Falling for Mr. Billionaire (Stuck With Him #3)

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 1

Ivy

“I still think this is a bad idea,” my best friend Vanessa says, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, watching as I shove the last of my clothes into my suitcase. “Let me rephrase; it’s a terrible idea. There’s a storm heading straight for the Big Island. I really think it’s best if you postpone this trip, Ivy.”

I snort, zipping up my bag. “Right, because my boss is definitely going to postpone my unemployment if I don’t finish this story on time. I’m basically on borrowed time here, Ness.”

Vanessa sighs. “I’m just saying you could stay here and find another way to unwind so you can get this story done. You don’t have to fly into a potential hurricane. You know, most people avoid flying directly into a natural disaster.”

I don’t look up. I’m too busy shoving clothes into my suitcase with the kind of frantic energy that says I’m fine even though I’m clearly not. Think Bridget Jones post-breakup melting down with wine, ice cream, and a power ballad—but with more denim and less dignity.

“It’s not a disaster,” I mutter. “It’s a mild inconvenience with palm trees.”

Vanessa snorts. “A hurricane heading straight for the Big Island isn’t exactly mild, Ivy. This is borderline insane. You don’t even like the beach, and we both know you hate bad weather. Your hair starts frizzing just thinking about humidity—right now, you look like a damp poodle. Is that really the vibe you want to bring to Hawaii?”

She throws up her hands, eyes wide with mock concern. “What if you run into someone hot? Like, Maui-from-Moana hot. You think he’s gonna fall for ‘electrocuted poodle’ energy? No, girl. He’s leaving you in the cave and paddling off into the sunset. I’m just trying to protect your dignity.”

That’s one of the things that’s always bonded us. I don’t know who’s more sarcastic, me or her, but between the two of us, we could run a sarcasm hotline. We speak fluent side-eye, specialize in over-the-top dramatics, and maintain a lifelong agreement to roast each other out of love. It’s chaos—but it’s ours.

I laugh as I grab a pair of sandals and throw them into my bag with a huff, yanking the zipper closed on my suitcase. “First of all, screw you. Second, Maui is a cartoon. And third—it’s not that bad. I’m just going on vacation.”

Vanessa snorts, her brow furrowing deeper. “Vacation? Ivy, you’re about to board a plane into the middle of a storm!”

I pause, considering her words. But then I shake my head, a smile creeping onto my face. “You’re always so dramatic. I’ll be fine, I promise. Besides, I have a voucher for margaritas. What could possibly go wrong?” She shakes her head in disbelief.

“I’ve been saving for this trip for months, Ness. Plus, it’s non-refundable. You know what that means? I’m going. As long as I get there before the storm, I’ll just cozy up in my bungalow and ride it out. It’s not a big deal if I’m stuck inside of a beautiful resort with everything I need. The resort assured me they have everything in place for safety. Everything will be fine. Better than fine. Think of it as an adventure.”

She still doesn’t look convinced. In fact, she looks downright exasperated. “You’re not just going to unwind, Ivy. You’re running away.”

I wave her off. “Ness, do I need to remind you that just last week, my lovely editor—aka the devil in a Patagonia vest—cornered me in the office with a charming ultimatum: get the story done, or he’d happily assign it to the intern he just hired from Columbia? I’m not sure what stung more, the threat or the fact that he pronounced Haleakalā like he was choking.”

She lets out a loud laugh and I smile.

“If everything goes smoothly, this could mean a fresh start for Jeremy. This story is too important for me to be this distracted. I need to go somewhere I can focus.”

So here I am, about to fly straight into a storm with a half-charged phone and a carry-on full of existential dread.

“I’m aware Ivy, I just don’t think you have to risk your life for it.”

“Risk my life? Vanessa, this is a vacation to one of the most adored places in the world. Besides, I don’t have a choice, you know how important this story is,” I say.

Vanessa’s expression softens. “You always have a choice.”

“No. I don’t,” I shoot back. “I’m broke, blacklisted, and one missed assignment away from becoming a barista with a useless journalism degree. This piece is my shot. Plus, it will give peace of mind to so many people.”

She watches me for a long beat before sighing. “Nope. You should stay. I’ll buy ice cream. We’ll rewatch Mindhunter . I’ll even pretend you don’t narrate murder scenes like you’re the FBI.”

I almost laugh. Almost. “I appreciate the offer, but I already checked in for my flight—and more importantly, as I said before, I have a non-refundable booking for a bungalow with a hot tub. I’m going.”

Vanessa looks at me like she’s about to handcuff herself to my suitcase. “You’re not just running to something, Ivy. You’re running from something.”

My fingers hesitate on the zipper. My smile is brittle. “Aren’t we all?”

Vanessa gives me a pointed look, then finally shakes her head in resignation. “Fine. Go. But don’t call me in the middle of the night when you’re bored without power and no wifi while you’re out there hiding away.”

I roll my eyes again, but this time it’s less about deflecting and more about avoiding the truth. “I’m not hiding, Ness. I’m just… recharging.”

She doesn’t push it. Just steps forward and gives me a fierce hug, whispering, “Don’t die, okay?”

“Not planning on it,” I whisper back.

