A Naughty Christmas Carol

What if Scrooge was a handsome New York hottie who had it all? Except love

Nick Radnor is a Wall Street trader with no heart. Money is his mistress.

Nick learns where his life is headed because of his corporate greed when three sexy female ghosts try to save his soul and help him find love on this naughty Christmas Eve.

30,000 words

Excerpt:

GREED IS GOOD on Christmas Eve.

Nick Radnor lived and breathed that credo the way other men craved a good blow job. Which is why he drove himself harder than any trader on Wall Street. He was up at dawn, a fast jog through the underbelly of the city, and then a quick stop in his limo for coffee. Steaming hot. Black, two sugars. He grinned. No milk. Milk was for wusses.

Nick prided himself on having a cast iron stomach and tight abs. He strutted like a conqueror, parting crowds by the sheer power of his impressive physique. He was tall, handsome, and could wheel and deal with the best of them. Talk on his cell to his bankers with one hand and find his way under the elastic band on his secretary's black silk panties with the other.

Ah, the sweet smell of success. Nothing could beat it.

And no one could compete with his willingness to get down and dirty to get the job done. Nick saw to that. Which was why he was working late on Christmas Eve. Why not? He hated holidays. Especially Christmas. In his mind, the whole thing was like a condom with a hole in it. Useless. Business grinded to a halt, driving him crazy, with everyone getting drunk like college pledges and muttering, "Ho, ho, ho" like it was a hot stock.

Seriously?

Of course, Nick never shared with anyone why he hated Christmas. That would be revealing a part of him he buried long ago. Stuck it into a paper sack and then used it as a punching bag. It started when he was a kid. His buddies got bicycles, but no shiny, new red bike for him. Only black coal in his stocking.

"Coal means energy, son," said his old man, slapping him on the back. Hard. It hurt, but not like the pain in his heart knowing his dad saw him only as a tax write-off. "That's where your future lies."

What ten-year-old boy thinks past suppertime and riding that new bike to impress his friends? He didn't understand the glowing light in his father's eyes. Even as a kid, he knew it wasn't for him, but something deeper. The man's fervent passion to make the deal no matter whom he hurt. And he hurt his son most of all.

Nick never forgot it. No wonder his savage desire to make money drove a wedge between them. He tensed. Forget the old days. He had to get these figures to his overseas constituents before the next day of trading. The Asian markets would be open and he stood to lose thousands of dollars if his numbers were off.

Humming, he loved watching the zeros multiply like horny rabbits. The thrill of the game turned him on. Nick couldn't get enough of the frantic pace of Wall Street. The cars were sleeker, the women curvier, the smartphones smarter. To his eyes, even the snowflakes drifting down over the city were shaped like dollar signs.

He flipped his attention back and forth between two computer screens, checking and re-checking his figures. Thank God the foreign markets paid no attention to the hooey about five golden rings and a pear-sick partridge.

Speaking of gold, Nick thought about the conversation he'd had yesterday with a Swiss colleague about his bank accounts overseas. He more than doubled his assets in precious metals—

His ears perked up. Was that the door opening? Someone was invading his domain and he didn't like it. Then he grinned. Hold on, was that the sound of jingle bells?