Chasing Christmas Eve Read online

  “Well, yeah. Anything else just sucks.”

  “It’s not a poker game you lost—you do realize that, right?”

  He shrugged.

  “Maybe if you went to more of the social events, you’d get bumped to number three,” Elle teased because he’d gone to a grand total of zero society events.

  “Elle.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know, go away.”

  And thankfully, she did, leaving him alone. Just how he liked it. When he’d sold the start-up, it’d been a life changer. It’d given him the freedom to do what he wanted when he wanted. Buying this building, for instance. Then moving in and then filling it with people he cared about, allowing him to burrow in and create his first real “home,” where he knew everyone and felt comfortable. He was grateful for that.

  It’d allowed him to keep the real world at bay too. For a while he’d been hounded for interviews, but for the most part it’d been easy enough to dodge them. That is, until a month ago, when an old college roommate had surfaced, begging him for a sit-down.

  College hadn’t been a great time for Spence. He’d gone at age sixteen, which had put him at a big disadvantage on all levels. One of his roommates, Brandon, hadn’t exactly been a friend but at least he’d allowed Spence to tag along to frat parties and drinking nights with him. Then Spence had graduated before Brandon, and Brandon had stopped speaking to him.

  All these years later, Spence hadn’t wanted to give the interview but . . . hell. Spence had been hired right out of college at age eighteen to a government think tank. He’d gone from there into business with Caleb, a kid he’d met in the think tank. Both adventures had been hugely successful, which meant that Spence had gotten lucky.

  Brandon hadn’t been nearly so lucky. Nothing had worked out for him after he’d finally graduated. He was a struggling tech writer for a second-rate online magazine. Feeling bad about that, Spence had very reluctantly agreed to an interview—on the stipulation that they talk only about Spence’s work.

  But Brandon had used his personal knowledge of Spence from their college days to spice up the final piece. Deeply private stuff, including his screwed-up beginnings, not to mention his spectacular failure with media darling Dr. Clarissa Woodward.

  Now the whole world knew things he’d kept private. Such as just how socially inept he was, how out of step with the rest of the world he felt, and how he couldn’t seem to manage to sustain any sort of intimate relationship.

  Worse, the article had turned his life into a living hell. The press had leapt on it like Christmas had come early. Spence still didn’t understand why, but for some reason people were fascinated by him, the poverty-stricken kid turned Forbes Top 100.

  Who was now one of San Francisco’s most eligible bachelors.

  Shit.

  That was a joke in itself.

  There really wasn’t much that embarrassed Spence, but this. This did the trick. He was pissed as hell at Brandon and pissed at himself for letting it happen. Some smart guy he was . . .

  His phone had been having seizures, which he was ignoring. But the sound was driving him crazy, so he turned it off. “Now maybe you’ll shut the hell up . . .”

  “Talking to yourself again?” Caleb asked.

  His sometime business partner and one of the few people in the world who had access to this apartment strolled in. Spence narrowed his eyes. “Hey. You made millions on our last deal, where we sold the start-up.”

  “Yep.” Caleb headed for Spence’s fridge. “What’s your point?” Without waiting for the answer, he helped himself to the refrigerator, which was stocked by Trudy, the building’s housecleaning supervisor.

  Trudy loved Spence. Trudy also knew Spence didn’t cook—unless popping a Hot Pocket into the microwave counted—and she knew his tastes. He wasn’t fond of vegetables aside from corn on the cob, hated anything green unless it was a gummy bear, and basically had the appetite of a tween.

  “My point,” Spence said, watching Caleb shopping his fridge shelves, “is that you’re not being hounded by the press.”

  Caleb shrugged. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t stupid enough to talk to them in the first place. Nor do I have a tragic background or fumble the ball with the ladies.”

  Spence scowled and slouched further in his chair. “I thought I was doing a friend a favor.”

  Caleb pulled out some Tupperware, and when he moaned, Spence knew he’d found Trudy’s homemade lasagna. “Oh my God,” the guy said. “I want to marry Trudy.”

  “She’s twenty years too old for you and she’s currently married for the third, or maybe it’s the fourth, time—to her ex-husband. Luis would kick your ass.”

  “I don’t even care.” Caleb was eating right out of the container. “And we have no friends to do favors for, remember? Not real ones, you know that. Or you should by now.”

  “I have friends.”

  “Yeah. Me, and Archer and Finn and Willa.” Caleb cocked his head and gave it some thought. “Oh, and possibly Elle, though I’m still not convinced she’s human.”

  “No one’s convinced Elle’s human.” Spence shrugged. “But you guys are all I need.”

  Caleb jabbed his fork in Spence’s direction. “If that was true, you wouldn’t be moping around like you have since you sold your start-up. Or maybe it’s since Clarissa.”

  Getting up because the lasagna sounded good, Spence snatched the Tupperware from Caleb. “I don’t mope.”

  “Like a baby wanting its mama.” Undeterred, Caleb turned back to the fridge to see what else he could mooch. “I take it you’re suddenly blocked on your drone project?”

  “So.”

  “So you’re blocked. It happens.”

  “When? When does it happen?” Spence asked. “Because more than anyone else I know, you’re a lot like me and you’re not blocked.”

  “First of all, we’re not that much alike.”

  Spence just looked at him.

  “Okay, so we’re both smart and a little bit techy. Whatever. But on me, it’s sexier.”

  Spence rolled his eyes.

  “And second of all,” Caleb said, “I don’t get blocked as much as you because I get sex regularly. Sex is the answer, man.”

  “To what?”

  “Everything,” Caleb said. “Sex is always the answer. And I’m pretty sure you haven’t had any in way too long.”

  All true, but he’d never been all that good at emotionless, unattached sex. Unfortunately, he was even worse at emotional sex.

  Caleb didn’t seem bogged down by the same baggage. Spence was pretty sure the rugged cowboy look didn’t hurt much either. The guy was every bit as smart as Spence, but unlike Spence, he didn’t struggle in social situations. He could talk to a five-year-old throwing a tantrum in the courtyard, the geriatric blue-hairs who spent their mornings in the coffee shop, or anyone in between and they all unequivocally loved him.

  Caleb’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out and frowned.

  “What?” Spence asked.

  “It’s Elle. Which isn’t fair. She told me to lose her number and yet she’s allowed to contact me—” He broke off as he read the text.

  “What?”

  Caleb lifted his head. “There’s a woman? Why didn’t you say so? Now you can test my theory about the sexy times unblocking you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Elle said there’s a new woman in the building and that you’re going to be stupid about her and go for it, so I should babysit you so that you can’t,” Caleb said. “Except I’m all for you going for it.” He deleted Elle’s text. “Whoops.” He looked at Spence. “So. Is she hot?”

  Spence shut the fridge and gave Caleb a nudge that might’ve been more like a shove to the door.

  “Let me guess. Visit time’s over,” Caleb said dryly.

  Spence opened the door.

  “Fine.” In the hall between the front door and the elevator, Caleb turned back to him. “Do me a favor. Don’t give her an interview.” The