Page 2 of Falling for Mr. Billionaire

“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.

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