Snowed In With A Billionaire. Karen Booth
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She cleared her throat. “Santa Barbara.”
“I’m from Chicago. Not nearly as picturesque as coastal California, but it’s home.”
“Sounds nice.”
This conversation didn’t seem to be going anywhere. Probably best to move along. “Where can I take you?”
“Do you know this road well?”
“Clearly, I don’t.”
She pointed up the hill. “It’s at the top. Just drive and I’ll show you.”
He followed her directions, the headlights casting golden beams across the silver snow. That bit of friendly back-and-forth had been pleasant enough, but reality was sinking in. He could have killed her. For all he knew, she was injured. Bleeding internally? Head trauma? All possible. The thought set him doubly on edge. His protective side came out with all women, sometimes to his own detriment. It was a product of his childhood, years of his father mistreating his mother, and Alex having to be the buffer. He had to remind himself that he hardly knew Joy. There was no reason to protect her any more than any other stranger.
But there was reason to worry. With his money, and his family name, he had been the frequent target of unscrupulous people. The most notable of which had been his former fiancée, and although that was a chapter of his life best left closed, it did make him wary of people and their intentions.
“It’s up here. On the left. You can just pull up to the gate and I’ll get out.”
He crested the hill and the vista opened up, almost as if they were perched on top of the world. It was all vast blue-black sky and stars up here; the house Joy had pointed to a showpiece that seemed to go on forever. His shoulders lightened. He had no need to worry about her intentions. Joy, from the look of things, had more than enough of her own resources.
He pulled closer to the gate and rolled down his window. “Code?”
“Oh, no. It’s fine. I’ll just get out right here. You can go now.”
Alex didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t like he saw himself as God’s gift to women, but he was certainly not accustomed to getting the swift brush-off. Usually, women enjoyed being in his company. And it wasn’t like he’d asked her out. This was a ride up the driveway. “I promise I won’t memorize it. I work in finance, but I’m actually horrible with numbers. Well, small ones at least.” He laughed quietly at his own joke, but she didn’t. Idiot.
“I just... I don’t know that I should let you in.”
He nodded, trying to understand what sort of vibe he was giving off that made her so uneasy. Part of him wanted to tell her that he was the most trustworthy guy imaginable when it came to women, always a perfect gentleman, but what kind of guy says that? Someone who’s the exact opposite, that’s who. The trouble was, he wasn’t entirely certain she was okay after her swan dive into the snowbank. “I don’t want to bring up my mom again, but can’t a guy at least drive you to the door? That driveway has to be at least a five-minute walk. Probably ten in those boots. Which are completely inappropriate for hiking, by the way. I can’t believe you got in a single step before you wiped out.”
“If you’ll stop criticizing my footwear choices, I’ll let you drive me up.”
“Deal.”
“The code is 6274.”
He punched in the numbers and the tall wrought iron gate pulled back behind a towering stone pillar topped with a craftsman light fixture. The car crept ahead, but with this much power under the hood, he was careful not to gun it. The house was impressive as they approached, with tall windows peeking out from under at least a dozen gables, supported by honed timber trusses. The roof was blanketed in snow, the exterior clad in cedar shakes and trim. This gorgeous mountain lodge could likely sleep twenty people comfortably.
“Beautiful home you have here. It reminds me of my place in Switzerland. Of course, the skiing over there is better, but I wanted a quick getaway this Christmas, so my house in Vail seemed like the right choice.”
“Oh. Um. This isn’t my house. It belongs to friends of mine.”
“Who are your friends? Maybe I know them.”
“Uh. The Santiago family? They’re letting me stay here for a while.” Her voice was a bit shaky and unsure. Maybe she really had been hurt in the fall.
“Hmm. I don’t know them. You’re staying here by yourself?”
“Well, yes. Wanted some time to myself. Life gets crazy.” Joy collected her things and opened her car door. “Thank you, again.” She turned back to him only this time, there was a momentary connection difficult to ignore.
“Of course. It’s the least I can do.” Something about this wasn’t right. “Hey. Is it okay if we exchange numbers? I want you to be able to call me if you aren’t feeling well.”
She pressed her lips together like she was trying to escape a deeply uncomfortable situation. “How about I just take your number?”
Fair enough. “Sure thing.” He rattled off the digits and she put it into her phone, or at least he thought she did.
With that, she climbed out, closed her door, and scaled the grand sweep of stone stairs leading up to the front porch. Joy was tall, her legs long and lithe, but she looked tiny compared to the massive wood double door. She keyed her way in and as soon as she disappeared inside, he put the car into Reverse and backed up. Her sweet fragrance lingered—an aroma like spun sugar. It’d been months since he’d been on a date with a woman, and even just a few minutes with Joy was going to haunt him. He had a sense she was holding back or hiding something.
Hopefully, it wasn’t that she’d been hurt in the accident.
Joy flipped the dead bolt and collapsed against the door. That had been entirely too close a call. When Rafe Marshall, Mariella’s son, had said she could stay in the house, he’d been explicit about one thing—no one could know she was there. His mother would kill him if she found out he’d given sanctuary to someone who’d dared to quit her employ, and the Marshalls knew a lot of people in Vail. A lot of very wealthy, powerful people. People like Alex.
Thank goodness she’d been quick enough to say that the house belonged to the Santiago family. Santiago was Mariella Marshall’s maiden name, and luckily did not ring a bell with Alex. Joy despised these little white lies, but she was deeply concerned about her future in the culinary world. Mariella Marshall could kill her entire career, everything she’d worked so hard for, with one or two well-placed phone calls.
Joy raced to the window and pulled back the heavy gold tapestry drape, peeking outside. The red of Alex’s taillights glowed in the dark as his car cleared the gate. As soon as the wrought iron barrier completed its trip back across the driveway, she felt as though she could breathe. He was gone. Unbelievably hot Prince Charming had flown the coop. And that was a good thing, however disappointing it might seem. She’d been lonely since she’d come to Colorado. She hadn’t had a single in-person conversation that hadn’t revolved around working at the bakery. Some time with a personable, good-looking man would have been welcome. It would have been wonderful, actually.
Not for you, she reminded herself as she dropped her bag, traveled down the hall, and walked upstairs to the bedroom she’d been staying in. Rich guys were just asking for trouble. She’d met her fair share working in the restaurant world. Whether it was wealthy owners, investors or customers, men with money were too accustomed to getting whatever they wanted, when they wanted it. Joy was too bullheaded to ever put up with that.
If anything, having a man make demands sent Joy running in the opposite direction. Case in point, her hometown ex-boyfriend. He hadn’t had money, but he’d always had control. Getting away from him had been