Chapter 2: Santa’s Baby: Chapter 1

I’m a master at hiding both hangovers and holes stretched badly enough that I should be limping. My smile is bright, my laugh at full volume as I walk arm in arm with the girls, hitting the London streets for Christmas shopping. You wouldn’t think I was getting pounded by three strangers a few hours ago. They got me good.

I shake my sore butt and let out a cheer when we hear Mariah Carey blaring from one of the store entrances, even though I can’t stand that godawful tune right now.

All I really want for Christmas is for Christmas to fuck off. Fuck off and take its jolly fucking jingle bells with it. Just looking at Christmas decorations is like nail extensions down a chalkboard for me.

Usually, my larger-than-life nature embraces almost everything there is to embrace and then some, but the news of Caroline’s pregnancy is still twisting my insides like a bitch. Demons run deep and all that crap. I thought they’d have been long dead and buried after a bucketload of therapy, but they’re still there, sneering in the darkness, and I hate it. The vulnerability makes me feel sick.

“Christmas is the best,” Ella says, squeezing my arm. “Look, look!” She points to a massive inflatable snowman in front of a mall. “That’s amazing! And look at the little boy there. Awww. Oh my God. He’s so cute.”

Ella’s mega babied up now that she’s due to be an auntie, pointing out kids, babies and happy parents every other second, but she’s twisting knives in me she doesn’t know she’s twisting. She’d be mortified if she knew.

I don’t want to look at the bloody snowman and I really don’t want to look at the sweet little boy grinning up at it with his parents crouched at his side. Yeah, it is amazing. And he is cute. So cute, I could retch up last night’s champagne from the gut punch it gives me, but I let out another cheer instead.

“Oh my God, he’s such a cutie!”

My heart pounds when Ebony suggests we go in and get shopping. I’ll have to walk right past the happy family, but fuck it. I’ll be swimming in happy families and cute little kiddos throughout the holiday season, so I’d better suck it up and get my big girl panties on.

I make sure my smile is convincing.

“Let’s go, girls! Ho ho ho!”

Eb joins in with the Christmas is great banter as we pass the giant snowman and step into the mall. It’s mega busy, with bustling shoppers all around us, which is hardly a shocker since it’s a Saturday morning of gift-buying fervour.

I’m glad I’ve gone for casual today, with my clod hopping boots to keep me steady. I’m in my most comfy tattered black jeans and my huge Bad Girl hoodie. Ella is dressed up like she’s going to a goth black tie ball, as per, and Ebony looks fresh out of Vogue, but not me. I’m just a girl half-heartedly shopping for cards and gifts that’ll probably be gathering dust by the time the tinsel comes down. My hair is still in long waves down my back, and my fake lashes are still on from last night. Plus, to be fair I did put on a fresh layer of scarlet lipstick to match my hair before I left the apartment, but that’s it. I wanted bed, not socialising. I’ve got sleep deprivation, double hole burn, and a craving for paracetamol, but I’d already promised I’d go out with Ells and Eb today – three hooker girls hitting the festivities – so here I am. I never break promises.

“Wait a second, I know this place,” Ella says, breaking away from me to do a spin. Something hits her, hard, and she looks like a gothic angel as she wells up. “No way! What the hell? I didn’t think this was the Central Parade shopping centre. I had a proposal here last year. A new client when I was a newbie myself.”

I can’t help but laugh, bursting through her tender moment as I point out a sign for a charity grotto up ahead.

“What happened? Did you empty Santa’s sack for twenty grand?”

She grins. “No, no. The client was Santa at the grotto, actually. But he wanted a plus-one for his work party. He said he was desperate for a companion. He didn’t want to go alone.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Right… a companion for Santa… that he could finger under the table, by any chance? Did you give him a desperation discount? You got suckered in there, Ells.”

Ebony gives me a side eye, and I realise I’ve let my party girl mask slip. I sound bitter.

“Sorry. I had a late one,” I say. “I’m a bit yowchy.”

“Ah, yeah, I remember now,” Eb says to Ella, and takes her hands, so sweet. “This was the client who said he was desperate for a companion, but ended up giving you a lump of cash for charity instead? The guy who wanted to see who would help him if he sent out a load of requests?”

Ella nods. “I thought I was helping him out for thirty quid, I really did, but no. He gave me a shit ton of money. I handed it out, too. I took it out in handfuls from the ATM and gave it to people on the street outside.” Her breath hitches. “He was amazing.”

Fuck sake. Everything is amazing to Ella. I’d usually smile at her humble, charitable soul, but unfortunately two little kids walk by holding hands and I get itchy. I shouldn’t have come. I’m so not ready yet.

Eb points to the grotto sign.

“Shall we go and see if Santa is playing Santa again this year?”

“We shouldn’t,” Ella says. “You know what the regulations say. I shouldn’t even be talking about him at all.”

