No Strings Attached (Blue Collar Billionaires: Seattle)

Chapter 1

I HATE CHRISTMAS

HENSON

Ifucking hate Christmas.

Well... What I truly hate is traveling during the holidays.

It’s the day before Christmas Eve at the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, and I’m uncomfortably close to someone who clearly had garlic for lunch, waiting in line to see if I can get on a different flight, as mine was just canceled due to bad weather.

A snowstorm in Seattle.

Of all places, of all days. Snowstorms here are rare, but, of course, the city decides to turn into a snow globe today.

Just my luck.

I flick my wrist over to expose my watch. 1:45 p.m.

Fuck.

I’m definitely missing family dinner tonight. I can already hear my mother complaining that I shouldn’t have booked a last-minute flight. She’s not wrong. What I won’t tell her, though, is that I almost didn’t book the flight at all.

I love my family, but I wasn’t born with that Christmas spirit they all seem to have inherited. My brother even calls me The Grinch.

I let out a sigh—louder than intended, because Mr. Garlic Man turns around and gives me a side-eye.

“You gotta wait in line like the rest of us, big shot.” He scans me from head to toe, lingering on my suit.

I scrunch my nose, the stench of his breath assaulting my nostrils.

For God’s sake, eat a fucking mint.

I don’t usually let the opinions of others affect me, but the way he called me “big shot” doesn’t sit well with me.

I work damn hard for everything I have. My brother, Worth, and I own one of the largest construction firms in North America. We started the company from scratch—no handouts—and built it into what it is today.

We didn’t start out in boardrooms. We were blue-collar workers from Mid-Island Nantucket; I was an electrician before Worth came to me with the idea. I figured it was worth a shot…

Anyway, when the company started gaining traction, we made the move to Seattle, for easier access to international business overseas.

We went through hell and back for our success—so this man can fuck right off.

Instead of giving him the tongue-lashing he deserves, I force out a smile, which probably looks more like a snarl.

He finally turns back around.

Suddenly, the fabric of my ridiculously expensive suit feels suffocating, as if it’s shrinking with every passing second, clinging to me like a second skin. I yank at the collar, trying to find some relief.

Come on. The line hasn’t moved in… I check my watch. Two minutes. Two goddamn minutes.

This is what I get for booking at the last minute. Worth had suggested I left with him on his private jet a few days ago, but I refused, too busy with work. I don’t usually mind taking a commercial flight, but now I kind of regret my decision.

I exhale sharply, the sound more of a hiss than a sigh.

Turns out, Genevieve, my assistant, was right. Patience isn’t exactly my strong point.

With a groan, I pull out my phone.

The phone rings twice before Gen answers.

“I’m on vacation, Henson,” she says flatly. I hear voices in the background.

I want to feel bad for bothering her while she’s with family, but she did tell me to call if it was urgent. And this is urgent.

“It’s great to hear your voice, too, Gen,” I drawl. “I need your help.”

She sighs, and I hear some shuffling before everything goes quiet. “What can I do for you, boss?”

“I’m stuck at the airport. My flight has been canceled, and I need to find a way to Nantucket.

” I glance toward the front of the line just as a large group finally leaves the desk.

We move up several steps, but I still can’t see the person behind the counter.

I’m betting it’s either some young kid, completely overwhelmed by the crowd, or someone nearing retirement—something to explain why everything is moving slower than a snail’s pace.

“I thought you weren’t going home,” Gen says, confused.

“Yeah, well, I got manipulated by my brother’s guilt trip.”

I had planned on telling Mom that one of us needed to stay behind to make sure nothing went wrong at Worthwhile Construction during the holidays, but my brother twisted my arm and guilted me into going, as I rarely go back to our hometown now.

I love my family, but they’re… loud.

Just like this fucking airport.

It’s cramped and impossible to tune out.

Noise buzzes in my ears, setting me on edge. Someone brushes past me, jostling my arm, and my jaw tightens.

I shift from foot to foot, restless, unable to stand still for more than a few seconds.

A tap lands on my shoulder. Every muscle in my body coils tight.

Annoyed and half-expecting another walking biohazard like Mr. Garlic Man, I spin around with a glare sharp enough to cut steel, ready to rip into whoever’s decided now is the time to interrupt my call.

At first, I look straight ahead, but no one’s there. Then, I lower my gaze.

And I almost choke on my own saliva. My mouth opens and closes two, three times, not able to say anything, my throat suddenly dry.

Standing before me is the most stunning—albeit also the shortest—woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.

