Page 5 of Her Frosty Billionaire
The corner of his mouth twitched. Was he…smirking?
“Relax. I’m not going to report you to the FBI.”
I let out a breath. “Oh, thank God.”
He tilted his head, studying me. “You’re new here.”
“Three weeks. Floor 16. I’m Hope. Hope Haynes.” I stuck out my hand.
He looked at it for a beat too long before taking it. His grip was firm and warm, and it sent another shiver up my arm.
“Noel Frost.”
Of course his name was Noel. The coldest man I’d ever met, and he was named after Christmas.
“Well, um, sorry again about the box. I promise it won’t happen again.”
“It better not.”
But his tone was lighter now, almost teasing.
I stepped back, ready to escape before I embarrassed myself further.
“Hope.”
I turned. He was leaning in the doorway again, the box tucked under one arm, watching me with those unreadable eyes.
“Next time you want to know what’s in my packages, just ask.”
My mouth went dry. Was he flirting?
No. Definitely not. Men who looked like him didn’t flirt with women who wore reindeer sweaters and opened other people’s mail.
“Noted,” I managed.
I turned and practically ran to the elevator. As the doors closed, I caught one last glimpse of him.
Still standing there. Still watching. And definitely, definitely smirking now.
2
NOEL
Ihad no idea what possessed me to head to the Sky Lounge on a Tuesday night.
It was a work night. I rarely did social things on work nights. Weeknights were for leftovers, spreadsheets, and pretending I’d go to bed early. But somehow, there I was, walking straight into a building social event like I hadn’t spent the past year actively avoiding them.
Normally, I limited neighborly interaction to a polite elevator nod. Easier than enduring small talk and less likely to attract questions about my takeout habit.
But as soon as I stepped into the lounge, I remembered another reason to stay away from these things. It was aggressively Christmas.
Michael Bublé crooned about Santa coming to town from the ceiling speakers, and someone had apparently gone feral with the garland. The place looked like a snow globe exploded—twinkle lights, tinsel, and a twelve-foot tree by the windows that usually offered a peaceful skyline view for my after-work email scrolls.
“Noel,” a guy who lived a few doors down called out. We’d done some business a couple of years ago, so he was one of the few people I actually recognized.
I pasted on a friendly smile and headed over, snagging a sparkling drink off a passing tray like it was my emotional support prop for the evening.
“Didn’t expect to see you here.” Grady shook my hand. “You usually avoid these things like the plague.”
