Twelve Days of Christmas

Her Side of the Story...

A reclusive billionaire who gives away millions of dollars worth of toys every year at Christmas? It sounds like a fairytale...

I shouldn't be here. I should be in Bora Bora, lying on a secluded beach, soaking up the sun, swimming in the surf and indulging in a bit of R&R with my boyfriend (if you know what I mean). Instead, I am now boyfriendless (so much for that jewellery store receipt I found) and headed to the frozen tundra that is New York City. I don't do winter. I'm Aussie born and bred and quite happy with our Christmas days being celebrated in searing forty degree (that's Celsius for you people still dealing in the old money) heat with a barbecue around the pool and a couple of ice cold beers. New York City in winter just doesn't do it for me.

And it's Christmas...did I tell you I hate Christmas? And it's just my luck that in the middle of a crowded Sydney airport I have a luggage malfunction and a really cute guy gets an up close and personal look at my pink polka-dotted panties. An auspicious beginning that doesn't bode well for the rest of my trip.

So why have I been exiled to the frozen north? Because my boss hates me, she tells me she loves me, and I'm the only one who can get the story on the mysterious Mr Toys, but this feels a whole lot more like purgatory. I know I'm the best damned investigative reporter that our magazine (Iconoclast) has, but really, Mr Toys? It sounds like a puff piece and not at all like the usual hard-hitting stuff I do. But I'm a professional, and I have twelve days to find this reclusive billionaire and convince him to spill his guts to me...it should be a snap!

His Side of the Story...

I have too many secrets, and she has made a career of exposing them.

Twelve days before Christmas and I've been lucky enough to be christened by the press as 'The Executioner'. Everybody hates me. I'm the most despised man in Australia, and my face has been splashed over every news channel in the country. Thank God I'm heading to New York for the next few months, at least I'm not so well known over there.

Bumping into Isobel (literally) was like fate. I couldn't believe she didn't know who I was, and that very fact, plus the fact that she was gorgeous, made me want to get to know her better. When I found out that she was 'the press' it was too late, I was already addicted to her.

But my real identity isn't the only one I'm keeping secret, and the other secret is so juicy that if she ever found out, there's no way she wouldn't feel obligated to share it with the world. But in doing so, she would destroy everything my family built for over seventy years.

We may have been fated to meet, but there's no way we could ever make this work, there are too many secrets.