RICKMAS 2024

Rachel stood in her New York apartment, surrounded by half-packed boxes and the odd scattering of her personal belongings. The evening air outside was crisp, and traffic blared, but inside, everything felt strangely quiet. The past week had been a whirlwind—her abrupt resignation, the unexpected fallout, and Lionel…

She couldn’t stop thinking about the London billionaire.

Her flight back to New York had been uneventful, but only because Lionel had intervened after Judith canceled her ticket home just to be a petty bitch. She sighed, dropping onto the couch as the memory of his protective insistence floated back to her. “It’s just a flight, Rachel,” he’d said over the phone, his tone mildly exasperated. “Let me help you.”

The sound of Becky’s knock snapped her back to reality.

“Got beer,” Becky announced as she sauntered in, holding up a six-pack and plopping onto the couch beside Rachel. She cracked one open and handed it over. “So… tell me everything.”

Rachel took a sip and sighed, slouching into the sofa. “Where do I even start?”

“Oh, I know exactly where.” Becky’s eyes narrowed conspiratorially. “Did you sleep with Lionel Shabandar? And if so, spare no detail. I hear he’s wild in the sack.”

Rachel choked on her beer, coughing as she set it down on the coffee table. “I didn’t sleep with him!”

Becky raised a brow, unconvinced. “Then what happened? Because Judith’s losing her mind, and the whole office’s in chaos. Rumor has it Shabandar torpedoed the deal after you quit, and now the higher-ups are scrambling to save face. They’re worried he’ll eviscerate them in the press.”

Rachel sighed, running a hand through her hair. “It’s… complicated. And I’ve asked him not to do that.” She hesitated before continuing, her voice softening. “There was a kiss.”

Becky’s eyes widened, and she let out a low whistle. “Like, a real kiss? Or are we talkin’ your Christmas smooch seen around the world?”

“A real one,” Rachel laughed despite herself. “But that’s it. I stayed with him the last night and he left me unmolested in his guest room.”

“After your real on purpose kiss?” Becky smirked, taking another sip of her beer as Rachel nodded. “Does your gentleman billionaire have any available friends? I could get behind the whole daddy appeal.”

Rachel shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “It’s not like that, Becky. I don’t even know what it is, honestly. He’s… different. Complicated.”

Becky leaned back, studying her friend. “Where are you going next? If Judith sends me to ‘cultivate rapport’, I’m out.”

“You’ll know when I do.”

A week later, Rachel stepped off the plane into the familiar chill of the Kansas winter. Snow dusted the ground, and the faint smell of hay and earth greeted her as her parents pulled up in their old pickup truck.

“I’m so glad you’re home,” her mom murmured, pulling Rachel into a warm hug.

The first few days on the farm were a comforting blur of family meals, tending to the animals, and avoiding the inevitable questions about her abrupt departure from New York. But despite the peace of home, Lionel wasn’t far from her thoughts.

He made sure of that.

Even with the time difference, he called every evening, their conversations ranging from lighthearted banter to serious discussions regarding her next move. Often he texted throughout the day, even sending pictures of his receptionist’s basset hound who’d zeroed in on Rachel the day she quit, demanding her attention as she waited for Lionel’s driver.

“I hear the hospital’s still interested,” Lionel mentioned during one call, his voice crackling faintly over the line. “You should strike while the iron’s hot.”

Rachel frowned, leaning against the counter as she cradled the phone. “I’m not sure I’m ready to jump into something new.”

“It’s not about rushing,” he advised gently. “It’s about seizing opportunities. You’re brilliant, Rachel. They’d be lucky to have you.”

“Fine, I’ll apply. But no interfering. I wanna do it on my own.”

“Understood. I will restrain myself to cheering from the sidelines.”

Her parents, of course, had questions.

“Who’s this mystery man you’ve been chatting with every night?” her mom asked casually over dinner one evening.

“A friend,” Rachel answered a bit too quickly, the warmth rising to her cheeks betrayed her..lie? “A friend helping me navigate my next step.”

Her dad raised a brow, setting down his fork. “Would it be the man from that Christmas party? The one in the photos?”

