Christmas Read...: The Grumpy Billionaire Who Stole

He turned then, his eyes like flint. "It’s a strategic acquisition. The market is an eyesore. It’s loud, it smells of cheap cinnamon, and it’s blocking the view of the skyline."

"Is that what this is?" I gestured to the empty, shimmering room. "You bought the land, you cancelled the permits, and you invited me here just to gloat? You’re not a businessman tonight, Silas. You’re just the Grinch in a Tom Ford suit." The Grumpy Billionaire Who Stole Christmas Read...

The invitations were embossed in gold, the champagne cost more than my first car, and the atmosphere in the Vane Penthouse was as cold as the December wind whipping against the floor-to-ceiling windows. He turned then, his eyes like flint

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." It’s loud, it smells of cheap cinnamon, and

"It’s Christmas ," I snapped, stepping into his space. "People have met there, fallen in love there, and built traditions there for fifty years. You can’t just buy a soul, Silas."

He’s prepared for a legal battle. He isn’t prepared for her. The Grumpy Billionaire Who Stole Christmas

"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."