A Say Less I Love You Holiday Special

Chapter 1

Nyla

The rich aroma of French roast coffee envelops me in Jacob's sleek penthouse kitchen. I carefully measure out the perfect amount of grounds, letting the warmth of the moment seep into my bones. 

His commanding voice floats through the open concept space, crisp and sharp, echoing with authority from his home office. I can almost picture him, all focused intensity, probably clad in that fitted suit that hugs his broad shoulders just right. It’s a sound that somehow makes my heart race, even as I try to concentrate on the coffee.

"No, absolutely not. I said Swarovski crystal for the chandeliers, not that cheap knockoff stuff. This isn't some backyard barbecue."

His footsteps echo against the marble floors as he paces. I can picture him running his fingers through his dark hair, probably making it stand on end like it always does when he's stressed.

"The ice sculptures need to be at least eight feet tall. Yes, eight. And I want the swan carved with such detail you can see every damn feather in their wings."

The coffee maker gurgles as Jacob continues his tirade. I lean against the counter, unable to help smiling at his perfectionism. This fundraiser means everything to him—his first chance to prove himself worthy of the Stone legacy.

His family legacy isn’t just some glamorous story—it’s an iron-clad chain dragging him into a world of expectations.

His grandfather built the Stone Hospital Group from scratch, a vision that started in a cramped clinic and transformed into one of the leading healthcare systems in the country. Everyone expects Jacob to carry that torch, but they forget he’s human too. He’s got dreams, desires that don’t fit neatly within the pristine walls of this empire.

This is why Jacob is so determined to carve out his own identity in this towering legacy. This fundraiser isn’t just a party; it’s his chance to showcase that he’s more than just the CEO of a hospital group with a family name. It's his opportunity to forge his own way, rather than follow the path laid out for him by his family.

"Listen to me carefully," he says, his tone dropping to that dangerous level that makes even board members squirm. "If those appetizers aren't plated with 24-karat gold leaf, you can kiss your contract goodbye. The old guard expects excellence, and that's exactly what they're going to get."

More pacing. A pause. Then: "What do you mean the string quartet is booked? Well, un-book them. Double their fee. Triple it. I don't care what it costs."

The coffee finishes brewing just as Jacob barks, "And make sure those ice luges are positioned exactly according to the blueprints. One degree off and the champagne won't flow properly into the fountain. Got it? Good. Call me back when it's done."

I pour two cups of coffee, adding just a splash of cream to his—exactly how he likes it. Through the doorway, I watch him drop his phone onto his desk and press his palms against the mahogany surface, shoulders tense under his tailored shirt.

I approach with careful steps, the coffee cups warming my palms. Jacob lifts his head, and the hard lines around his eyes soften as our gazes meet. The morning sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows catches the silver threads in his dark hair, making them shimmer.

"Here." I extend his cup, and his fingers brush against mine as he takes it. The touch lingers, sending a familiar spark through my skin. His thumb grazes my knuckle before he pulls away.

I set my cup on his desk, next to a stack of blueprints covered in his precise handwriting. Moving behind him, I press my thumbs into the rigid muscles of his shoulders. A groan escapes his lips as I work out the knots.

"It will be incredible," I say, feeling him relax under my touch. "This party could fund a hospital wing all by itself."

"That's what I'm counting on." He rolls his shoulders back into my hands. "These donors need to see that the Stone legacy is in good hands. That I can—"

"That you can what? Move mountains? Part seas? You've already proven yourself ten times over."

His muscles tense again beneath my fingers. "Not to everyone."

I know he's thinking about his mother, Hilda, about her constant criticisms and pointed comments. 

Jacob's mother is all sharp edges and cold authority. She's the matriarch of this sprawling empire, and every word out of her mouth carries the weight of her privilege. She has this way of looking at me—like I'm an unwanted guest at a high-society gala, an intruder in her carefully curated world.

That woman could slice diamonds with her gaze alone. Every time we cross paths, I can practically feel her disdain wrapping around me like a heavy cloak.

"Do you honestly believe Nyla belongs in our family's social circle?" she once asked Jacob, as if I were some sort of test he had to pass.

It stings, even now. No matter how many times I prove myself at Stone Hospital, she doesn’t see me as Nyla, a nurse with ambition and a fierce heart; she sees me as a threat to the Stone legacy. Hilda wants Jacob with someone who embodies the perfect image—someone polished and primed for the family legacy.

“Jacob, you'd be far more suited with Trixa,” echoes in my head like a persistent drumbeat. Trixa Swan, the golden girl of their world—flawless skin, impeccable taste, and an endless supply of connections that could launch a rocket. Hilda’s favorite.

But I believe Jacob deserves more than just someone who fits neatly into his mother’s box of expectations. Jacob deserves someone who sees him for who he is—not just the hospital CEO but the man behind the suit, the one who feels every pressure that comes with his last name.

