Stranded with the Billionaire

IRENA

SHE stood inside the elevator, tapping her feet to the music. She shifted her weight and lifted her thumb to chew. Why would Peter invite her on a Saturday? The editor never did that. And if they did, it is for a good reason. Though she tried to suppress her excitement, important words, a career-changing story, kept running through her mind.

Her roommate Lindsay is right. There is no need to get upset if it is nothing. She took a deep breath and smoothed her skirt with her hand. There must be something wrong with her recent post. That is all.

But Peter wanted to talk to her in person—on a Sunday. A story that changed her career replayed in her mind.

Before she could get mad enough to dissect his intentions, the elevator rang, and the doors opened. She walked into the lobby of the Magazine, one of Country's most popular magazine headquarters.

The hall was unusually quiet today. Sara, the receptionist, is not sitting at her desk, where the phone usually rings every ten seconds. The fountain was full and there were no fellow reporters standing around, trying to look like they were not postponing their latest story.

Even the dog curled up in the corner.

Irena stopped as her heartbeat wildly.

Wait. Dog? She looked at the black and brown furry creature lying on the ground. He was large, burying half of the entrance mat under his body. Her mouth is open, allowing her tongue to glide across the marble floor. Her chest heaved.

Her throat tightened. Why is there a dog in the building? Glancing around, she did not see the owner. Fear ran down her spine as she crept toward the door, praying the animal would not wake up.

One in fifty people bitten by a dog.

She let the thought linger for a moment before pushing it away. Telling the truth is a coping method she started using as a child to deal with situations that make her feel uncomfortable.

Now, at twenty-eight, it is boring. But her brain did not seem to notice.

She grabbed the metal handle and pulled. The sound of the voice traveled down the hall. Sliding down the hallway, she headed for the open door: Peter's office.

"I'm glad we can come to an agreement, Mr. Kennedy," Peter said with a hint of desperation in his usual cold tone.

Irena pauses. Kennedy. Where have you heard that name lately?

"I'm ready to put this whole situation in the past," replied a soft, deep voice.

Irena sucked in a breath as she waited just outside Peter's open door. Whatever he wants her to do, she will gracefully accept the task. His time of hard labor must end at certain point.

She walks to the open door and finds Peter. He had pulled the chair back against the desk and leaned forward with his elbows. His smile was immense. She could not help but stare at him. Since when is he smiling?

Two people were sitting in front of him, with their backs to her. One of them had intentionally messy black hair. His shoulders tightened under his vest coat, and from time to time he turned his attention to the large picture windows to the right.

The woman next to him has shiny white hair that falls out at the ends. Tension filled his perfect posture and meticulous movements.

"Irena!"

Peter said as his gaze fell on her in the doorway. He raised his hand to signal her to come in.

"I'm so glad you finally made it." He shot her a sharp look.

It is like the one he always gives her when she sends her paper five minutes after the deadline.

She entered the room, the two guests turned around.

The mysterious man stood up and stared at her. Now she knew where she had heard his name before.

Sage Kennedy, also known as the heartbreaker billionaire, forced to give up his late father's way of running his late father's outdoor supply business. It was in the newspaper for weeks.

Unfortunately for Irena, she already knows all his dirty things. Lindsay took immense pleasure in reading him every obscenity about him. Even to find out if he prefers shorts or briefs. Irena's cheeks heated up as she looked away from the suit that perfectly designed for him.

Peter. History. Do not worry, Irene.

"Irena Derrick, this is Sage Kennedy and his partner Amanda Massey," Peter said.

She nodded but kept her back to the far wall.

She did not know why she was here, so she did not want to interfere. What can she give Sage Kennedy?

Sage leaves his chair.

"Here. You can take my place," he said, tugging at his collar. His vest unbuttoned, revealing the wrinkles on his white shirt. Irena tried not to stare at him. She knows little about billionaires, but she knows for sure that they do not wear wrinkled clothes.

She raised her hand.

"Oh no. It is okay. I'm fine here."

He gave her one of his million- or should she say, billion-dollar smiles.

"I insist."

She glanced at Peter, who was wide-eyed and tilted his head toward the seat.

"Thanks," she said, sliding back into her chair.

Amanda cleared her throat and turned to Peter. She wears designer glasses, and her lips always pursed.

"That's her, Mr. Patterson?" Peter nodded.

"Correct. That is Irena Derrick. She is one of the best reporters I have had in years."

Amanda's smug gaze swept over Irena, and for a moment, Irena felt exposed.

How did people do it? Steal one's entire trust with just one look. She shifted in her chair as the heat hit her back.

"Is she really the best? Because the best is the only thing that can get us out of this mess," Amanda said as her gaze turned to Sage.

Irena glanced at him surreptitiously. He had a distressed look on his face as he stood in front of the window, watching the sun go down. The lights twinkled against the darkening sky.

Peter slams his hand on the table and Irena jumps.

"It was established then. She was leaving tomorrow morning."

Realizing that her life planned without her, Irena sat up.

"I'm sorry. What?"

Amanda sighed again. Irena felt her confidence waver.

Peter smiled.

"You will tell a story to Mr. Kennedy. They are going to Greenland tomorrow morning, and you are going with them." He stared at her.

Still not understanding, Irena leaned forward. "Greenland? Why are we going to Greenland?"

Amanda leaned over to Peter.

"Is she really the best reporter you guys have?"

"Amanda, stop it," said Sage, turning to them. He loosened his tie. and leaving it loosely around his neck, the top button of his shirt undone, and he looked more relaxed. He held out his hand.

"Miss Derrick, thanks for coming."

Irena looked down at her hand. Then her gaze slid from her arm to her face. Somewhere deep inside her, she melted a little. The sheets the tabloids do not tell her, no fair judgment. He is so handsome. In a nonchalant and open manner.

She did not answer, he gave her a half smile that made her cheeks burn.

Embarrassed, Irena reached out and squeezed his hand, hoping he did not realize what she had just done with her feelings.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Kennedy. I have to say the newspapers are killing your most recent stories," she said, allowing herself to look him in the eye.

His shoulders tightened, he let go. A worried look crossed his face. But as quickly as he arrived, he disappeared. He bent down.

"Well, don't believe everything you read. You should know that by now."