Snowed In With A Billionaire. Karen Booth
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weren’t even playing the same game.
Her number one job tomorrow, after assessing the road conditions and passing the 24-hour mark, was getting Alex out of this house. Joy knew rich people. She’d worked for too many to not understand precisely how they operated. They stuck together. If Alex found out she didn’t really belong here, he’d call the police before she’d even have time to sputter out the long, drawn-out truth. She had to clean her mind of sexy thoughts about him and get rid of him. As to how she was supposed to sleep with this information fresh in her mind, she had no idea. She only knew that she was stuck in this room for now.
The trouble was, she couldn’t relax. She liked Alex, but letting him into the house had left her exposed. She was vulnerable, and she didn’t like it. Living on the brink did that to a person. If you spent enough days worrying about money or food or shelter, you eventually became territorial. You’d cling to every good thing you could find. She knew this house wasn’t hers, and it certainly wasn’t home, but it was all she had right now.
Her car was a piece of junk and a money pit. It had left her with eleven dollars in the bank. She had a job, but she wasn’t sure she could afford to stay in Vail. And to make things especially heartbreaking, it was Christmas.
Embarrassment over quitting her job with the Marshalls was part of the reason she couldn’t go home for the holidays. She couldn’t admit to her parents that she’d not only failed, but her failure had been an implosion of her own making. They’d had enough reservations over her culinary career. She didn’t need to add fuel to the fire. Her mother had always voiced the loudest concerns. She’d seen her own mother struggle to make ends meet, and she didn’t want that life for her daughter. Joy understood, completely, but it didn’t change the fact that her grandmother had lit a fire in her that would never go out. Everything about cooking appealed to Joy—the creativity, the connection to family, the sights and smells, the ability to bring pleasure to someone’s life. There was absolutely nothing better than having someone eat your food and express their approval.
The other reason for not going home loomed like a dark cloud—her ex, Ben. Her parents had protested Joy’s decision to attend culinary school, but Ben had flown into a rage. He’d never liked any sign of Joy improving her lot in life. He liked her best when she was down, when she was at a disadvantage. Of course, she’d enrolled anyway, because she couldn’t bear the thought of not cooking, and she wanted to do it well.
She’d worked hard in the school kitchens and studied on nights and on the weekends. She’d been determined to prove to everyone that she could not only be extraordinary at cooking, she could make a life for herself—a big life without worries about money. An important life where people knew her name and regarded her work with high esteem. But as every day went by, and Joy became more immersed in her studies, it became clearer that Ben would not be a part of her life moving forward. He was too controlling. He didn’t want what was best for her. Her parents saw it. Her friends saw it. Joy saw it, too, but it had taken a lot of nerve to sever that cord.
His response had been exactly what she’d expected—first rage, putting his fist through a wall. Then he begged her to change her mind, kneeling before her and clutching her hands. She’d cried her eyes out, wishing she could help him but knowing she couldn’t. Then, finally, the anger came again, but it was different the second time, hate filled and spiteful. He’d called her trash. He’d said no one would ever love her. He’d said he would never leave her alone.
A judge had granted a restraining order eventually, but it did little good. Ben still drove by the house all the time. Joy would take pictures. She would call the police. Her dad would go out on the front stoop and yell. But in the end, Ben would only ever get a slap on the wrist. Ben had too many buddies in the police department. As soon as she was done with culinary school, she got out of Ohio. She went straight to Los Angeles and took her first job. She didn’t look back. She knew Ben wouldn’t follow her outside of his little bubble, but that didn’t mean he was gone for good. Every holiday, he’d start stalking her parents’ house. Hence, another Christmas alone. Someday she’d be able to afford to fly her parents to see her, but that day wasn’t coming anytime soon.
Still unable to sleep, Joy got up to go to the bathroom. When she stepped back into her bedroom, there was a knock at the door.
“Joy? Are you okay in there?”
What the hell? Was he out in the hallway listening? Joy did not like overprotective guys. She could take care of herself. “Yeah. I’m fine. Getting a drink of water.”
“Okay. I’m sorry. I was just on my way to bed. Good night.”
“Good night.” Joy headed back to her own bed, knowing what she had to do, even though she dreaded it. Tomorrow, she would thank sweet, handsome Alex Townsend. She’d probably employ her talents and make him a nice breakfast. He had been exceedingly kind to spend the night with her, all because he was worried about her head injury. Then, as soon as the twenty-four hours were up, sexy or not, Alex Townsend needed to go.
She didn’t want some guy watching her every move when she was living in a house that wasn’t hers, no matter how much he might be Joy’s idea of Prince Charming.
* * *
Alex woke to the rich, heavenly smell of coffee and sat up straight in bed. He could muster great enthusiasm for his morning hit of caffeine, and knowing that Joy was downstairs making it only added to the appeal. If they were snowed in, he hoped she’d lose that skittish edge. He hoped Paul wasn’t going to call him and tell him he needed to hightail it out of there.
Alex climbed out of bed. Outside, there was much more than a blanket of snow on the ground. It looked as though there’d been an avalanche overnight, leaving behind endless billowing drifts. Alex pulled on the basketball shorts he had in his gym bag.
A few steps into the living room, and he caught a glimpse of Joy in the adjoining open-plan kitchen. His feet felt like they were in cement. He wasn’t entirely sure he was, in fact, breathing. She was wearing an off-the-shoulder top that showed off the graceful stretch of her neck and just enough skin to paint a white-hot picture in his head, one that might require visual confirmation at some point. Her glossy brown hair was gathered to one side in a loose and sexy ponytail. She was pulling out a mixing bowl and some other items from the kitchen drawers, doing the most benign of tasks, and yet he couldn’t have found her more enchanting if he tried.
“Too bad you don’t have a housekeeper here to do that,” he quipped, forcing himself to walk with a normal gait.
Joy shook her head and continued working. “I’m perfectly capable of doing this myself. No housekeeper needed.”
He liked how independent she was. “I can see that.”
“Coffee’s on.”
“I could smell it all the way upstairs. It’s the only thing that could get me out of bed.” That, and the idea that you might be downstairs. “That mattress is quite comfortable.” He watched as Joy stood on tiptoes in fluffy pink slippers, plucking a coffee mug from the cabinet. She smiled when she handed it to him, but there was something about her this morning, again—that edge that left him feeling unsettled. He decided to shake it off and filled his mug from the carafe. He took a sip. It was strong and full-bodied, just how he liked it. “Delicious.”
“No cream or sugar?”
He leaned back against the counter. “No way. I avoid that stuff at all costs. I’ve grown to like black coffee.”
Joy visibly shuddered. She scrunched up her adorable nose. “Yuck.”
“I’m guessing you don’t take your coffee that way.”
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