Page 1 of Her Frosty Billionaire
1
HOPE
My rose gold pine cones had arrived. Finally.
Four packages were crammed into the parcel locker at the bottom of the mailbox cluster in the Reboot condo complex lobby. Three were for my roommates, Mollie and Avery—serial online shoppers and enablers—but the fourth was mine. My precious pine cones.
I wrestled the packages free like they were stubborn toddlers, strands escaping my ponytail as the locker door thunked shut behind me. These weren’t just any pine cones—they were hand-painted, glitter-dusted, artisan masterpieces that would finally make our Christmas tree look like something from Pinterest instead of a clearance bin.
Ding.
The elevator.
“Oh, no you don’t,” I said, clutching the box and sprinting in my boots like a woman in a romcom who’d just realized the prince was leaving town.
The elevators in this building were slower than a movie streaming on bad Wi-Fi, but as I rounded the corner, the doorsslid open—and of course, it was the express one. I skidded to a stop, hair in my face, box wobbling in my arms.
And standing inside, holding the “open door” button like some kind of elevator god, was the hottest man I’d ever seen.
Naturally, I grunted like a wild boar.
“Thanks,” I gasped as I stumbled in. The box slipped, and I caught it against my chest with all the grace of a drunk penguin.
He said nothing. Just released the button and stood there in his perfectly tailored charcoal suit, looking like he’d stepped out of an ad for a cologne titledIntimidation.
The doors slid shut.
I pressed 16, my floor, and tried not to breathe too loudly. The elevator hummed to life. That’s when I was suddenly aware of the packages in my arms, particularly the box that would have my pine cones.
It was too heavy. Pine cones wouldn’t be this heavy. I glanced down at the label.N. Frost, 25C.
Oh, no. Oh, no.
This wasn’t my box. This was some stranger’s box from the penthouse floor—the billionaire floor—and I’d just grabbed it along with the rest of our mail because the worker had half-assed package sorting again.
My face burned. I looked up at Elevator God, who was staring straight ahead at the doors like I didn’t exist. Maybe he hadn’t noticed. Maybe I could just?—
The elevator dinged. Floor 16.
I bolted out like the box was on fire, my boots squeaking on the marble. The doors started to close behind me.
“Wait—” I spun around, but they’d already shut.
I stood there in the hallway, clutching a stranger’s package, my heart hammering. What was I going to do? Hand the guy the package and tell him to deliver it for me? He was obviously heading to the twenty-fifth floor. He was in the express elevatorand carried himself like someone who never waited in lines. Tailored suit, not a hair out of place, and a posture that reserved space around him.
I looked down at the box again.N. Frost, 25C. I should definitely not open this.
I held the box to my ear and shook it gently. No rattle—probably something fragile and expensive. Definitely not pine cones.
I sighed and tucked it under my arm, hauling my tired self down the hallway to Unit 16C. My keys jingled as I unlocked the door, and the smell of cinnamon and sugar hit me immediately.
“She lives,” Mollie called from the kitchen. She was elbow-deep in cookie dough, her dark hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun. “Did you get your fancy pine cones?”
“Not exactly.” I dropped all four boxes on the coffee table with a thud.
Avery looked up from her laptop on the couch, her glasses sliding down her nose. “Please tell me one of those is my face serum.”
“Two of them are yours, actually.” I pointed at the labels. “This one’s Mollie’s, this one’s mine—I think—and this one…” I held up the square box. “This one belongs to someone named N. Frost on the penthouse floor.”
