"You're fired, Lily. And next time, try not to cry into a customer's damn cappuccino."
The words slapped her harder than the icy wind outside the café. Lily Hart clenched her jaw, blinking rapidly to stop tears from spilling again-not that it would matter. She'd cried in the restroom, cried into her apron, and now she'd apparently cried into someone's overpriced latte.
The café door slammed shut behind her, the scent of espresso and warm pastries replaced by the cold stench of New York rain.
Perfect.
The sky opened like it had a vendetta, soaking her cheap thrift store cardigan within seconds. Lily clutched her fraying tote bag tighter to her chest and ducked under the awning of a closed designer boutique, its windows flaunting a life she would never live: diamonds, champagne-colored gowns, and heels worth more than her rent.
'Which, by the way, I can't pay. Again.'
She swallowed hard, the weight of reality threatening to crush her.
She had no job. No savings. No family. No backup plan.
The city didn't care.
The universe didn't care.
And clearly, God didn't give a damn either.
People bustled past her, umbrellas up, shoes dry, eyes forward. No one stopped. No one looked. That was New York. You could fall apart on the sidewalk and the world would keep spinning.
"Move it," someone snapped, bumping her shoulder as they pushed past.
She staggered sideways, slamming into the glass window behind her. Pain shot through her elbow.
Lily bit back a curse. "Asshole," she muttered under her breath.
"Careful," came a deep voice behind her, low and smooth like aged whiskey. "This city tends to bite back."
She turned, startled-and instantly stunned.
He was tall, dressed in a black tailored coat, an umbrella angled perfectly over his head. His face was carved in shadow, but his eyes-icy grey, intense, assessing, met hers with unsettling precision.
Everything about him screamed money.
And danger.
'Who the hell...?'
Then it hit her.
Alexander Stone. CEO of Stone Enterprises. New York's most ruthless billionaire. The media called him The Ice King. She'd seen his face a hundred times on magazines. Forbes. GQ. Even a full Times Square billboard once. But in person... he was sharper. Darker. More alive.
"Y-You're..." she began.
"I know who I am," he said coolly, eyes trailing down to her soaked figure.
'God. I must look like a drowned rat.'
She straightened her spine despite the shivering. "Don't worry. I'm not planning to mug you."
A flicker of amusement ghosted across his face. "Noted."
There was a beat of silence. Then he extended the umbrella toward her.
"You're shaking," he said. "Take it."
Lily blinked. "What? No."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not some pathetic charity case," she snapped before she could stop herself.
He arched a brow. "Is that what you think this is?"
"Isn't it?"
He stepped closer, eyes narrowing slightly. His voice dropped to a near-whisper. "Or maybe I just don't like seeing people left in the cold."
'Right. Rich guy pretending to be a savior. Seen that one before.'
She crossed her arms. "And maybe I don't like owing favors to men who can buy the city with pocket change."
"Smart girl." His lips curved slightly, though it wasn't a smile. "But even smart girls freeze to death if they let pride win."
She hated that he was right. Hated that her fingers were numb. Hated that her breath misted in front of her and she could feel her bones stiffening beneath wet clothes.
'Just take the damn umbrella, Lily.'
She snatched it from him, muttering, "Thanks."
He didn't move. "You can return the favor."
Her eyes snapped up. "Excuse me?"
He slid a card from his coat pocket. "Stone Tower. Penthouse floor. Ask for me."
Lily stared at the card like it was burning in her hand. "Why would I do that?"
"You'll figure it out," he said smoothly. "You seem clever."
"I'm not going to sleep with you," she said bluntly.
He tilted his head. "Did I ask you to?"
"No. But men like you always have strings."
"I don't offer strings," he said, stepping backward into the rain. "Just choices."
His car, sleek, black, silent, pulled up to the curb. Without waiting for a reply, he slid in and vanished behind tinted glass.
Lily stood there, umbrella now shielding her, heart racing.
Her gaze dropped to the business card in her hand. Embossed in silver ink were two words:
'Alexander Stone.'
/0/87779/coverbig.jpg?v=e07f203525618a6f8d7e40b58e3f2b5b)
/0/87291/coverbig.jpg?v=939fedd048f339afb3bd059118e32b7d)
/0/73339/coverbig.jpg?v=925053dec906443774874aec5a420ac1)
/0/79649/coverbig.jpg?v=e69dbdddb14129681f3e00aa459c6190)
/0/77904/coverbig.jpg?v=e4a2b1647b1418b418abd7af330060ae)
/0/78611/coverbig.jpg?v=5c9bb11bf6523fca86c330516b20541a)
/0/79320/coverbig.jpg?v=67467b05b0edcaa942e7731c374e5c7c)