Ella is such a sweetie when it comes to the rules. I roll my eyes, because we’re long past that. Sure, the rules say strictest client confidentiality at the highest cost, but we all work for the same Agency, with the same bank of clients on the user list. She can tell us she had a ‘proposal’ with Santa last year if she wants to. It’s not as if we’re going to blab it on speakerphone, and she’s hardly going to broadcast it to the mall that he’s signed up for sex services.

“You’re allowed to go to the grotto, just like everyone else,” Eb says, with a shrug. “It’ll be fun. You don’t need to acknowledge his dick or the fact you’ve seen it.”

“I haven’t seen it,” Ella says, surprisingly defensive. “He asked me to accompany him to a meal for thirty quid, I turned up because I thought he was lonely, and he gave me thirty grand because I came to help him. That’s all. No dick whatsoever.”

“He gave you thirty grand without even waving his dick? How rude.” I laugh, humour back for real. “I’d want at least a glimpse of Santa’s sack if I’d trekked out on a job, charity pay out or not.”

Ella looks overwhelmed, tears still welling. Bloody hell, this Santa guy must have made an impression.

“Do you want to see him again?” Eb asks her. “If he’s such a great man and didn’t so much as pay you for a hand job, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you calling by and saying hello.”

“I’d love to see him again, if it’s the same Santa.” Ella grins. “He might not remember me to be fair, even if he is.”

My laugh is a massive cackle. “Who could ever forget you?! You’ll be stamped into his spank bank for all time.”

My co-worker, Ella – known as Holly to clients – is an absolute stunner, and the girlfriend of my best friend, Josh. She’s a leggy, big titted, gothic beauty who climbed the ranks of our Agency so fast when she started last year that she’s rivalled my number one chart position in less than twelve months. I have a lot more curves on offer than she does – understatement – but that’s about all. Every single item on her ‘Naughty List’ profile is checked now. No holes barred.

But they weren’t when she would have done her charitable gig for sweet Santa. She was still a little Christmas angel herself, learning the dirty ropes.

My bitter hangover eases up a little.

“Come on,” I say, taking her hand, because screw it. Ella’s joy at seeing Santa is more important. “Let’s get to the grotto. I’ll sit on his lap myself if my butt will fit.”

She lets me take the lead, gripping my fingers as I march us through the mall on a mission. I can blank out happy kids’ faces for the sake of hers.

The queue at the grotto is so bloody long, I almost suggest we go for midday cocktails instead, but I don’t do it. We’re surrounded by kids desperate to see Santa Claus, but none of them are as desperate as Ella is. Santa’s little home has a cute path leading up to it with artificial grass and snow, and she’s virtually jumping on the spot every step of the way. She fans her face as we get close to the grotto doorway, mouthing to us just how nervous she is as she steps inside. Her excited O M G lights up her whole face.

There is no doubt Santa remembers her, because it’s nearly ten minutes before Ebony gets called in for her turn. It’s supposed to be five minutes tops in with Santa. A lap sit, a quick convo, a hug for a pic, and then out the other side like a conveyor belt, but not for Ella. He’s probably been drooling all over her – charitable saviour or not. I stare at a plastic Rudolph figure while Eb has her go, getting my cash ready for the donation at the door, but Ebony’s must be an especially quick visit, because I’m called in after her in a flash. I regret my decision to visit Santa myself when I have to duck and squish past cardboard to make it through the doorway. I practically fill up the entirety of this cosy grotto with my massive curves. It’s a much smaller little house than it looked from outside.

“Hey there, Santa!” I smile at the man sitting in the sleigh chair. He’s a convincing actor, with a thick beard and a padded red suit, and he can’t be all that intimidated by my size, because he taps his knee and beckons me over. “Sure,” I say. “You can have my butt, if you insist.”

It’s when I drop down into the natural straddle that I get shivers up my back – tiny whispers of WTF that give me goosebumps all up my arms. I drop my ass onto Santa’s thighs, and his knees dig up into the back of mine in a very memorable fashion – even through my jeans. It’s weird. Really fucking weird. But it’s not just that which has my memory on autopilot, it’s the way he shifts. It’s the way he positions his hands on my waist and tugs me back against him. So distinctive… even at the slightest touch.

No.

It can’t be.

“Have you been a good girl this year?” Santa asks me, and my heart thumps so fast it feels like I’m having palpitations. I must be breaking a sweat.

The way his thighs feel under mine, and the way he shuffles, and the way his hands sit could be written off as coincidence, maybe, but some things can’t…

His voice can’t. Not in that tone.

I know it so well I struggle to breathe.

He pulls me backwards, and the tiniest bounce is enough for another slammer of recognition.

