STUCK WITH MR. BILLIONAIRE FOR CHRISTMAS novel Chapter 4

CINNAMON:

I didn't even have time to properly wallow.

One day. I'd been fired for exactly one day before Mr. Martin called.

I was still in my pajamas, surrounded by crumpled tissues and half-eaten takeout, researching employment lawyers who specialized in wrongful termination cases. Three years of my life couldn't just be erased because some spoiled CEO had a tantrum over spilled coffee. I'd earned that promotion. Earned my place in that company. If Dante Moretti thought he could toss me aside without consequences, he had another thing coming.

Then my phone buzzed.

Mr. Martin's name flashed across the screen.

I almost didn't answer. But curiosity and a sliver of desperate hope made me pick up.

"Ms. Wealth, I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"That depends on why you're calling."

He cleared his throat. "Mr. Moretti would like to discuss reinstating your position."

I sat up straighter. "Reinstating?"

"Yes. Temporarily. For the Meadowbrook project specifically."

And just like that, the hope died.

"Let me get this straight," I said slowly. "He fires me, humiliates me in front of the entire executive team, has security drag me out of the building and now he wants me back because he needs my help?"

"The company needs your expertise—"

"He needs my expertise," I corrected. "And he's too proud to ask for it himself, so he's making it sound like he's doing me a favor. Like I'm some desperate nobody who should be grateful he's tossing me scraps."

Silence on the other end.

"Is that about right, Mr. Martin?"

He sighed. "Ms. Wealth—"

"No. He can find someone else."

"We've already started this project with you. Starting off with someone new would be a hassle. Moreover, this would be beneficial to you."

Oh, he was trying to play politics in my face because I knew that no one was capable to handle this deal but me.

The field test months ago had been my idea. Go to Meadowbrook, blend in, learn what made the community tick, figure out how to win their trust. It was supposed to be straightforward. Except Meadowbrook wasn't just any town.

It was my hometown.

The place where Marcus left me standing at the altar in front of two hundred people. The place I'd avoided for two years because every street corner held a memory I'd rather forget.

But I went anyway. Because the job mattered. Because proving myself mattered.

I spent weeks there, reconnecting with neighbors, attending town meetings, volunteering at events. Slowly, painfully, I rebuilt bridges I thought had burned. And it worked. The elders trusted me. They liked me.

So yeah. I was good at my job.

And Dante Moretti had the audacity to fire me anyway.

"I'm not interested, Mr. Martin."

"Ms. Wealth, please, we can reach a compromise for all parties."

Taking in a deep breath, I had one option left. "Get Mr. Moretti to have a meeting with me where I list more conditions and also have him issue an apology to me and maybe I'll reconsider."

There was rustling of paper at the other end of the line and a brief silence before Mr. Martin spoke up. "Ms. Wealth, you're asking for the impossible. He wouldn't—"

"Then I'm afraid I won't be accepting this offer."

"Ms. Wealth, we—"

I hung up, not interested to listen any further to him.

Then I sat there, staring at my phone, heart pounding.

What had I just done?

The rational part of my brain scolded me. I needed that job. Needed the paycheck. Mom's medical bills were piling up faster than I could pay them, and my savings account was running on fumes.

I should've swallowed my pride. Should've said yes immediately, kept my head down, done whatever Dante Moretti wanted just to stay employed.

But I couldn't.

I wouldn't.

He didn't get to treat me like I was disposable.

My phone buzzed again an hour later.

Mr. Martin.

I almost ignored it. But something made me answer.

"He's agreed to meet with you," Mr. Martin said. "On your terms. Tomorrow. 6 PM."

I blinked. "He… agreed?"

"Yes."

"To apologize?"

"He agreed to a private meeting. I suggest you don't push your luck beyond that."

A laugh bubbled up before I could stop it. Dante Moretti was actually bending. Which meant this deal was more important than his ego.

Good.

Maybe I could get my respect back, even if I didn't get my job.

"Fine," I said. "Tomorrow at six."

***

I spent the next day preparing.

Not just mentally but physically. If I was walking into Dante Moretti's office, I needed to look like someone he couldn't dismiss. Someone who belonged in that room as much as he did.

I stood in front of the mirror, smoothing my hands over the navy sheath dress I'd bought for interviews but never had a reason to wear. It was right for this

I adjusted my hair for the third time, even though it was already in place. Checked my makeup. Reapplied lipstick.

There was a popular saying, "Dress the way you want to be addressed."

Maybe that was where I went wrong the first time. Maybe he didn't take me seriously because I looked like every other employee instead of someone who commanded attention.

A cough echoed from the living room.

I froze.

Another cough. Wet. Painful.

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