Her Frosty Billionaire (Billionaires of Pleasure Valley #1)

Chapter 1

HOPE

My rose gold pine cones had arrived. Finally.

Four packages were crammed into the parcel locker at the bottom of the mailbox cluster in the Reboot condo complex lobby. Three were for my roommates, Mollie and Avery—serial online shoppers and enablers—but the fourth was mine. My precious pine cones.

I wrestled the packages free like they were stubborn toddlers, strands escaping my ponytail as the locker door thunked shut behind me.

These weren’t just any pine cones—they were hand-painted, glitter-dusted, artisan masterpieces that would finally make our Christmas tree look like something from Pinterest instead of a clearance bin.

Ding.

The elevator.

“Oh, no you don’t,” I said, clutching the box and sprinting in my boots like a woman in a romcom who’d just realized the prince was leaving town.

The elevators in this building were slower than a movie streaming on bad Wi-Fi, but as I rounded the corner, the doors slid open—and of course, it was the express one. I skidded to a stop, hair in my face, box wobbling in my arms.

And standing inside, holding the “open door” button like some kind of elevator god, was the hottest man I’d ever seen.

Naturally, I grunted like a wild boar.

“Thanks,” I gasped as I stumbled in. The box slipped, and I caught it against my chest with all the grace of a drunk penguin.

He said nothing. Just released the button and stood there in his perfectly tailored charcoal suit, looking like he’d stepped out of an ad for a cologne titled Intimidation.

The doors slid shut.

I pressed 16, my floor, and tried not to breathe too loudly. The elevator hummed to life. That’s when I was suddenly aware of the packages in my arms, particularly the box that would have my pine cones.

It was too heavy. Pine cones wouldn’t be this heavy. I glanced down at the label. N. Frost, 25C.

Oh, no. Oh, no.

This wasn’t my box. This was some stranger’s box from the penthouse floor—the billionaire floor—and I’d just grabbed it along with the rest of our mail because the worker had half-assed package sorting again.

My face burned. I looked up at Elevator God, who was staring straight ahead at the doors like I didn’t exist. Maybe he hadn’t noticed. Maybe I could just—

The elevator dinged. Floor 16.

I bolted out like the box was on fire, my boots squeaking on the marble. The doors started to close behind me.

“Wait—” I spun around, but they’d already shut.

I stood there in the hallway, clutching a stranger’s package, my heart hammering.

What was I going to do? Hand the guy the package and tell him to deliver it for me?

He was obviously heading to the twenty-fifth floor.

He was in the express elevator and carried himself like someone who never waited in lines.

Tailored suit, not a hair out of place, and a posture that reserved space around him.

I looked down at the box again. N. Frost, 25C. I should definitely not open this.

I held the box to my ear and shook it gently. No rattle—probably something fragile and expensive. Definitely not pine cones.

I sighed and tucked it under my arm, hauling my tired self down the hallway to Unit 16C. My keys jingled as I unlocked the door, and the smell of cinnamon and sugar hit me immediately.

“She lives,” Mollie called from the kitchen. She was elbow-deep in cookie dough, her dark hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun. “Did you get your fancy pine cones?”

“Not exactly.” I dropped all four boxes on the coffee table with a thud.

Avery looked up from her laptop on the couch, her glasses sliding down her nose. “Please tell me one of those is my face serum.”

“Two of them are yours, actually.” I pointed at the labels. “This one’s Mollie’s, this one’s mine—I think—and this one…” I held up the square box. “This one belongs to someone named N. Frost on the penthouse floor.”

Mollie’s eyes widened. “You stole a billionaire’s mail?”

“I didn’t steal it. It was in the parcel locker with these other packages.”

“Hope.” Avery set her laptop aside, suddenly very interested. “You can’t just keep someone’s package.”

“I’m not keeping it. I’m going to return it.”

“When?”

“Later.”

“How much later?”

“After you finish baking all those cookies.”

Mollie laughed. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m not opening it,” I protested, even though I’d absolutely considered it.

Avery raised an eyebrow. “Yet.”

I groaned and flopped onto the couch next to her. “What if it’s something important? What if N. Frost is up there right now, pacing his penthouse, wondering where his package is?”

“Then you should probably take it back.”

“Or,” Mollie said, pointing a wooden spoon at me, “you could leave it with the concierge.”

That was way too logical.

“Fine. I’ll take it down in a minute.” I grabbed the other three boxes and checked the labels. “Okay, so this one’s Avery’s face serum, this one’s…also yours—seriously?—and this one…” I picked up a flat rectangular box and grinned. “This one’s mine.”

I tore into it with the enthusiasm of a five-year-old on Christmas morning. Inside were my beautiful, glittery, rose gold pine cones.

Perfect. I held one up to the light, and it sparkled like something a fairy godmother would approve of.

“Worth it?” Avery asked.

“So worth it.”

I set the pine cone down gently and eyed the mystery box on the coffee table. Just a peek.

“Don’t do it,” Mollie warned, reading my mind.

“I’m not going to.”

“You’re totally going to.”

I grabbed the box.

“Hope Haynes, you’ll get us evicted,” Avery said.

“Relax. I’m just going to look at the label more closely.”

I turned it over in my hands. The address was printed clearly, but there was no return label. No clue as to what was inside.

I shook it again. Still nothing.

“This is how horror movies start,” Avery muttered.

I was about to set it down—really, I was—when my thumb accidentally caught the edge of the packing tape. It peeled back. Just a little.

“Oops.”

Mollie dropped her spoon. “Hope.”