She looks up at me, and I’m instantly lost in her big, round hazel eyes, framed by long, beautiful lashes that make her dark gaze even more captivating.

Her black hair, perfectly curled as it falls down her back, practically begs for my fingers to run through it.

The soft, glossy waves seem to shimmer under the airport lights.

She’s mesmerizing, and I can’t even string together a sentence to save my life.

What the hell is wrong with you, Hen?

A voice cuts through my haze. “Henson? Are you still there?”

Fuck. Genevieve.

“Yes. I’ll call you back,” I respond quickly, hanging up before she can say anything else.

“Wait! What about the—”

I press end and shove the phone into my pocket.

The petite woman looks up at me with a sly smile. “Do you need to pee or something? I can hold your place if you hurry.”

I blink, completely taken aback. Do I need to pee?

“Wh-what?” I stammer.

Her smirk turns into a light chuckle, and I’m suddenly hot—really hot. I’m losing it. I must be sick. It’s the crowd. Yeah, that’s it. The overwhelming crowd is making me feel off-balance, not the woman standing in front of me.

I need this suit jacket off. Now. Am I sweating? I think I might be sweating. I need to leave.

Oh, God.

Just when I feel myself spiraling again, a gentle touch lands on my arm, instantly grounding me. I shake my head, trying to clear the fog, and glance down at where the woman’s hand now rests on my forearm.

And then I catch her scent. Something like coconut and sea salt. Light, warm, and familiar.

It shouldn’t affect me this much, but it does. For a second, I’m not a man unraveling in a crowd. I’m just a boy on my hometown beach with sand between his toes and the sun on his back.

The tension in my chest loosens.

“Hey, it’s okay,” the woman says softly. “I was just kidding. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stress you out even more. It was a lame joke. I saw you shifting from one foot to the other and you seemed anxious and I made a stupid comment about needing to pee…”

She’s rambling, words tumbling out without a breath between them, but somehow, it calms me. I place my hand over hers, and the moment our skin touches, a jolt of electricity shoots through us. She jerks her hand back, face flushing.

“It’s fine. I get overwhelmed in crowds. It’s not you, it’s me,” I tease, and she lets out a melodic laugh, like the sound of wind chimes swaying gently in a breeze.

I was teetering on the edge of a panic attack, and this beautiful stranger snapped me out of it, my heartbeat slowing down already.

“Can we start over?” The woman offers her hand for a shake.

I quickly swipe my sweaty palm down the side of my suit jacket before taking her delicate hand in mine. This time, there’s no static shock, but a surge of warmth still travels through my body, awakening every one of my senses… and my dick.

“I’m Amira,” she says, tilting her head, as if trying to read me. Her eyes travel over my face, and I know she must notice something is off. I’m getting painfully stiff by the second, and I silently pray she doesn’t glance down and see the hardened rod sticking out of my trousers.

“Ah-mee-rah,” I repeat, savoring how her name rolls off my tongue like honey. “Is that Middle Eastern?”

A nod. “Yes. How’d you know? Am I not the first Amira you’ve ever met?” she asks, feigning indignation.

I laugh, still holding her hand. “Don’t worry, you’re the first. I just do a lot of business in the Middle East.”

Amira gives me a once-over. “Ah! Rich businessman. That explains the suit.”

Not a trace of judgment laces her tone, and I appreciate that. From what I can tell, she doesn’t seem one to judge a book by its cover. Hopefully.

Someone clears their throat behind Amira. “Sorry to interrupt your little meet-cute, but the line’s moving.” The person gestures to the empty space that’s now opened up in front of me.

I’ve been so engrossed in Amira that I completely forgot what I was doing.

“Shit.” I move forward, and realize I’m still holding her hand, accidentally dragging her with me. Her body bumps into mine when I stop.

“Fuck. I’m an idiot.”

Amira bursts into laughter—a full-blown, infectious belly laugh—and I can’t help but chuckle with her.

Barely catching her breath, she says, “This is definitely the beginning of one of those cheesy Hallmark movies. You know, a single, middle-aged billionaire gets stuck at the airport, desperately trying to make it home for his family’s Christmas dinner.

While in line, he meets a woman trying to flee from a nasty breakup. You know how the story goes.”

I raise an eyebrow, amused. “No, please, continue,” I urge, crossing my arms over my chest. I make a mental note to ask about the nasty breakup—now is not the time.

“They have an adorable meet-cute, then part ways. The end.”

I bite my bottom lip, narrowing my eyes at her. “That’s it?”

Amira mirrors me, grinning. “That’s it.”