Rachel cringed at the question. “You saw those too?”

“Of course we did. They were everywhere,” her mom smiled. “He looked… nice.” What she meant to say was old. Close to their age. The question was there. What about him held the interest of their thirty-five year old daughter? “Is he nice?”

“He’s…” Rachel hesitated, searching for the right word to describe Lionel Shabandar. “Different. But yes, he’s kind to me.”

Her parents exchanged a look but didn’t press.

A few days later, Rachel perched on a weathered wooden fence that bordered one of the pastures, phone in hand as she prepared for a FaceTime interview with George Armstrong, the children’s hospital CEO. It was the only spot on the farm where she could get a reliable signal for video. Hopefully, they wouldn’t mind.

George’s face appeared on the screen, his warm smile putting her at ease. “Rachel, good to see you again. Thanks for making time. I understand it’s quite early for you there.”

“It’s fine,” Rachel yawned, wishing she’d thought to bring a thermos of coffee. “Sorry for the setting—it’s the only place I can get decent reception around here.”

“No problem at all,” George said, chuckling. “A change of scenery is always refreshing.”

They dove into the interview, discussing her experience, the hospital’s goals, and how Rachel’s skills might fit into their vision. Her confidence soared until she heard the telltale sound of snorting behind her.

“Rufus,” she muttered under her breath, glancing over her shoulder at the massive bull lumbering toward her. “Not now.”

“Do you have any references? I understand your most recent employer might not be able to answer questions…objectively.”

Before she could reply, Rufus bellowed directly into her ear, the force of the sound making her jump. Rachel barely caught her phone before it fell.

“I’m so sorry!” Rachel groaned, refocusing the screen. George and the other board members on the call only laughed.

“I think he likes you,” one of them joked.

As if to prove the point, Rufus nipped at the edge of Rachel’s hood, pulling it back before she swatted him away.

“He likes to be a pain,” she answered, mortified but unable to suppress a laugh.

George grinned. “Well, if he approves, that’s a good sign.”

Rachel relaxed as the interview continued, the unexpected humor breaking the ice. By the end of the call, she felt a spark of excitement. Maybe this was exactly the fresh start she needed.

As she hopped down from the fence she glanced at Rufus, chewing contentedly nearby.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, big guy.”

Later that evening, Rachel sat on the worn couch in her parents’ living room, wrapped in a blanket and nursing a beer. The house smelled faintly of pine from the Christmas tree, and the soft crackle of the fireplace provided a soothing backdrop. Her phone buzzed on the coffee table, Lionel’s name lighting up the screen.

She answered with a soft smile. “Hey, you.”

“Hello, dear,” Lionel replied smoothly, the warmth in his voice cutting through the static of the connection. “I heard an interesting rumor today. Something about a fellow named Rufus nipping at your ear during an interview.”

Rachel sank deeper into the couch. “How do you even know about that?”

“I have my ways,” he teased. “Should I be jealous? I hear he’s quite persistent.”

She laughed, the sound drawing the attention of her parents, who were sitting nearby. Her mom parents exchanged glances, their expressions softening as Rachel’s face lit up.

“Maybe,” Rachel replied playfully. “He’s very charming. And persistent’s definitely the word.”

Lionel chuckled, and for a moment, there was an easy silence between them. Then Rachel sighed, her voice turning wistful. “I hope I get the job. They’ve already told me I’d be in charge of organizing the Christmas party.”

“That sounds promising,” Lionel agreed, but then his voice shifted, laced with humor. “Though it does mean you’ll have to deal with that Shabandar prat again. I hear he’s quite the handful.”

“Oh, I’m sure I can wrangle him.”

“I have no doubt,” Lionel replied, a smile in his tone. “Just don’t let him steal the spotlight.”

“I’ll make sure to keep him in line,” she promised, her voice softening. “If I’m hired I plan to ask him to play Santa again.”

“Only if you’re my Mrs. Claus.”

The decision to sell her New York apartment came on the heels of her accepting George’s offer. And thanks to a favor Lionel called in, she made a pretty penny from the sale. Enough to secure a decent place in London.