I press harder into a particularly stubborn knot in Jacob's shoulder, and he lets out a sharp breath.

"Damn, that feels good," he murmurs, tilting his head to the side to give me better access. "How do you always know exactly where it hurts?"

"Years of medical training. Plus, I can read you like a book."

I take a sip of my coffee, savoring the rich flavor while studying Jacob's face. His shoulders relax slightly under my touch, and a small smile plays at the corners of his mouth. But I can still see the weight of expectations in his eyes, the burden of his family legacy pressing down on him.

"You know what really keeps me up at night?" He picks up a blueprint, his jaw tightening. "It's not just the party. It's everything it represents. The guest list reads like a Who's Who of medical philanthropy. One wrong move and—"

"And what? The hospital won't collapse because the ice sculptures aren't perfect."

"No, but if the champagne fountain fails, or if the lighting isn't exactly right, or if the goddamn string quartet plays one wrong note—" He slams the blueprint down. "These people donate millions. They expect perfection. Excellence. The Stone standard."

I set my coffee down and turn him to face me. "The Stone standard isn't about crystal chandeliers or gold-leaf appetizers."

"Try telling that to my mother." His laugh comes out harsh. "She's already called twice this morning to remind me that the Vandermilts will be comparing this to their son's hospital fundraiser last spring. Did you know they had a synchronized swimming performance in a pool filled with rose petals?"

"Sounds tacky."

"Maybe. But they raised twelve million dollars."

"And you'll raise more." I squeeze his arm. "Because you actually care about the hospital, not just the show."

He rubs his temples. "The ice sculptures are going to melt too fast. The February forecast shows temperatures above freezing. And the caviar supplier—"

"You'll figure it out. You always do."

Three sharp knocks echo through the office, cutting through our moment. Jacob's driver, Thompson, clears his throat from the doorway.

"Sir, the helicopter has landed on the helipad. We need to leave now to make your meeting in Philadelphia on time."

Jacob's hands slide down my arms, his touch lingering. "Come with me."

I shake my head, stepping back to put some professional distance between us. My scrubs suddenly feel too informal next to his perfectly pressed suit. "I have charts to review and rounds to do, remember?"

"Always the responsible one." His fingers brush my chin, tilting my face up. "Sure I can't convince you?"

"Some of us actually work for a living, Mr. CEO."

"Work?" He raises an eyebrow. "Is that what you call drinking my expensive coffee and giving me massages?"

"Sir," Thompson interrupts, checking his watch. "The pilot—"

"One minute," Jacob snaps, not taking his eyes off me. His hand cups the back of my neck, pulling me close. The kiss is deep, demanding, making my toes curl in my practical nursing shoes. He tastes like coffee and possibility.

When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with promise. "Don't work too hard, Nurse Stone."

"That's not my name." I push against his chest playfully. "Now go, before Thompson has an aneurysm."

"Yet," Jacob whispers against my ear before straightening his tie and striding toward the door. "Have those charts done by dinner. I'm taking you somewhere special tonight."

I watch him disappear down the hallway, Thompson hurrying to keep up with his long strides. Through the window, I catch a glimpse of the helicopter's blades spinning against the morning sky, waiting to carry him away.

The whir of helicopter blades fades into the distance as I pull out my phone, practically bouncing on my toes. My fingers dance across the screen, pulling up the number I saved last week.

"Rare Editions, how may we assist you today?" A crisp British accent carries through the speaker.

"Hi, this is Nyla. I called last week about the special order?"

"Ah, yes! Your item has arrived this morning. I must say, it's quite extraordinary."

My heart skips. "Perfect timing. I'll swing by after my shift to pick it up."

"Very good. We close at seven."

"I'll be there by six." I end the call and hug myself, unable to contain my excitement. 

The penthouse feels too big, too quiet without Jacob here, but my mind is already racing ahead to his face when he sees what I've found. This isn't just any Christmas present—it's something that speaks to everything he is, everything we could be together.

"Oh my God, he's going to flip." I twirl across the marble floors, my scrubs swishing around my legs. The fundraiser is in two days, and after he proves to everyone—especially his mother—what he's capable of, this gift will be the perfect celebration of his triumph.

My phone buzzes with a text from the hospital. Right. Work. Real life. I gather my things, still grinning like a fool. Let Hilda Stone throw all the synchronized swimmers and rose petals she wants at her son. I've found something better. Something that matters.

I pause at the door, taking one last look at the city spread out below Jacob's penthouse. "Just you wait, baby," I whisper. "This is going to be a Christmas you'll never forget."

The security guard tips his hat as I practically skip to my car. I can't remember the last time I felt this light, this sure about anything. Sometimes the perfect gift finds you, and when it does, you just know.