Vanessa gives me a knowing look, but I don’t let her say anything. Instead, I grab my suitcase, sling my carry-on over my shoulder, and flash her my best carefree grin.

“Wish me luck!”

She groans. “You’re going to need more than luck.”

Maybe. But right now, I just need a vacation.

***

The airport is a chaotic mess, with travelers scrambling to catch flights before the storm shuts everything down. Thankfully, my flight takes off on time, and a few hours later, I step into the warm Hawaiian air, my stress already starting to fade.

I decide to grab a venti latte from Starbucks before heading to baggage claim, but by the time I get there, most of the suitcases have already been claimed—including mine.

“Excuse me, sir, that… that’s my suitcase you have there.” I step forward, hand outstretched, fully expecting the man to do the normal, civilized thing and return my luggage. But of course, he doesn’t. That would be too easy. Even on vacation, I have to deal with this kind of fuckery.

“Sir! I know you can hear me. Please release the suitcase,” I repeat, firmer this time.

The man—tall, broad, and giving off major brooding energy—finally turns, raking a slow, unimpressed gaze over me before raising an eyebrow. “Lady, I think I know my own suitcase,” he says, his tone bored, gruff, and utterly infuriating.

Just like that, my peaceful vacation starts with an argument.

I cross my arms. “Listen, dude, I know my suitcase, okay? I even tied a little pink bow on it, but it must have fallen off.”

He smirks, and I catch a glimpse of the beautiful set of teeth in his stupid, gorgeous face. Sheesh, is this guy some sort of model? He can’t possibly be this good-looking. I realize my brain betrayed me when I hear him speak again, and it annoys me all over again.

“You mean like that one over there?” He gestures toward the conveyor belt.

I follow his gaze, and—sure enough—there it is. My suitcase. Not in his hands. Still rotating on the baggage carousel.

Heat rushes to my cheeks. Muttering a curse under my breath, I lunge for it, gripping the handle and giving it a firm yank—only to nearly fall backward. Why is it so heavy?

I struggle for a moment before swallowing my pride and glancing up at him. “A little help, please?”

He crosses his arms, clearly enjoying this way too much. “I would, but I wouldn’t want you thinking I was trying to steal it.”

“Okay, Mr. Grumpy Face,” I say, feeling childish after noticing just how attractive this man really is. What color are his eyes? Blue? Green? Damn, he’s sexy.

“It’s getting away from you,” he says, interrupting my thoughts, which have gotten away from me once again.

I grit my teeth. Oh, he is the worst. I quickly try to grab it, but it’s so much heavier than I recall. Finally, with an exaggerated sigh, he reaches over, lifts the suitcase effortlessly, and sets it beside me.

“Happy now?” he asks, his voice all mock innocence.

“Overjoyed,” I deadpan, snatching the handle and sending him my best death glare before wheeling it away.

This is fine. In just a few short hours, I’ll be at my private, peaceful, stress-free resort, far away from him and his confusing eye color. My usual bad luck can’t possibly follow me all the way to Hawaii… right?

Check-in is a breeze, but there’s an undercurrent of tension beneath the front desk staff’s polished hospitality.

“We’re closely monitoring the storm,” the receptionist assures me, sliding over my keycard. “Your bungalow is fully stocked with essentials—extra bottled water, non-perishable snacks, flashlights, and a first-aid kit. If conditions worsen, you’ll be safest staying inside.”

I nod, my excitement dulling just a fraction. She continues with a well-rehearsed calm.

“Our backup generator will keep your fridge, microwave, and one power outlet running, but we advise using electricity sparingly. We also have an emergency response team on-site should you need assistance.”

She’s smiling, but I don’t miss the way her fingers tap anxiously against the desk.

“If there’s flooding?” I ask, my fingers tightening around my suitcase handle.

“Then we’ll advise all guests to remain indoors until it’s safe. But don’t worry,” she adds quickly. “The resort has fresh, prepared meals for everyone, and our staff is trained for these situations. We’ve got you covered.”

I force a smile. “Sounds like an adventure.”

“Exactly!” she chirps, though I don’t quite believe her enthusiasm. Adventure, I remind myself. Think of this as an adventure.

The bungalow is perfect. A cozy little slice of paradise, with white sand just steps away and the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore. I breathe in the salty air, rolling my shoulders back, tension already melting away. Oh, sweet, sweet serenity.

Dragging my suitcase inside, I take in the airy space—exposed wooden beams, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a king-sized bed that looks dangerously inviting. This week is going to be absolute bliss. I’m fully getting into vacay mode when I hear movement in the room.

“Hi, you can leave it up by the door. Thank you!” I shout, assuming it’s the luggage guy I just tipped in the lobby, but nope… the noise is coming from someone already inside the unit.

I freeze. My stomach clenches. What the hell? I’m supposed to be alone. Grabbing the closest object I can find—a decorative starfish—I tiptoe toward the sound. Then, just as I round the corner—

He steps out. Shirtless. Smirking. Holding a beer like he owns the place.

Nope. No, no, no.

“Airport Rudo? You’ve got to be kidding me,” I breathe.

His smirk deepens. “Great. It’s you.”