"I’m not late, Silas. I was detained by the three dozen protesters outside your lobby," I replied, shaking the snow from my coat. "You know, the ones whose livelihoods you’re currently trying to bulldoze for a 'Wellness Plaza'?"
He’s spent years building a tower of steel and glass, high above the festive chaos of Manhattan. To Silas Vane, Christmas isn’t a season—it’s a logistical nightmare of inefficient sentimentality. But when a spirited, sharp-tongued local activist stands in the way of his latest development project—the very site of the city’s oldest Christmas market—Silas decides to buy the land and shut it down himself. The Grumpy Billionaire Who Stole Christmas Read...
"One week," he whispered, leaning down so his breath brushed my ear. "But if you lose, Noelle... you don't just walk away. You work for me. And I’m a very demanding boss." "I’m not late, Silas
"Then let me please them," I challenged, my heart hammering against my ribs. "One week. Give the market one more week. If I can’t prove to you that the 'sentimental value' outweighs your profit margins by Christmas Eve, I’ll sign the NDA and walk away from the protest for good." To Silas Vane, Christmas isn’t a season—it’s a
A ghost of a smirk pulled at his mouth—the first sign of life I’d seen on his face in months. "The Grinch had a dog, Noelle. I just have a board of directors. They’re much harder to please."