A Billionaire for Christmas

*Sawyer* I run my hands through my dark hair and let out a weary sigh. My latest f*******: video is buzzing with comments, but honestly, I’m not sure I have the energy to dive into them. I know there will be supportive messages, women expressing how seen they feel, telling me I’m right. But inevitably, there will also be hate, mocking laughter from men. It’s a strange mix of emotions…I both hate and appreciate those reactions. Part of me feels empowered by engaging in the discussion, defending women. Yet, another part of me recoils; I don’t like the raw hate. And yes, I’m aware I could opt out of the debate, choose not to poke the bear. But I can’t help myself. Every time I see men behaving ignorantly or spewing hate, I feel compelled to stand up for women. Plus, it’s my job—you might even call me a professional feminist. I work for a program that assists women in escaping violent relationships. I also conduct workshops and deliver speeches on feminism and equality. Contrary to what many men claim, I don’t hate men. But, to be truthful, I don’t trust many of them either. “She’s bracing for the onslaught of the Alpha males,” a teasing voice says from behind me. “Something like that,” I reply, swiveling my chair to face my best friend and assistant, Pascal. “Do you think doing that podcast is a good idea?” He gives a noncommittal shrug. “Yeah and nah… that guy isn’t really worth it, but he does deserve to be put in his place. If anyone can do it, it’s you, doll.” “If I had declined, he would have just ridiculed me, telling his listeners I’m scared,” I shake my head. “It was kind of a lose-lose situation.” “You deserve so much better… all women do,” he says, placing a comforting cup of tea in front of me. I smile at him, “It’s too bad for us women that you’re not available… the classic problem, all the good men are either happily married or gay.” “I swear, doll, if I ever go straight, you’re at the top of my list,” he grins. “I know I am,” I chuckle as I open the comment section on my video. Pascal settles down with his own laptop, undoubtedly sifting through my emails. He insists on filtering out all the hate mail before I see it, deciding which should be deleted, which should be filed in case the person escalates, and which need to be reported to the police. Unfortunately, we’ve had to do that a few times. “Why do these men always assume that single women are unhappy and longing for a man?” I mumble, mostly to myself. “Projection, doll… pure projection,” Pascal replies. “They desperately want a man but are too scared to admit it.” I can’t help but laugh. To be honest, I could probably manage without an assistant, and certainly without the expense of his salary. But Pascal’s ability to make me laugh and feel better is worth every penny. “By the way did you make my holiday reservation?” I ask him. As I would be celebrating Christmas alone once again, I have decided to splurge on a holiday to pamper myself. “Of course I did, don’t I always do as promised?” He grins. “10 days Cruise in the Caribbean is waiting for you.” I smile at him, honestly I can’t wait. Then I shake my head, reading a comment. "Apparently, standing up against men's bad behavior is perceived as hatred by them.” “But sweetie, you don’t hate men,” he says softly. “And while you’re not unhappy being single, you actually still believe in love and marriage… deep down.” I let out a small scoff, “Honestly I believe less in those with each passing day.” But he’s right. I don’t hate men. There are many men I’m not particularly fond of, but I also know some great guys whom I respect deeply. I used to believe in love and desire it all, back before the Christmas my heart was broken. *Aria* I gaze into the mirror, pondering just how much makeup I should apply. I’m not a fan of wearing a lot; besides, I have pretty good skin for my age. I see no reason to cover it up with layers of makeup. Plus, I feel like too much makeup tends to make me look older. So, I settle for some mascara, a touch of neutral eyeshadow, and a natural coloured lipstick. “Wow, Mom, hot date?” my 13-year-old daughter Reyne teases as she strolls into the bathroom, catching sight of me. I give a small shrug, “Well, it’s a date, at least,” I tell her. “Don’t worry, I won’t be home too late.” She smiles warmly. “No, enjoy yourself, Mom. We can handle it.” “What can we handle?” her twin brother Riley asks, poking his head through the door. “You look great, Mom.” “Mom has a hot date,” Reyne announces, “so I’m in charge, and you have to listen.” Riley rolls his eyes, “I don’t need a babysitter, especially not you.” Before I can intervene, my twins are already bickering. Despite their love for each other, they can argue fiercely at times. “Hey… hey, you two, stop!” I interject. “No one is in charge. You’re both responsible for yourselves. Now, behave, or I won’t be able to enjoy my date.” “Sorry, Mom,” Riley says, a hint of remorse in his voice. “I’m happy you have a date.” I smile at him, “Thank you, sweetie.” To be honest, I am excited about this date. When you’re over 40 and a single mom of twins, well… It tends to scare off a lot of men. Most of those interested are much older, and while I’m fairly open-minded, I feel that someone already retired is just a bit too old for me. Some of them also give off a rather odd vibe when talking to them. But this guy, Steve, seems almost perfect… as perfect as a person can be. He’s two years older than me and has a 12-year-old son. He works in advertising and seems to have his life all figured out. And he’s picking me up for dinner tonight. It would be so nice to have someone to spend Christmas with, maybe not this Christmas, most probably have plans, but next Christmas then.