4

"What did you say?" He kicked the snow off his designer boots, unbuttoning his tailored black wool coat with infuriating grace. "Do I look like I wanted this? For your information, I hate the idea of even breathing near your pathetic tomato outfit. You look stupid!"

I rolled my eyes. "You know what? Why the hell did you not just tell Anna about your feelings years ago?! See? If you had an ounce of courage back in high school, you wouldn't be this annoying, bitter, and heartbroken right now, acting like the entire world is your personal enemy!"

Jerome’s posture went rigid, his jaw clenching until a muscle twitched violently. "Do not bring Anna into this, Alexa."

"Oh, I'll bring her up all I want, dragon! You’re taking out your pathetic, unrequited heartbreak on me because you were too scared to compete with a British accent!"

"I am not taking anything out on you!" he roared, tossing his gloves onto the coffee table. "Now give me the TV remote. I'm checking the financial news."

"Over my dead body!" I scrambled across the rug, diving onto the leather sofa and grabbing the remote first. "I got to the couch first. I'm watching whatever cable channels this frozen tundra has."

"I own the building, Miss June," he growled, looming over the sofa with his hands in his pockets. "Give it here."

"I don't care if you own the planet, Mr. Washington, I am not watching wall street stock updates for six hours!" I tucked the remote under my thigh and crossed my arms. "And while we're on the subject of survival, who is cooking dinner? Because I am not playing housewife for an ungrateful billionaire."

"I don't expect you to cook," Jerome sneered, rolling his sleeves up his forearms. "Given your personality, you'd probably drop poison in my soup. I'll order room service."

"There's no phone line, genius! The storm took out the landline!"

"Then we starve!" he snapped back, pacing across the room like a caged panther.

We glared at each other for ten solid seconds, breathing heavily, ready to tear each other's hair out over the absolute nothingness of a snowbound evening.

Suddenly, my phone vibrated in my pocket. A high-pitched ping! echoed through the quiet cabin.

I pulled it out. A tiny icon lit up at the top of the screen: Emergency Satellite Wi-Fi Connected.

"Ha!" I gasped, clutching the phone to my chest like a holy relic. "The gods have taken mercy on my soul!"

Jerome paused, his eyes narrowing. "Wait. Is there internet?"

Ignoring him completely, I kicked off my heavy red boots, curled my legs up on the sofa, and instantly opened my streaming app. A few taps later, my K-drama started playing in glorious high definition.

Within two minutes, I was completely lost in the story, totally forgetting the brooding billionaire standing three feet away. On screen, the male lead made his dramatic entrance, stepping out of a pool in slow motion.

"Oh, sweet mercy..." I let out an unscripted, genuine giggle, fanning my face. "Look at those abs. God bless Gong Yoo. Now that is a ten out of ten man."

Across the room, Jerome froze. He slowly turned around, his dark eyes snapping to my phone screen, then to the ridiculous, dreamy smile plastered on my face.

"What are you watching?" he asked, his voice dropping into a tight, unnaturally stiff register.

"A real masterpiece," I sighed happily, kicking my feet. "A guy who actually knows how to smile and doesn't look like he swallowed a lemon."

Jerome stared at me, his chest heaving slightly as a strange, unexplainable irritation flared bright in his eyes. He looked at my phone, then looked at his own reflection in the dark window, suddenly looking thoroughly, completely rattled.

"Turn the volume down," he muttered crossly, snatching a wood log and violently tossing it into the fireplace. "He's not even that built."

I didn't bother answering. I just giggled louder, letting the dragon cook in his own weird, petty jealousy.

After an entire hour of unashamedly daydreaming over Gong Yoo’s abs, my stomach let out a loud, traitorous growl. The internet was still holding up, so I paused my drama to hunt for food—and to figure out where the dragon had vanished.

That was when I noticed the cabin's layout. My eyes scanned the small hallway, and my heart dropped.

One room.

There was literally only one bedroom in this entire frozen lodge. Did Jerome seriously just occupy the only bed and leave me to sleep on the couch?

I marched up to the bedroom door and rattled the handle. Locked.

"Seriously?!" I yelled at the wooden panel, rolling my eyes so hard it hurt. "Locked? Do I look like I’m going to rape you, Washington?! You are so not my type!"

Receiving no response, I huffed, turned up the volume on my phone even louder just to annoy him through the door, and stomped into the kitchen.

As I rummaged through the cabinets, a thought struck me. Grandpa Arthur was suspiciously sharp. Did he specifically order a remote lodge with no cell service, knowing I’d panic without Wi-Fi? I made a mental note to text the old man later to thank, or threaten, him.

To my relief, the kitchen was practically a chef's paradise. The fridge and pantry were fully stocked with fresh groceries. I tied my hair back, pulled out a pot, and got to work. Within twenty minutes, the sweet aroma of rich tomato sauce filled the lodge.

I whipped up a massive bowl of hot spaghetti loaded with a ridiculous amount of grated cheese, heated up a mug of creamy cocoa, and sliced a plate of fresh fruits.

I was just taking my first delicious bite at the island counter when the bedroom door clicked open.

Jerome stepped out, having traded his sharp suit for a dark gray sweater and sweatpants. He took one whiff of the air, spotted my plate, and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the doorframe with that insufferable, arrogant tilt of his head.

"Serve me a plate," he demanded smoothly.

I stopped my fork halfway to my mouth and stared at him in utter disbelief. "Excuse me? Do I look like your personal servant?"

Jerome raised an eyebrow, strolling into the kitchen like he owned the joint, which, unfortunately, he did. "You are technically my wife, Alexa. Serve your husband."

"Wow," I gasped, letting out a bitter, sarcastic laugh. "Is the husband coming home from the coal mines? Did you just march back from a brutal war? Because last time I checked, you were hiding in a locked bedroom pining over your childhood crush while I did all the heavy lifting!"

"I was working on my laptop," he growled, his dark eyes flashing with irritation. "And it's basic courtesy when you cook in my kitchen."

"I am not serving you a single noodle," I snapped, taking a huge, deliberate bite of my pasta right in front of his face. "If you want food, use your own two billionaire hands."

We traded glaring jabs for another five minutes, arguing over who owned the cheese, who bought the groceries, and who was acting like the bigger child. But as I settled back onto the sofa with my warm cocoa to resume my show, I caught him out of the corner of my eye.

Defeated, grumbling under his breath, and looking thoroughly annoyed, the mighty CEO quietly grabbed a fork, tiptoed to the stove, and dished himself a giant plate of the leftover spaghetti.

I smirked into my mug, turning Gong Yoo's volume back up as Jerome aggressively ate my cooking in bitter silence.