“It was an accident.”

But now that it was open, I might as well…you know…check. I pulled the flaps apart. Inside, nestled in custom foam padding, was a sleek black box with silver lettering.

Frost & Co. Digital—Executive Edition.

I lifted the box out carefully. It was heavier than it looked, and when I opened the clasp, my jaw dropped. Inside was the most gorgeous smartwatch I’d ever seen. Black metal, sapphire face, glowing with a faint blue light. It looked like something a superhero would wear.

“Holy crap,” I whispered.

Avery leaned over. “Is that custom?”

“I think so.”

I turned it over. Engraved on the back in clean, minimalist font was N. Frost.

My stomach dropped. “I have to return this. Right now.”

Mollie smirked. “Told you.”

I carefully placed the watch back in its box, resealed the outer packaging as best I could, and grabbed my keys. “Wish me luck.”

“Don’t get arrested,” Avery called after me.

I headed straight to the express elevator and pressed the button. When the doors opened, I charged inside and pressed the button marked 25.

Nothing happened. I pressed it again. Still nothing.

A small keypad glowed next to the button panel—of course the penthouse floor required a security code. I deflated against the wall.

“Great.”

I’d have to leave it with the concierge after all. Which meant explaining to him that I’d opened someone’s mail like an absolute—

I slid my phone out of my back pocket and sent a text to my dad, who was senior building systems manager for Reboot. That was how my friends and I had managed to snag not one, but two units here—both next to each other.

Hey, what’s the security code for the penthouse elevator? I typed. Long story, but I need to return a package to 25C.

Three dots appeared immediately. Hope Juliet Haynes, what did you do? Dad wrote.

Nothing. Package got mixed up. I’m fixing it. Code, please?

2-5-1-2. And don’t touch anything up there.

You’re the best!

You’re grounded.

I’m twenty-three.

Still grounded.

I grinned and punched in the code. The button for 25 lit up, and the elevator hummed to life.

The ride to the twenty-fifth floor felt like ascending to Olympus—minus the confidence of a goddess. I clutched the box against my chest, my heart pounding. What was I supposed to say? Hi, sorry I opened your super expensive watch because I’m nosy and have no impulse control?

The elevator dinged. The doors slid open.

And I froze. The penthouse floor was nothing like Floor 16.

The hallway was wide, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.

Real art hung on the walls—not prints, but actual paintings.

The carpet was plush and cream-colored, and everything smelled like expensive leather and cedar.

There were only six doors. I found 25C at the end of the hall. My hand hovered over the doorbell.

Just ring it. Apologize. Leave.

I pressed the button. Nothing.

I waited. Still nothing.

Maybe he wasn’t home. Maybe I could just leave it outside his door with a note—

The door swung open, and there he was. Elevator God.

Except now he wasn’t in a suit. He was in dark jeans and a fitted black T-shirt that showed off broad shoulders and muscular arms. The kind of arms that suggested he did more than just sit behind a desk all day.

His hair was slightly messy, like he’d run his hands through it.

His jaw was sharp, dusted with stubble, and his eyes—

God, his eyes. Icy blue. Piercing. Currently staring at me like I was a door-to-door salesperson.

“Can I help you?” His voice was deep, smooth, and laced with irritation.

I held up the box like a shield. “I think this is yours.”

His gaze dropped to the package, then back to me. One dark eyebrow arched.

“You think?” he asked, dark eyebrows lifting.

“It’s definitely yours. It has your name on it. N. Frost. That’s you, right?”

“It is.”

He didn’t take the box. Just stood there, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe.

I swallowed. “It got mixed up with my packages downstairs. Holiday chaos. You know how it is.”

His eyes flicked to the torn tape on the box. “You opened it.”

It wasn’t a question.

“I—um—it was an accident.”

“An accident.”

“The tape was loose.”

“Uh-huh.”

My face was on fire. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t take anything. It’s all there. I just…looked. Briefly.”

He finally took the box from my hands, his fingers brushing mine for half a second. A jolt of electricity shot through me at the contact. I thought that was something that only happened in romance novels.

He glanced inside, then back at me. “Do you make a habit of stealing from strangers, or just during the holidays?”

I blinked. “I wasn’t stealing—”

“Opening someone else’s mail is a federal offense, you know.”

My heart stopped. “I—what? No, I didn’t mean—I thought it was mine—”

The corner of his mouth twitched. Was he…smirking?

“Relax. I’m not going to report you to the FBI.”

I let out a breath. “Oh, thank God.”

He tilted his head, studying me. “You’re new here.”

“Three weeks. Floor 16. I’m Hope. Hope Haynes.” I stuck out my hand.

He looked at it for a beat too long before taking it. His grip was firm and warm, and it sent another shiver up my arm.

“Noel Frost.”

Of course his name was Noel. The coldest man I’d ever met, and he was named after Christmas.

“Well, um, sorry again about the box. I promise it won’t happen again.”

“It better not.”

But his tone was lighter now, almost teasing.

I stepped back, ready to escape before I embarrassed myself further.

“Hope.”

I turned. He was leaning in the doorway again, the box tucked under one arm, watching me with those unreadable eyes.

“Next time you want to know what’s in my packages, just ask.”

My mouth went dry. Was he flirting?

No. Definitely not. Men who looked like him didn’t flirt with women who wore reindeer sweaters and opened other people’s mail.

“Noted,” I managed.

I turned and practically ran to the elevator. As the doors closed, I caught one last glimpse of him.

Still standing there. Still watching. And definitely, definitely smirking now.