I’ve been sitting on Santa’s lap plenty of times outside this grotto… I just didn’t know it…

“Don’t be coy,” he chuckles. “Have you been a good girl this year, or a naughty one? Let me guess. You’ve been a naughty one, haven’t you?”

His tone cracks, just a touch, and it’s one of those crazy moments of you know that I know that you know. I must be open mouthed as the camera flashes. I twist around in the damn sleigh seat and stare into the eyes of the bearded man I should never have crossed paths with. Not like this.

His eyes are dark, mahogany pools with a hint of green. His brows so heavy.

Eyes I’ve never seen before. Brows I’ve never admired.

“You’re right, I’m definitely on your naughty list,” I say, trying to stay as chill as possible. “You should know it though, Santa. You know which of my naughty boxes are ticked, don’t you?”

He plays it cool. Calm. Collected.

“What’s your name?” he asks me.

My eyes bore into his, my voice barely a whisper. “You already know my name.”

Santa gives a ho, ho, ho for the guy behind the camera. What an apt expression. Fuck knows what the photographer thinks of this. I shoot him a glance, but it’s just a teenager on his phone, barely interested now that he’s flashed the snapshot. My picture is printing out on the table right next to him. Bizarrely, the guy’s lack of interest only adds to the intimacy in here. It’s baking hot.

“Ho, ho, no, Cream. What’s your actual name?” Santa asks me.

The thought of telling Santa my real name feels like a confession.

“Tiff,” I say.

“Tiffany?”

“Yes, Tiffany.”

“And what do you want for Christmas, Tiffany?”

His stare is so deep and so firm, even with his stupid beard on. The natural energy floods in and crackles like static between us.

Maybe Mariah’s song wasn’t so far off the mark earlier.

I want Santa for Christmas. Real fucking bad. I want the man who has ravaged me so hard I could barely move afterwards. The high paying beast who has pushed me to the limits and then some. The only man to ever put my safe word on the tip of my tongue.

“I want… um…”

The brashness of Creamgirl has gone. I’m just Tiff here. The real Tiff.

The Tiff without walls of balls to keep me safe.

I’m still stumbling over my reply when a little girl’s screech comes from the queue outside. It’s a loud one, a pure wail, and knocks me back to reality with a thump.

I have to get out of here. Now. Before I say something really fucking stupid.

I get up from Santa’s lap and grab my photo on my way out with a thanks, happy Christmaaaaas!

And then I’m gone.

How I fight for air when I’m out the other side, a mess of ragged breaths as Ella and Eb step up to join me, both of them beaming. They’re oblivious to the state of me. Absolutely fucking oblivious.

“Amazing, isn’t he?” Ella says. “You were right, Tiff, he remembered me. Thanked me again for coming to his rescue last year.”

Eb sighs. “Damnit. I wish he was an active client. I’d love him to empty his sack for me, even if he is in a pillow suit. Those eyes…”

“What do you mean if he was an active client?” I ask.

“He signed up as a newbie last year,” Ella says. “He told me he might be using his client profile for bookings, but nah, nothing.” She shows me her phone. She’s already been looking back through her records. I scan her proposal booking as quickly as I can.

User 5639. Male. 48.

“User 5639 hasn’t made any bookings since that one with Ells,” Eb groans. “I just searched on the forums. Not one peep about him. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.”

But Santa isn’t User 5639… they’re wrong. He wasn’t a newbie client on our list last December… he must have been faking it.

I should know, I was already fucking him by then. I’ve fucked him so many times, I’d recognise his lap out of thousands… but as for his beautiful dark eyes, I’ve never seen them before.

I’ve never seen him at all.

I’ve always been a hooded whore taking absolute filth in his presence, and his actions sure weren’t out of charity.

“What is it?” Ella asks. “You alright, Tiff? You seem… weird?”

If only she knew – and I’m so tempted to blab it out to her… until I realise how blabbing about Santa really would be breaking the Agency code. I’d be in very deep shit without a paddle if I breached his level of confidentiality.

I get flashes of my bookings with him. So much filth. So much money. So much power.

Him and his limit pushing friends.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lie, putting my fake smile back on. “Like I said, I’ve got a pissing hangover, and my ass feels like I’ve been impaled by a battering ram. Cut me some slack, will you?”

Ebony laughs. “A battering ram, now that I’d like to see.”

“Actually, it was an enthusiastic three on one, but you get my gist.”

“Ouch,” she says, “That explains it, then.”

Ella doesn’t seem quite so convinced as Ebony, her eyes boring into me nearly as hard as Santa’s were. She obviously suspects something is up. But I can’t let her in on my secrets. It wouldn’t be fair. Not about babies, not about being lonely at night, and definitely, definitely not about Santa.

Because Santa isn’t just a charitable guy with a dormant client profile. He’s our fucking boss. One of the founders of the whole fucking Agency.

One blabbed wrong word from me and I’d be screwed – literally.