"One week," he whispered, leaning down so his breath brushed my ear. "But if you lose, Noelle... you don't just walk away. You work for me. And I’m a very demanding boss."
A ghost of a smirk pulled at his mouth—the first sign of life I’d seen on his face in months. "The Grinch had a dog, Noelle. I just have a board of directors. They’re much harder to please."
"I don't want a soul," he said, stepping closer until I could smell his expensive cologne—sandalwood and winter air. "I want efficiency. And right now, you are being very inefficient." The Grumpy Billionaire Who Stole Christmas Read...
"You’re late, Noelle," he said without turning around. His voice was a low, gravelly rasp that always made the hair on my arms stand up—partly from irritation, partly from something I refused to name.
I knew I was making a deal with the devil. But as I looked into those cold, lonely eyes, I realized Silas Vane didn't just want to steal Christmas. He wanted someone to finally show him why it was worth keeping. "One week," he whispered, leaning down so his
Silas Vane stood by the balcony, a silhouette of sharp tailoring and even sharper edges. He didn't look like a man celebrating; he looked like a king surveying a kingdom he found deeply disappointing.
The invitations were embossed in gold, the champagne cost more than my first car, and the atmosphere in the Vane Penthouse was as cold as the December wind whipping against the floor-to-ceiling windows. You work for me
Silas watched me, his gaze dropping to my lips for a fraction of a second before locking back onto mine. The silence stretched, heavy and charged.