Page 11 of Snowed in with the Billionaires

Dear god what haveI walked into?

As soon as I close the door behind me, I lean against it, give in, and hyperventilate. I struggle so hard to get air into my lungs my chest aches, and I’m left wondering if I’m having a heart attack at twenty-three.

I force myself to get a grip. I’m not a falling-apart type of person. I’m resourceful and strong and brave. Gosh, I seem to be stuck in a loop with these pep talks I give myself to keep my head above the tar I’m drowning in.

Still, I’ve been in high-pressure situations before. This is no different. Except it is. It’s entirely different. They’re worse than the psychos I thought them to be. Why haven’t they questioned me yet? Do they know who I am? Who I work for? No, that is impossible. If they knew what I planned to take from them, they would ice my corpse on the snow outside and then sit down and have a cozy dinner with their family.

Well, I refuse to be their prey.

One look out of the massive window tells me the storm is picking up. I can’t escape on foot. I’ll die. I could find their helicopter and fly myself out. Two things: flying helicopters does not feature on my résumé, and there’s no time for a crash course on the subject.

“Now is not the time for puns, Cohen,” I whisper, annoyed.

The other thing is, what if their pilot dropped them off and will only return to pick them up after the weekend? There might not be a helicopter for me to commandeer.

Do I have to accept this mission is a bust? No. Not yet. Whatever they plan to do to me, I have to beat them here inside the cabin and carry out my plans on them first. How, I do not know.

I get up off the floor, anxiety and fear rumbling through me like a bullet train. I bite my lip hard enough to quell the frustrated scream brewing inside me.

Then I notice what’s lying on the bed.

Oh god.

They went through my things. My personal things. They touched my clothes while I was busy in the kitchen helping cook dinner for them. Ugh, if I had a vial of poison, I would have seasoned their portions with it.

Laying on the bed is the only dress I own. A frivolous luxury I allowed myself. Something to make me feel feminine, where I can be a girl in a dress enjoying her life. I so desperately want that life.

I packed the dress because it became a beacon of my freedom. I envision myself wearing it on the beach, dipping my toes into the warm water, a gentle breeze in my hair, the sun comforting on my face. And all the while, my father is with me, safe and happy. Doing his crossword puzzles and making his famous mac and cheese dish, the one I grew up eating, perfect for any emotion, happy or sad.

How dare they touch my things?

I grab the note lying on top of the dress, my hands shaking as I read it.

Wear this for dinner. Nothing underneath. Nothing on your feet.

Play along or die.

Bastards. Bastards. Bastards.

Are they fucking serious? They want me to wear a floral strapped mid-thigh dress in the middle of a snowstorm in a cabin surrounded by their family.

Have they lost their ever-loving minds? I’m going to freeze my nipples off. Is that what they want? I stop myself from shredding the dress to pieces with my bare hands and force it down their throats. I can’t keep up this mind game. Worse, it’s only begun.

I frantically search the secret compartment in my bag. They’ve confiscated the vials and the canister I’d placed there for safekeeping. Shit.

If they had any suspicions, going through my bags and finding handcuffs, zip ties, tasers, sleeping gas, truth serum, a hazmat suit, and a mask, there’s now no mistaking my reasons for being there are nefarious and not some kinky sex party.

I clench my hands and scream on the inside. They’re going to kill me any which way I look at it. I’m an intruder on their property. My reason for being there? Villainous. They kill people out to get them. And I’m sure sometimes for lesser offenses.

I blow out a breath. I don’t have a choice. There are too many people here for me to deal with them. I’ll do as they say. They win this hand. This battle. But I’m going to win the war. I will get my father back, and they’re the ones who are going to deliver the ticket for both mine and my father’s freedom.

Still quivering with rage, I step into the shower and angrily scrub my skin until I think I’ve taken off a layer of my dermis.

The dress will never have the same meaning to me now, not aftertheyinstructed me to wear it. I’m going to burn it when I’m done with them.

With brisk strokes, I apply lotion to my body and don’t even bother with makeup. I gather my long hair into a messy ponytail, and then I’m done.

I’m going to shiver my ass off in this. Fine. They want to play; I’ll play. My nipples stand erect from the cold as I swing the bedroom door open and make my way to the open-plan living areas.

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