Christmas Shopping for a Billionaire Read Online Free PDF

you’re done with the kids, can senior citizens be next? This bladder isn’t as young as it used to be,” shouts a familiar voice.
    “Ho ho ho,” Declan shouts, then mumbles to me, “I’ve been peed on enough. Don’t need to add Agnes to it. Do whatever she wants.”
    “What is Agnes doing here?” I ask Mom, who turns out to be remarkably helpful, handing out candy canes and directing people to the pay station. Amy wanders off to huff the Lush bath products. 
    “I canceled yoga today when I learned you were coming here, and when they asked why there was a huge stampede of people who figured they might catch a glimpse of Declan. No one ever dreamed they’d get to sit in his lap!”
    “Neither did he.”
    Her eyes take in my costume. “You’re a little bigger than me, but not much. You get to keep that costume? Can I borrow it?”
    Declan waves me over and I walk away without a single word, because I know why she wants to borrow it, and while costumes can be cleaned, brains can’t. Once that image is imprinted in my mind—of Mom and Dad playing Santa and the Naughty Elf—I might as well get an official Red Ryder Carbine Action 200-shot range model air rifle— 
    And shoot my eyes out.
    We get through the kids and Declan begs for a short break. Out comes the “Santa is Feeding the Reindeer—Back in Five Minutes!” sign. Declan walks around back and stretches. The mall cops seize on the chance and come over to explain that the Russian dude was a garden-variety scammer, telling parents that for an extra $40 he’d make sure they got their pictures to them on CD on the spot. He’d pulled the same scam at five other malls this season. 
    And a fingerprint check showed he was part of a mafia ring, too.
    “Russian? You speak Russian? We’ve been dating for how long and I don’t know this?” I bark.
    He shrugs. “There’s a lot we don’t know about each other. What foreign languages do you speak?”
    “Southie and Pig Latin.”
    “See! I didn’t know that. You polyglot.”
    The security force people leave us alone and Declan takes a minute to hydrate and just breathe without a little kid on his knee. I look down the long walkway in front of us and do a double take.
    “This section really brings out the crazies,” I say. 
    “Your mom’s a bit weird, but crazy might be an overstatement—”
    “Not her. I mean, she is, but—see that guy walking toward us?” I point to a tall, older man wearing glasses and a brown down coat. He walks slowly, shoulders hunched, and is carrying a cat in his arms.
    A cat wearing reindeer antlers, and as he gets closer—
    “Is that cat wearing a red nose that lights up?” Declan whispers out of the side of his mouth.
    “Holy smokes!” I peep. “What a nutcase.” The guy comes closer and avoids eye contact. The area is loud and the glow of red and green Christmas lights makes everything a bit dim, but he stands out. I’ve never seen a cat so angry before, either. So grumpy. So pissed off.
    So—oh my God.
    “DAD?”
    Chuckles tips his eyes up at me, the red light from his battery-powered nose making his irises glow evil red, like Dracula’s cat come to kill Santa Claus and steal the Spirit of Christmas.
    And, frankly, I can’t blame him.
    “What are you doing to Chuckles?”
    “More like what is your mother doing to my manhood,” Dad mumbles just as Mom comes over and makes a big to-do of the cat.
    “Look at Chuckley-Wuckley!” Mom squeals, holding him out from her, arms stretched with a limp animal planning how to smother her in her sleep, his eyes glowing with hatred and LED-inspired evil.
    “Chuckles is figuring out how to pull your liver out through your nose and snack on it while you writhe in death throes, Mom,” I say. My cat nods slowly and Dad shivers.
    “He’s so cute, though! The family Christmas picture will be so perfect.” Dad cuts me a look that says Don’t even say it as he pulls his jacket off in the stifling mall. 
    But I say