STUCK WITH MR. BILLIONAIRE FOR CHRISTMAS.

CINNAMON:

Three years.

Three years of late nights, brutal deadlines, and campaigns that saved the company's ass more times than I could count. Today, all of it would finally mean something.

I smoothed my hands over the navy blazer I'd splurged on last month. Tailored, professional.  It was perfect for claiming what I'd earned. My reflection in the apartment window looked ready. Confident. A woman who'd already won.

The promotion was mine.

I grabbed my bag and bolted out the door, heels clicking against the pavement as I speed-walked toward the junction. The staff bus always left at 7:45 sharp, and I'd rather chew glass than miss it today of all days.

The bus rumbled into view just as I rounded the corner, brake lights glowing red.

"Wait!" I broke into a jog, waving my arm like a lunatic.

The door hissed open. Thank God.

I reached for the handle, ready to haul myself up and collided with a wall of muscle and expensive cologne.

A man stood at the door, one hand already gripping the rail, his body angled to board. Dark hair, sharp jawline, face that belonged on a magazine cover as a supermodel.

We both froze.

Then his eyes dropped to my hand on the door. His tightened.

Oh, hell no.

I yanked harder, wedging my shoulder into the narrow gap. He pulled back, crowding closer, his suit jacket brushing my arm.

"Excuse me," I said through gritted teeth.

He didn't move. Just stared at me like I was gum on his thousand-dollar shoe.

Fine. Two could play this game.

I twisted my body, slipped past him with a grunt, and hauled myself onto the bus. Victory tasted sweet until I realized there was exactly one seat left.

I lunged for it.

The bus jerked forward as I dropped into the worn vinyl seat, exhaling in relief. Behind me, footsteps thudded up the stairs.

The stranger appeared in the aisle, scanning the packed bus with an expression that could've frozen hell. His gaze landed on me.

I felt it like a brand.

He moved closer, stopping directly in front of my seat. Didn't say a word. Just stood there, looking down at me with those cold, unreadable eyes that somehow commanded, "get up."

I blinked up at him, all innocence. "Don't look at me. I'm not giving up this seat for you."

His jaw clenched. A muscle ticked near his temple.

For a second, I thought he might actually say something. Instead, he turned and grabbed the overhead rail, positioning himself among the other standing passengers as the bus filled in behind him.

I slipped my headphones on, cranking the volume until soft piano music drowned out the world. My body relaxed into the seat, tension melting from my shoulders.

Today was going to be perfect. I could feel it.

Except my eyes kept drifting back to him.

He stood three feet away, one hand wrapped around the rail, the other hanging loose at his side. The fluorescent bus lights caught the edge of his profile. Strong nose, full mouth set in a hard line. His charcoal wool suit was custom tailored and it evidently cost more than anyone earned in my company.

And that watch. Jesus. Must have a price tag I didn't want to know.

Then I noticed the ring on his pinky finger. Thick gold, understated but unmistakable.

Who the hell wears a pinky ring on a staff bus?

I nudged Eric, the guy sitting beside me. He looked up from his tablet, thick-framed glasses sliding down his nose.

"Who's that?" I whispered, nodding toward the stranger.

Eric squinted, then shrugged. "No idea."

Weird.

I let it go, deciding he was probably one of those city types who dressed like they owned the world but couldn't afford the cab fare. Fake it till you make it, right? Also maybe a new employee who was trying hard to be noticed.

I closed my eyes, letting the music wash over me. My mind drifted to the conference room, to the moment my name would be called, to the applause and congratulations and the raise that would finally let me breathe.

By the time the bus lurched to a stop outside the office, I was practically glowing.

I waited until everyone shuffled off, then stood, smoothing my skirt and squaring my shoulders. The building rose in front of me, glass and steel catching the morning sun.

All my sacrifices had all led here.

The entrance was decked out in Christmas decorations now, garland wrapped around the columns, a massive wreath hung above the revolving doors. Twinkling lights framed the windows, casting festive glow.

I hummed under my breath, some half-remembered carol, and practically skipped toward the entrance.

"Morning, James!" I called to the janitor mopping the lobby floor.

He looked up, startled, then grinned. "Someone's in a good mood."

"Best day of my life," I sang back, waving at the window cleaners on their scaffolding, at the decorators stringing lights across the reception desk.

I floated into the building, riding that high all the way to my office.

The moment I sat down, Risa knocked and pushed the door open without waiting for an answer. She held a small gift box wrapped in silver paper, a ridiculous bow perched on top.

