Page 7 of Her Frosty Billionaire
Her cheeks flushed pink. “You don’t have to take two just to be polite.”
“I’m not being polite. I don’t do polite.” I held up my wrist, showing off the watch she’d accidentally opened. “See? Good as new. No permanent damage from my mail thief.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh my God, you’re wearing it.”
“Why wouldn’t I? It’s a perfectly good watch.”
“I just thought…after I opened it—” She bit her lip, looking genuinely worried. “There really wasn’t any damage, was there? Because I swear?—”
“Relax, Hope. I was joking.” I lowered my voice. “Though opening someone’s mail is still a federal offense.”
“You said you weren’t going to report me.”
“I’m not. I’m just keeping it in my back pocket. You know, in case I need a favor someday.”
She narrowed her eyes, but she was fighting a smile. “That’s blackmail.”
“That’s insurance.”
“You’re terrible.”
“So I’ve been told.” I took a sip of my drink, studying her. “How’s the building treating you? Any more package mix-ups?”
“Not yet. I’ve been very careful to read labels.” She glanced around the room, then back at me. “Although I have to say, opening your mail early isn’t that bad. At least you get to enjoy your gifts before Christmas.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Are you seriously trying to spin mail theft as a public service?”
“I’m just saying, anticipation is overrated. Why wait for Christmas morning when you could have your presents now?”
“That’s the most un-Christmas thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Says the man named Noel who clearly doesn’t enjoy the holidays.”
Fair point.
“I enjoy Christmas,” I said. “Professionally.”
“That’s so sad.”
“It’s practical.”
“It’s tragic.” She shook her head, her ponytail swishing. “Christmas isn’t about making money. It’s about magic and wonder and?—”
“Let me guess. Hope?”
She blinked. “What?”
“Hope. Your name. That’s what Christmas is about, right?”
Her cheeks went even pinker. “Are you making fun of me?”
“No.” And I wasn’t. If anything, I was jealous of how much she seemed to believe in all of it. “I think it’s…refreshing.”
She looked at me for a long moment, like she was trying to figure out if I was serious. “Want to step outside?” She gestured toward the terrace doors. “It’s quieter out there.”
I glanced at the glass doors leading to the rooftop terrace. It was early December. Cold. Probably below forty degrees.
“Isn’t it freezing?”
