Page 71 of Forty, Flirty & Fired

The thing about mountain cabins owned by tech billionaires is that they're never actually cabins. Alex's "little place in the mountains" turns out to be a stunning modern lodge perched on a private ridge, all glass and stone and spectacular views of snow-covered peaks. We arrive just as the winter sun is setting, painting the snow in shades of rose and gold.

"This is where you made the bachelor pact?" I ask as he parks the Range Rover. The drive up had taken longer than planned thanks to a small avalanche of texts from my family (mostly pasta-related warnings from Nonna) and what appeared to be Keith's revolutionary convoy getting pulled over for suspicious beret-wearing on the highway.

"Twenty-three years ago." Alex grabs our bags before I can protest. His muscles flex beneath his fitted sweater, hinting at the strength hidden underneath. "Though it looked different then. Less glass, more actual cabin."

"Let me guess – you redesigned it like your office? All transparency and view?" I can't help but admire the way his darkjeans hug his thighs, the casual elegance that seems to come so naturally to him.

"Actually," he unlocks the door, "I kept most of the original structure. Just opened it up to the light." His green eyes sparkle with a mix of mischief and warmth, and I can't help but feel a flutter in my chest.

The symbolism isn't lost on me.

Inside, the "cabin" manages to be both luxurious and welcoming. A massive stone fireplace dominates the great room, already laid with logs. The kitchen gleams with professional-grade equipment that would make Nonna weep with joy. And the views...

"This is where you hide from the world?" I move to the windows, watching snowflakes start to fall in the gathering dusk. Alex follows me, his presence commanding yet comforting. His chiseled jawline and the slight stubble add a rugged edge to his otherwise polished appearance.

"This is where I remember who I am outside of board rooms and business deals." He steps behind me, his warmth radiating through my sweater. His broad shoulders and tall frame make me feel small and protected. "Where I don't have to be Alexander Drake, CEO."

"Just Alex?" I turn to look at him, his dark hair slightly tousled from the drive, a few strands falling across his forehead.

"Just Alex." His hands settle on my waist, his touch firm yet gentle. "The guy who made stupid promises about never falling in love because he was too scared of ending up like his father."

My heart definitely doesn't skip at the L-word. "And now?"

"Now I'm breaking those promises." He turns me to face him fully, his eyes intense and focused. "Because some things are worth the risk." His lashes are dark and long, framing his eyes perfectly.

The kiss starts soft, tentative, but quickly blazes intosomething more. My hands find his hair, the soft strands slipping through my fingers as his mouth trails down my neck. Suddenly, we're making out like teenagers against the window.

"Alex," I manage as his hands slide under my sweater, his fingers tracing the curve of my waist. "We should?—"

My phone buzzes. Because of course it does.

"Ignore it," he murmurs against my throat, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down my spine.

It buzzes again. And again.

"It could be important?—"

"More important than this?" His eyes meet mine, a mix of amusement and desire darkening his gaze.

But I'm already pulling back to check, because two decades of tech industry conditioning is hard to break. Three notifications:

LUCIA:Nonna wants to know if the altitude is affecting the pasta sauce. Also, Keith just posted about a "revolutionary ski patrol" searching for "classified romantic locations."

AMELIA ZEGEN:Following up on our interview request. Very interested in the correlation between Drake Enterprises' culture changes and certain blog posts...

KEITH:COMRADE GALLO! The revolution requires your location for... strategic planning purposes. Totally unrelated to any romantic surveillance operations.

"Anything urgent?" Alex's voice carries amusement and something darker, his eyebrows raised in a playful challenge.

"Just the usual chaos." I turn my phone off. Actually off, for the first time in possibly years. "Where were we?"

His smile should be illegal, the way it lights up his face and makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. "I believe I was about to give you a tour."

"Of the cabin?"

"Eventually." His hands find my waist again, his thumbs tracing circles that make my breath hitch.

He kisses me again, and this time there's nothing tentative about it. His hands span my waist, lifting me onto the kitchen island with easy strength. The marble is cold through my jeans, but his mouth is hot on my neck, and suddenly the temperature difference is the most interesting experiment in contrasts.

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