Every night, Lionel called or texted, and though their conversations remained light, Rachel felt the undercurrent of something deeper growing between them. He never pushed, never assumed, but his presence in her life felt steady, almost comforting. Like he was honest to god genuinely trying.

She woke up early on her last day home. The morning was crisp, the Kansas sky painting a pale winter blue. Rachel sat on the porch steps with a steaming mug of coffee, bundled in a thick sweater, enjoying the stillness. She’d seen her parents off to go visit her brother and sister-in-law. Rufus loafed about nearby, occasionally letting out a deep, guttural bellow to remind everybody who was in charge.

The sound of an engine pierced the stillness, growing louder by the second. Rachel squinted toward the driveway, her heart skipping a beat when she saw the sleek, gleaming black Audi rolling up the gravel path.

“Oh, what the fuck…” Rachel muttered, setting her mug down and rising to her feet.

The car came to a stop, the driver’s door opening to reveal Lionel Shabandar in all his tailored, urban glory. He stepped out, adjusting the collar of his impeccably cut coat, looking as out of place as a peacock in a chicken coop.

Lionel offered a slow, amused smile at her visible surprise to the appearance of her secret visitor. “Good morning.”

“Good morning?” Rachel repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Lionel, what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to surprise you,” he said simply, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “And escort you to London. The local rental shop didn’t have any tractors available.” He gestured to the Audi, its sleek lines and spotless exterior hilariously out of place against the rustic backdrop.

Rachel couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head. “You’re insane.”

“Insane?” Lionel’s eyebrows lifted, feigning offense. “I thought this was a rather grand gesture.”

“You look like you got lost on the way to a GQ photoshoot,” Rachel shot back. “And how did you even get this car out here without losing a bumper on the gravel?”

“It was a challenge, I admit,” Lionel smirked. Even if he totaled the damn thing, it’d be a drop in the bucket. He glanced around, taking in the expanse of fields and the weathered charm of the farmhouse. “Quite a departure from London.”

Rachel bit back a grin, watching as Lionel took in the wheat fields. Assuming he landed in Topeka, he’d driven three long boring hours down the dullest interstate in America just to get here.

“You really didn’t have to come all this way.”

Lionel shrugged, slipping his hands into his coat pockets. “I wanted to. Besides, I thought you might need some help carrying your bags.” His eyes twinkled with mischief. “And someone to fend off any rogue bulls.”

Rachel rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide her smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you haven’t sent me packing.”

“Not yet,” she admitted, her voice softening.

Lionel glanced past her toward the fields, where Rufus eyed the Audi suspiciously. “Though I must say, your friend over there seems less than impressed with me.”

Rachel laughed. “Rufus doesn’t impress easily.”

“Neither do you,” Lionel said, his tone suddenly serious.

Rachel looked down at him, her smile fading slightly. It didn’t take a genius to see Lionel had put in some serious effort today.

“I mean it, Rachel,” Lionel said, his voice low. “You’re not an easy person to impress. And I respect that.”

She swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over her. “You didn’t have to come here to tell me that.”

“No,” he agreed, taking the first step and extending a hand. “But I wanted to. Come here.”

Hesitant but curious, Rachel descended the steps until she was standing in front of him. The warmth of his hand when it closed over hers sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with the cold.

“London’s been unbearable without you,” Lionel said, his voice low and steady.

Then he kissed her again.

Like the last time he claimed her lips, it was soft, an exploration—a question. He moved against her with deliberate care, a tenderness that contrasted with the power he exuded in every other aspect of his life. But as Rachel melted into him, her fingers curling into the lapels of his coat, the kiss deepened.

Lionel pulled her closer, his hand sliding to the back of her neck, anchoring her to him. The kiss became hungrier, more insistent, as though he was trying to convey something he couldn’t say aloud. Rachel could feel the tension in his body, the restraint he held onto by a thread, before he pulled back again panting.

“Where’s your room?” He purred, kissing her temple.

“Really, Lionel?”

“To collect your bags, dear,” Lionel tutted, grinning at her admittedly astute misunderstanding. He wouldn’t have her here, but instead his bed. With the most luxurious sheets available and a bottle of wine high above London. At her pace.

