Todos los capítulos de STUCK WITH MR. BILLIONAIRE FOR CHRISTMAS : Capítulo 11 - Capítulo 20

DANTE:My lungs burned.Four suitcases. Thirty pounds each, minimum. Up porch steps slick with ice, through a doorway barely wide enough to fit them all at once. My shoulders screamed in protest, muscles I didn't regularly use making their displeasure known with every movement.I needed to talk to Cinnamon. Immediately. Establish boundaries, set ground rules, make it crystal clear that I wasn't her pack mule or her personal assistant or whatever role she'd decided to cast me in.But before I could say a single word, a woman appeared.She was smaller and shorter than Cinnamon which caught my attention. I thought Cinnamon was the smallest person I have ever met. Anyways, this woman was wrapped in a pale blue robe that hung loose on her frame. Too loose. She looked too thin and seemed sick. I don't think this kind of thin was as a result of dieting. Would anyone go that far just to shed weight? Her skin had a translucent quality, delicate and papery, like if you pressed too hard you migh

DANTE:If I didn't know this was all fake, I would've believed every word. Hell, I almost believed it anyway.And that was the problem.She was too good at this. Too convincing. Which meant I had no idea where the performance ended and the real Cinnamon began.Did she have any tells? Any cracks in the facade?I stepped into the room. "Did I miss anything important?"Every head turned. Cinnamon's gaze found mine, something flickering in her expression before she smiled. "Just telling everyone our origin story."Mrs. Hartley leaned forward, hands folded in her lap, expression assessing. "I heard your company is among the thousands showing interest in purchasing land here in Meadowbrook."Finally. Business.I opened my mouth, ready to take control of the conversation. Lay out the proposal, discuss terms, move this forward so we could close the deal and get out of here.Cinnamon spoke first."Actually, my company sent both of us as representatives for the project." Her smile was sweet. Di

CINNAMON:"You dragged me here," I said, keeping my voice low. "I could've stayed at my mom's place. Been warm. Comfortable.""You're here to work, not vacation.""And part of working together means you don't treat me like your servant.""I'm not—""You just handed me your credit card and gestured like I'm supposed to fetch."His eyes narrowed. "You're being dramatic.""You're being an asshole."The receptionist's gaze flicked between us, eyes widening slightly.Dante must've noticed too, because his expression shifted. Still annoyed, but more controlled.I smiled. Tightly. Then turned to him, batting my eyelashes with exaggerated sweetness."Honey." My voice dripped sugar. "The receptionist is waiting. You can finish telling me how much you love me once we get to our room." I leaned closer, dropping my voice to a whisper only he could hear. "I promise I'll make the night spicy."The tendons along his jaw stood out like ropes, straining with the effort to stay composed.I pulled back,

CINNAMON:CINNAMON:Dante Moretti had a heart.I never thought I'd say those words. Hell, I never thought I'd think them.I pressed my teeth into my bottom lip, fighting the smile that kept trying to break free.This morning, when I'd stumbled out of that bedroom after stealing it from him, I'd expected smugness. Expected him to lord it over me, to remind me that he'd won by forcing me onto that couch in the first place.Instead, he'd later ordered breakfast. For both of us.And when I'd emerged, disheveled and half-asleep, he'd asked if I'd slept better. Not sarcastically. Not mockingly. Just... asked.Like he actually cared.It made something warm unfurl in my chest. A warmth I wasn't supposed to feel for a man who drove me absolutely insane on a daily basis.Before this morning, I'd thought he was just another rich narcissist who'd been handed everything in life and never had to work for anything real. But that breakfast, that quiet, almost embarrassed kindness had cracked that ass

DANTE:The picture appeared on my phone while Cinnamon was still rattling off Jensen Harbor’s ridiculous demands.I stopped hearing her, stopped hearing anything except the roaring in my ears. Nothing mattered except getting to my mother.Her face. Bruised, swollen, blood crusting at the corner of her mouth. Seeing it ripped something out of me. Then a thirty seconds video of Dove’s shaking camera, Max screaming in the background, a lamp smashing against the wall inches from where Mom cowered.My hands trembled so hard I almost dropped the phone. I was going to end that madman.“Dante?” Cinnamon’s voice came from somewhere distant. “What’s wrong?”I couldn’t answer. My throat had closed completely.In the jeep, I texted Tate with numb fingers: "I need the helicopter to take me back to Alabama. Now. Emergency."His reply came instantly: "On it. ETA three hours."I had Carlos drive straight to the helipad. Three hours. Three long, impossible hours while Mom sat in that house with the ma