STUCK WITH MR. BILLIONAIRE FOR CHRISTMAS novel Chapter 2

DANTE:

This was a mistake.

I knew it the second Tate pitched the idea about going undercover, experiencing the "authentic employee journey," understanding the company from the ground up before implementing changes.

Idiotic.

I didn't care about process. I cared about results. Numbers. Growth. Exponential profit that would cement my name at the top of every business magazine in the country and shove it directly in my stepfather's smug face.

But Tate insisted. "You need to see what you're working with, Dante. You can't fix what you don't understand."

So I rode the staff bus like some corporate tourist. Used the general elevator. Walked through the building without an assistant clearing the path ahead of me. All the mundane indignities regular people endured daily.

That wasn't even the worst part.

The worst part was her.

That barely-five-foot menace with raven hair and a death wish. She'd looked at me like I was an inconvenience, something to be shoved aside and forgotten. No deference. No intimidation. Just pure, unfiltered hostility from the moment our eyes met.

Who the hell did she think she was?

I'd dealt with CEOs, politicians, investors who could buy and sell entire companies before breakfast. None of them had the audacity to glare at me the way she did. To fight me for a bus seat. To refuse me with that defiant little tilt of her chin or throw their dirty shoe at me.

Standing here, drenched in coffee, my two hundred thousand dollar suit ruined beyond repair.

She was reckless.

The boardroom fell silent as I stepped inside, Martin pale as a ghost behind me. Good. At least someone here understood the gravity of the situation.

I walked to the head of the table, ignoring the way coffee dripped from my shirt cuff onto the polished wood. Every executive sat frozen, eyes wide, mouths shut. Exactly how I preferred them.

Then she was in the doorway when Martin opened the door after suggesting getting paper towels to somewhat clean me up.

Her face shifted from smug satisfaction to horror in the span of a heartbeat. I watched it happen, the realization creeping in, the color bleeding from her cheeks.

Beautiful.

Nonetheless, I should’ve dismissed her entirely. But almost no one manages to get under my skin except Tate. She’d unsettled something in me the second our paths crossed. I hated that her defiance didn’t just anger me. It sharpened something in me making it impossible to overlook like a splinter I couldn’t ignore

I crossed my arms, letting the silence stretch until it became unbearable.

"Mr. Martin," I said, my voice cutting through the tension. "Who is she?"

Martin straightened, clearing his throat. "This is Cinnamon Wealth, sir. She's our—"

I held up a hand. "Wait." A laugh escaped before I could stop it. "Her last name is Wealth?"

"Yes, sir."

I wiped an imaginary tear from my eye. "There's nothing wealth-related about her." I glanced at her, then back at Martin, speaking as if she weren't standing three feet away. "I'm guessing her parents were the superstitious type. Name your kid after what you don't have, hope it magically sticks." I waved dismissively. "Proceed."

"Mr. Moretti, I—" Her voice came alive through the room.

I turned my head slowly, pinning her with a glare that had made grown men stammer. "I wasn't talking to you."

Martin jumped in, apologetic. "Sorry, sir. Yes, her name is Wealth. She's been with us for three years and is one of our top performers. She brought in the highest revenue last year and continues to lead our metrics this quarter. Today, we were planning to announce her promotion to—"

She stood a little straighter. Pride across her face as Martin listed her accomplishments, and I felt annoyance twist in my chest.

I wanted to crush her.

"Stop." My voice dropped. "I didn't ask you to bore me with her résumé. Everyone under this company's paycheck is supposed to perform. That's why they're paid." I leaned forward slightly. "I asked what her position is."

Martin swallowed. "She's our Chief Executive Strategist and Lead Marketer."

"And she's due for a promotion simply for showing up for three years?"

"It goes beyond that, sir. Her strategies have—"

I cut him off by shifting my gaze back to her. She stood rigid, chest heaving with barely restrained fury. Her face had turned a deep shade of red, fists clenched at her sides.

Perfect.

I let the silence linger, then spoke loud enough for everyone to hear.

"You're fired."

The room erupted.

"What?" She stepped forward, shaking. "You can't—"

"I just did."

"You arrogant piece of—" She was shouting now, words spilling out in a torrent of rage and disbelief. Cursing. Threatening. Telling me exactly where I could shove my authority.

I didn't flinch. Didn't react. Just watched her unravel.

She shouldn't have been that pretty when she was furious.

"Dante, get your head right," I scolded myself. I shouldn't be noticing something as trivial as that right now.

When she finally paused for breath, I looked at Martin. "Call security."

No one moved.

"Now."

Martin opened his mouth, then closed it. None of the executives spoke. They just sat there, trapped between self-preservation and whatever misguided loyalty they felt toward her.

Pathetic.

Martin finally found his voice. "Mr. Moretti, with all due respect, Ms. Wealth is our most competent strategist. If you could reconsider—"

"Anyone who objects joins her." I let that sink in, scanning the room. "Understood?"

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