Something was obviously wrong with him. He’d never waited, always aggressively pursued what he desired. But he endeavored to wait for her to pounce first. Rachel was worth it.

For a moment, she let herself bask in the warmth of his gaze, the undeniable pull between them. “Upstairs,” Rachel sighed. “I’ve got a lot of them.”

“I expected nothing less.”

As they started toward the house, Rufus let out another low bellow, and Lionel glanced back, his expression wary.

“Let’s just hope he doesn’t take a liking to me,” Lionel said dryly.

“Trust me, you’re not his type.”

Rachel settled into her new life with surprising ease. Her quaint flat nestled in a charming corner of London, complete with a small balcony overlooking a cobblestone street and a kitchen to match her cooking skills. The space felt like hers in no time, filled with cozy touches—a throw blanket draped over the sofa, a few framed photos of her family, and a vase of fresh flowers Lionel had sent as a housewarming gift…along with a flat screen TV.

Work at the hospital was demanding but rewarding, and her colleagues quickly embraced her place within their ranks. The night she finished unpacking, Lionel insisted on taking her out for a celebratory dinner. The cameras caught them as they arrived, lauding the return of Mrs. Claus, but the headlines were merely background noise now. For Rachel, the real victory was the sense of belonging she hadn’t felt in years—and the quiet thrill of knowing Lionel had been in her corner every step of the way. But now she wanted more.

Rachel tossed and turned in the darkness of her bedroom that night, the soft glow of her bedside clock taunting her with the late hour. She had tried everything to settle her restless mind—reading, tea, even scrolling through her phone until her eyes burned. None of it worked. With a frustrated sigh, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and grabbed her keys.

The drive through London’s quiet streets gave her time to think, though it did little to calm her nerves. When she pulled up to Lionel’s penthouse building, she hesitated for a moment, her fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly. Was this a terrible idea? Maybe. Did she care? Not enough to turn around.

Rachel marched into the lobby, her determination outweighing her doubts. The doorman gave her a knowing smile, already familiar with her face from previous visits. Lionel had also informed him she was welcome any time, regardless of if he was home or not. Moments later, she stood outside Lionel’s door, her heart pounding as she raised her hand to knock.

When the door swung open, Lionel appeared, wearing nothing but a dark robe loosely tied at the waist. His hair was mussed, and his eyes carried the haze of someone who’d just been woken from a deep sleep.

“Rachel?” he said, his voice rough and low. He raked a hand through his hair, blinking as though to make sure she was real.

Rachel stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, crossing her arms as she turned to face him. “Why haven’t you tried anything?”

Lionel frowned, his confusion evident. “What?”

“You heard me.” She gestured vaguely toward him, huffing with frustration. “You’re really gonna make me say it?”

He stared at her for a beat, and then realization dawned. His lips curved into a slow, devilish smirk, his dark eyes gleaming with unmistakable hunger.

“Ask,” he said softly, his voice a dangerous murmur. “And you shall receive.”

Rachel held his gaze, her heart thundering in her chest. She stepped closer, tilting her chin up defiantly. “Take me to bed, Lionel.”

That was all the permission he needed.

Lionel surged forward, his hands framing her face as his mouth crashed against hers. The kiss was fierce, almost desperate, a culmination of all the tension that had simmered between them for weeks. His fingers slid into her hair, pulling her closer as his lips claimed hers again and again, as though he couldn’t get enough.

Rachel clung to him, her hands fisting the fabric of his robe before it slipped from his shoulders. He didn’t pause to care where it landed, his focus entirely on her. Without breaking the kiss, he scooped her into his arms, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.

“Finally,” she murmured against his lips, earning a low, rumbling laugh from him.

“Impatient, are we?” he teased, his voice husky as he carried her down the hall to his bedroom.

“Very. I’m tired of waiting.” Her declaration sent a shiver down his spine. 

Lionel laid her gently on the bed, his eyes raking over her with a reverence that made her breath catch. “You’re sure about this?” he asked, his voice soft but edged with hunger.

Rachel pulled him down on top of her, gasping at the feeling of him nestled between her legs.

“Devour me, Lionel.”