Page 4 of Her Frosty Billionaire
The ride to the twenty-fifth floor felt like ascending to Olympus—minus the confidence of a goddess. I clutched the box against my chest, my heart pounding. What was I supposed to say?Hi, sorry I opened your super expensive watch because I’m nosy and have no impulse control?
The elevator dinged. The doors slid open. And I froze. The penthouse floor was nothing like Floor 16. The hallway was wide, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Real art hung on the walls—not prints, but actual paintings. The carpet was plush and cream-colored, and everything smelled like expensive leather and cedar.
There were only six doors. I found 25C at the end of the hall. My hand hovered over the doorbell.
Just ring it. Apologize. Leave.
I pressed the button. Nothing.
I waited. Still nothing.
Maybe he wasn’t home. Maybe I could just leave it outside his door with a note?—
The door swung open, and there he was. Elevator God.
Except now he wasn’t in a suit. He was in dark jeans and a fitted black T-shirt that showed off broad shoulders and muscular arms. The kind of arms that suggested he did more than just sit behind a desk all day. His hair was slightly messy, like he’d run his hands through it. His jaw was sharp, dusted with stubble, and his eyes?—
God, his eyes. Icy blue. Piercing. Currently staring at me like I was a door-to-door salesperson.
“Can I help you?” His voice was deep, smooth, and laced with irritation.
I held up the box like a shield. “I think this is yours.”
His gaze dropped to the package, then back to me. One dark eyebrow arched.
“You think?” he asked, dark eyebrows lifting.
“It’s definitely yours. It has your name on it. N. Frost. That’s you, right?”
“It is.”
He didn’t take the box. Just stood there, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe.
I swallowed. “It got mixed up with my packages downstairs. Holiday chaos. You know how it is.”
His eyes flicked to the torn tape on the box. “You opened it.”
It wasn’t a question.
“I—um—it was an accident.”
“An accident.”
“The tape was loose.”
“Uh-huh.”
My face was on fire. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t take anything. It’s all there. I just…looked. Briefly.”
He finally took the box from my hands, his fingers brushing mine for half a second. A jolt of electricity shot through me at the contact. I thought that was something that only happened in romance novels.
He glanced inside, then back at me. “Do you make a habit of stealing from strangers, or just during the holidays?”
I blinked. “I wasn’t stealing?—”
“Opening someone else’s mail is a federal offense, you know.”
My heart stopped. “I—what? No, I didn’t mean—I thought it was mine?—”