"For you," she said, setting it on my desk.

I tore into it immediately. Inside was a delicate gold chain bracelet with a tiny charm shaped like a four-leaf clover.

"Risa..."

"For luck. Not that you need it." She pulled a stick of incense from her bag, lit it, and began waving it around me in exaggerated circles. "But just in case. Gotta ward off the bad vibes."

I laughed, even though the smell made my nose itch. "I don't believe in this stuff."

"Doesn't matter. I do." She grinned, extinguishing the stick. "You've earned this, Cin. Go claim what's yours."

My throat tightened. "Couldn't have done it without you."

She squeezed my hand, then checked her watch. "You've got fifteen minutes. Go."

I hugged her tight, let out a squeal I couldn't contain, and bolted for the elevator.

The hallway stretched ahead of me, empty except for—

Him.

The guy from the bus stood in front of the elevator, jabbing the button like it owed him money.

The doors began to slide shut.

"Wait! Hold it!"

He glanced back. Saw me running.

And kept pressing the button.

I knew I wouldn't meet up before the doors closed.

"Are you kidding me?!" I kicked off one flat, aimed, and hurled it at the elevator.

It got through and landed on his chest. He was still visible through the closing gap, and I swear to God, he smirked.

I flipped him off with both hands.

So much for good luck.

I checked my phone. Ten minutes until the meeting. Thirty flights of stairs between me and the conference room.

I yanked off my other flat shoe, hiked up my pencil skirt, and ran.

By the time I reached the top, my lungs burned, my hair stuck to my forehead, and I was pretty sure I'd sweated through my blazer.

Catherine's desk sat just outside the conference room. She looked up as I stumbled toward her, eyes widening.

"What the hell happened to you?"

"Long story." I grabbed the edge of her desk, gasping. "No time."

Before she could protest, I kicked off her heels, patent leather stilts that were at least two sizes too big and snatched a handful of paper towels from her drawer.

"Cinnamon—"

I was already at her mirror, dabbing at my face, smoothing my hair, trying to look like someone who hadn't just sprinted up thirty flights of stairs.

Good enough.

I grabbed the coffee sitting on her desk and took a long sip.

"Hey! That's mine!"

"I owe you!" I called over my shoulder, already halfway to the conference room.

The heels pinched. Every step was agony, my feet sliding forward with each stride, but I wasn't about to walk into the most important meeting of my life barefoot.

The conference room door loomed ahead, brass handle gleaming under the hallway lights.

Almost there.

A figure stepped into view from the side corridor, reaching for the same door.

The guy from the bus.

Again.

"You've got to be kidding me!"

Rage boiled up so fast I didn't think, just acted.

I took one intentional step, let my ankle wobble in Catherine's death-trap heels, and launched the coffee directly at him.

It hit perfectly.

Brown liquid exploded across his suit jacket catching his inner white shirt, dripping down his chest, soaking into his tailored pants.

He froze, staring down at himself in disbelief.

"Oops," I said, voice dripping with fake sweetness. "Lost my balance. Sorry about that."

His head snapped up. His face had gone crimson, jaw locked so tight I could hear his teeth grinding.

"Are you fucking blind," he bit out, "or just stupid?"

I smiled. "Neither. But I guess only one of us is making it to the conference."

Before I could reach for the handle, he shoved past me, hard enough that I stumbled sideways, catching myself against the wall.

The door slammed shut in my face.

I stared at the polished wood, then let out a breathless laugh.

Oh, this was perfect. Martin hated mess. Hated disruption. The man once fired someone for spilling water on a presentation deck. And this guy just walked into the most important meeting of the quarter looking like he'd been attacked by a Starbucks barista.

He was done.

I could practically hear Martin's clipped voice tearing into him right now.

Served him right.

I straightened my blazer, still grinning, and reached for the door handle.

It swung open before I touched it.

Martin stood in the doorway, his face drained of color, eyes wide with something that looked horribly close to panic. Behind him, the entire executive team sat frozen around the long conference table, all eyes locked on the scene unfolding.

And standing at the head of the table, arms crossed, coffee still dripping from his suit and shirt, was the stranger.

Martin's voice came out strangled, like someone had their hand around his throat.

"Ms. Wealth. Perfect timing." He swallowed hard, his gaze darting between me and the man I'd just drenched. "I'd like you to meet Dante Moretti." He gestured weakly toward the coffee-soaked figure. "Our new CEO."