Page 3 of Stranded with My Mafia Boss

I called Max and got his voicemail. He was in class. "I’ve got a quick trip. I should be back the day after tomorrow. Stay out of the presents and I’ll see you as soon as I can. I’ll have Connor check on you."

Then I texted Connor O’Hara, our next-door neighbor. He was an artist, working from home, and a seriously nice guy.

Can you keep an eye on Max? Emergency business trip, might take 2 days.

Sure.

It was just me and Max, Dad died when Max was a baby, and I worried if I had to leave my little brother alone for a long time. He’d had flare-ups come up with no warning, and they made him sick enough that he couldn’t do much for himself.

With everything important sorted, I embarked on my new adventure. I spoke enough Spanish to get by, and sunny warm Guatemala should be a treat after the ice and snow in Boston this past week.

Well, once I got there, at least it was sunny, but a bumpy ride. Arriving just before dawn, I set off in a rental car.

I’d used internet searches to find the farm, but it was a three-hour drive from where I landed. My usual business wear was conservative enough not to cause any problems with the locals, but I still got catcalls as I rented a car and plotted my route to the highlands of Huehuetenango. Bumpy roads, winding paths, and the air conditioner giving up the ghost made the drive out less than fun.

I’d slept on the plane, so driving through the morning and a gorgeous sunrise was pleasant. The scenery was gorgeous, and the people were kind when I got to the farm, offering me lunch. Bean tostadas and something called chuchitos which were like little tamales anddelicious. They also had a special fruit punch they said was made only around Christmas.

I bought a few pounds of the five hundred-dollar-a-pound coffee to prevent a trip in the near future. With two of the silver and black bags tucked in my carry-on, I started back to the city, certain I would make my flight. I had plenty of time.

* * *

Exhaustion mademe move like my puffy blue down coat was made of bricks as I picked my way up the path to the cabin—AKAmansion—nestled in the mountains. With the weather turning bad, my ten-hour flight had expanded to twenty with delays and diversions.

Now I was here, finally, exhausted, starving, and cold with the packages of coffee, my carry-on, and a reservation at a local motel once I dropped this package off. I still had a couple of days left until Christmas. I’d rebooked my flight back to Boston for tomorrow just in case. I was asleep on my feet, no way I was going back tonight.

The things I did for this asshole. He’d better believe I was going to put in for all the expenses, too.

I’d texted Alex, one of the bodyguards, on the way in. So I should’ve been expected and could hand the coffee off and then hit the hotel.

I pressed the doorbell, counting the seconds until I could scuttle back to the taxi and head for my nice warm room with a nice soft mattress.

Even exhaustion from the long journey couldn’t keep me from marveling at the stunning scenery surrounding me. Tall, snow-covered pines framed the huge luxurious log cabin, which was far more grandiose than any cabin had a right to be.

The door opened, revealing another bit of stunning scenery. Even though he was my boss, Damien Santini was hot as the sun—if you liked dark, brooding men. Which apparently, some part of me did. I had to look up to meet his gaze, but then, I had to look up to most people.

Tall and broad-shouldered, Damien had chiseled cheekbones, a cleft chin, and black hair swept back. His eyes, vivid blue, were colder than the wind working its way into my coat. It was unfair that a man in his mid-forties could look that good, and worse than that I was always attracted to older men. Not that I ever acted on it.

The coldness of his expression helped keep me from drooling. The air of menace helped too. The man never smiled, as far as I knew.

"Miss Jones," he said with his usual crisp tone, gaze sweeping up and down my frazzled, puffy-coated self. "You’re late."

"Apologies, Mr. Santini." I forced a smile, trying to maintain my professional demeanor as I handed him the bag. "Here’s the coffee."

"Foxx has already left. It seems you've come all this way for nothing."

My patience snapped. All that effort, a two-day-long grueling journey, for what? A snippy comment? I tried not to let my annoyance show. "I can’t control the storm or the air traffic controllers. Perhaps if you’d sent someone to threaten the weather, I would have gotten here earlier."

So much for not letting the annoyance show. I bit my lip to keep any more words from falling out.

"True." He ignored the snippy comment, his gaze on mine. He broke eye contact and waved dismissively at the cab. The cab driver, perhaps sensing my imminent doom, hurriedly left, tires crunching in the snow.

Damien stared down at me. "Miss Jones, you will stay here tonight."

Not what I wanted, but with the cab gone, I didn’t have much choice. Once again, Damien wanted twenty-four-seven service and maneuvered me to get it.

I glanced at the sky. Throughout the taxi ride, I’d watched the dark clouds gathering as the sun began to set. Another storm was brewing. If my luck kept up as it had been this last day, I’d be stranded in Damien's cabin with nothing but my carry-on and a pile of work he’d no doubt produce from nowhere. My mind raced, weighing my options. I could try to find another cab, but was it worth it?

My instincts screamed for me to refuse, to put as much distance between myself and this dangerous man as possible. They’d been yelling since that scary interview a year ago.

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