STUCK WITH MR. BILLIONAIRE FOR CHRISTMAS novel Chapter 9

Chapter 9

DANTE:

Before I could pull myself back together, she’d already shifted to her side of the cabin, leaving a charged emptiness where she’d been. Cinnamon blinked too fast, a quick flash of hurt crossing her face before she smoothed it into a faint, polite smile.

I was an idiot.

She’d calmed me down from a full panic spiral, and I repaid her by snapping like she’d crossed a line.

“Thank you,” I muttered.

“There’s no need to thank me.” Her voice was cold now, stripped of every trace of softness. “Because this won’t happen again.”

She angled her body away, shoulder turned, knees pointed toward the window as if she wanted to carve the distance into the air itself. She wanted me to see it. To feel it.

I deserved that.

What was it about this woman? I’d spent years perfecting control and she unraveled it with a single act of kindness. One moment I was composed. The next, I was lashing out because she got too close.

I needed to get myself together.

I drew a breath, ready to apologize properly, but the pilot’s voice crackled through the headset.

“We’re approaching Wisconsin. Landing in five minutes.”

The helicopter descended into a clearing ringed with bare trees and a gray December sky. Cold slammed into me the second the door opened, slicing through my dress shirt.

A vehicle waited at the edge of the clearing.

I froze.

“You have to be kidding me.”

It was a Jeep. Not the kind showcased in cities. This one looked like it had survived a war. Or several. Rusted edges. Dented doors. A bumper barely clinging on.

Cinnamon hopped out with zero hesitation, moving toward the Jeep like it was a prized import. She climbed in and looked back at me, practically glowing.

That’s when I realized what she was wearing-jeans, boots, a thick sweater layered under a practical jacket.

She had dressed for this.

I, however, had worn tailored slacks and Italian leather shoes.

Tate and Martin could both choke.

Cinnamon tilted her head, a sliver of mischief in her eyes. “You didn’t research where you were going?”

My eyes twitched.

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“This is the only way to get to Meadowbrook,” she added. “Roads aren’t exactly paved out here.”

That mouth of hers.

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She wasn’t wrong. I’d researched demographics, real estate values, local leadership. I hadn’t thought about the journey.

Rookie mistake.

I exhaled and forced myself into the Jeep. The seat groaned under me. A spring jabbed my hip.

The driver dressed in a flannel shirt and had thick beard, nodded. “Welcome to Wisconsin, folks.”

Martin absolutely arranged this. Of course he did.

The helicopter lifted off behind us, rotors fading and taking my security and illusion of control with it.

I’d wanted to bring guards. Tate and Martin had both insisted that would be “overkill” and “draw too much attention.” Blending in was the goal.

So here I was. Security-free. Vulnerable. In a death trap on wheels.

The Jeep lurched forward over rough ground.

I pulled out my phone and notepad, snapping pictures through the cracked window. If we were building a resort here, I needed to know the infrastructure. Road conditions. Accessibilit. What would need upgrading before construction could even begin

The landscape around us was rolling hills blanketed in snow, bare trees lining the roads, barns with peeling red paint dotting the horizon. Farmhouses with smoke curling from chimneys. Fields that bloomed green in summer but now lay dormant under frost.

It was beautiful in a way I hadn’t expected. Quiet. Untouched. A place one could escaped to when they wanted to forget the world existed.

Cinnamon watched the scenery pass, something soft crossing her face. Nostalgia, maybe.

“You grew up here,” I said. Not a question.

She glanced at me. “Yeah.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Right.”

“Do you ever miss having a life here?”

Her jaw tightened. “Not really. This place doesn’t offer what I want out of life.”

The Jeep hit a pothole and I grabbed the handle to keep from hiting the roof.

الجملة

“You know,” Cinnamon said, voice calm but pointed, “if you’d told me about this whole fake engagement earlier, I could’ve prepared better.”

“You seem to be managing just fine.”

“That’s because I’m a professional.” She turned fully to me. “And next time you decide to turn my life upside down, a little warning would be nice.”

“There won’t be a next time. This is a one-time arrangement.”

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She raised a brow, unimpressed. “And another thing-”

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