room suddenly somber.
He still hasn’t answered. My smile falters.
“It’s a joke,” I explain.
“But it’s not,” he replies slowly. “Before I continue, I’d like to remind you that you signed the clause. And it is very much in effect.”
I can tell by the look on his face this conversation is about to get serious.
“I think you should have a seat,” he says and motions to one of the comfortable looking black leather chairs that look as though they conform to your body.
“And a drink,” he says and presses some button, and a bar pops up from the floor.
“Holy cow,” I can’t help myself.
“This is my favorite feature,” he admits and proceeds to make me another gin martini.
“I think I’m going to need something to eat,” I tell him since I’m still buzzed from the last.
“I’ll have the chef make something for us,” he tells me as he pulls out his phone and types furiously into it.
I sit in the chair and wait with bated breath. He makes the drink fast and hands it to me.
“Cheers,” he says as he captures my gaze.
We take a sip, and I stare at him in expectation.
“I don’t know if I can take much more of this suspense,” I tell him.
He nods ever so slightly, puts his drink down, crosses his arms and stares right at me.
“I’m a descendent of Nicholas Claus,” he says slowly.
“Nicholas Claus?” I repeat.
“You know him as Santa.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“You’re a descendant of Santa Claus?”
I know he was a real person in history so now this makes sense. The relief I feel knowing that he’s not crazy and just an overly exuberant relative is mind boggling.
“Yes,” he says watching me closely. “But there’s more to it than that.”
“More?”
“Would you like a slow reveal, or do you prefer the band aid to be ripped off?” He asks slowly.
“Usually a slow reveal,” I answer honestly. “But in this case, let’s just rip it off.”
I brace myself as his look becomes more serious.
“The myth is real. There is a village in the North Pole. The dwarves you see on my boat are elves and helpers in training. And the Rudolph you saw is a descendant of the first Rudolph that Santa used.” Stetson says this with the straightest face you’ve ever seen in your life.
“Let me guess, Rudolph flies?” I laugh because I think he is one hundred percent joking with me.
“Unfortunately, Rudolph doesn’t fly,” he says.
“Well, that’s too bad.”
“It is,” he agrees. “But we have jets now so that makes things a lot easier.”
“I’m sure it does,” I down almost half my drink because what the heck is this conversation I’m having?
He walks to the center of the room and looks out the windows onto the fjord.
“You don’t believe me.”
Liquid courage is everything.
“I have to be honest, Stetson,” I say with as much respect as I can. “You lost me when you said Rudolph doesn’t fly. And Santa has a jet. And a mega yacht and buggy. Santa is obviously a billionaire, which feels too convenient. And then there’s the most obvious of all…”
“What’s that?” He asks.
I’m definitely buzzed. Good. Liquid courage.
I don’t know why he’s smiling at me. But he is. Like he finds everything I’m saying vastly amusing when he’s the one that has a questionable mental state going on right now.