This Billionaire's Snow Day: This Billionaire, #40

By Rachel Foster

Cage and Tess both live in Hawaii and she likes to go for a drive to sightsee mansions on the beach. Her car breaks down and she knocks on the door of the closest mansion. Cage answers. She is hot so he makes a deal with her that if she will go on a date with him then he will fix her car. They start dating but she mentions she hasn't been home to her parents for Christmas in 4 years. She wants to see a white Christmas again. But will he be able to give her what she wants? 

• Language: English
• Publisher: 3rd Publishing
• Release date: Mar 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215476543

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This Billionaire's Snow Day

Rachel Foster

Copyright © 2018 by Rachel Foster

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Epilogue

1

T

ESS

It was a beautiful day in Hawaii. The sun was shining, the waves were shimmering, and the sky above was a beautiful, cloudless azure.

And I was about to lose my damn business.

How the hell do they do it? asked Kira Wendt, the only server on staff during what was supposed to be our lunch rush. It’s, like, the douchiest restaurant in the world.

She was referring to Cage Eats, the bar and grill katy-corner us in the peninsula region of Kailua, the beachfront town I’d called home for the last four years.

The place was hopping, as usual. The outdoor patio was packed, the neon lights of the obnoxious sign reading Cage Eats in aggressive font disrupting the mellow atmosphere of the shopping district.

I hated that place.

I don’t know. But I don’t like it.

"I bet those stupid outfits have something to do with it," she said with a sneer.

I knew what she was referring to. Young, sexy waitressed zipped here and there, all dressed in black-on-black outfits of skin-tight shorts and just-as-tight-tops. They all smiled and flirted and winked, flashing teeth as white as the surf.

I laughed, and Kira chuckled, turning away from the window, and heading over to Paul – our last remaining regular. One-by-one Cage Eats had managed to pull away our customer base.

It’s because no one has any loyalty these days, said Paul. He was a sixty-something retiree, always coming in during lunch for his usual tuna melt. His wife was still very active, a small business owner who he took any excuse to get away from during the day. He was dressed in his usual outfit of shorts and a billowy bowling shirt. How long have I been coming here?

Since we opened, I said, stepping over to him and topping off his coffee.

Since you opened, he said with a confirming nod. Because you serve what I like, and when you find what you like, you stick with it. He shook his head dismissively. Not like those people. All it takes some neon signs and they’re off like moths to a streetlight. Not me – I reward good service and food with loyalty.

One more nod followed, as if he’d said the final word on the matter.

And we appreciate it, Paul, I said. Like you wouldn’t believe.

Hard times come and go, he said. I’m sure you’ll get back on your feet in no time. His eyes lit up, as if he’d just thought of the most brilliant idea imaginable. Have you thought of making a web site? That’s what all small businesses need. Judith hired some techie kid to start one for her and she said it made all the difference.

Oh, we’ve got a web site, said Kira. Set it up myself.

Before another word could be said, the kitchen bell chimed.

Order up! called Kaleo, our line cook and only member of the back-of-the-house staff still working.

I think that’s mine, said Paul with an eager smile, his eyes on the plate in the window.

Of course, it is, bud, I said with a grin. You’re the only one here.

I moved behind the counter, keeping some pep to my step despite the fact that there was no reason to hurry. I missed the days when I’d have to carry meals out with plates up and down my arms, dropping them off at three different tables before rushing to the host stand to greet some new guests before refilling waters at table four then answering the phone take reservations for a ten-top that evening and...

Nothing like that.

Another slow lunch, huh? asked Kaleo, sticking his head out through the line window, the little sliver in the wall that looked into the kitchen almost comically small compared to his massive body.

Kaleo was another old hand, a Hawaiian native who’d been with me from day one, starting as a dishwasher and working his way up to kitchen manager. He was a huge guy, with native tattoos up and down his massive arms, but was gentle as a hummingbird.

Another slow lunch. That makes...every lunch for the last three months.

He smiled, setting a ramekin of his special sauce next to the massive pile of waffle fries on the plate.

It’ll pick up, he said, flashing me his usual charming smile. It’s like my tutu used to say – you can’t appreciate a day at the beach without the occasional hurricane.

Kaleo was full of expressions from his tutu -the Hawaiian word for grandmother. And I’d be lying if I were to say his cheery attitude didn’t help.

Thanks, K, I said. But all the hurricanes I know eventually let up.

Just hang in there, he said. This is too good of a place to get sunk by some trendy flash-in-the-pan joint. Good food is timeless – if I do say so myself. Another grin and he went back to his work, scraping the flat-top grill.

I carried the tuna melt and fries over to Paul, his eyes lighting up as I set them down in front of him.

Oh, perfect, he said, picking up the sandwich and taking a bite. "Oh...oh man. How do you do it every time?"

Ask the wizard in the kitchen, I said.

He shook his head. "K’s a hell of a cook, but these are your recipes. Don’t sell yourself short, Tess."

With that, Paul picked up his copy of the paper and started reading, occasionally popping a fry into his mouth.

By the way, said Kira. That’s...kind of my job. You know – the whole ‘bringing food out’ thing.

My gut tightened as she brought up the subject of her job.

Uh oh, she said, her expression falling. I smell bad news.

Can we...go up to the apartment to talk? I asked.

Kira nodded.

Paul, can I trust you down here on your own for a minute?

He raised a fry. I’ve got my lunch and my paper – I’m happy as it gets.

Come on, I said to Kira. Let’s go.

Together, we went to the door at the back that led to my apartment above the restaurant. We ascended the narrow stairs and were soon in my tiny, but cozy apartment. It wasn’t a huge place by any means – a one-bedroom that barely qualified as such. But the view of the ocean from the living room more than made up for the small size.

Step into my office, I said with a wry tone, referring to the dining room table cluttered with receipts and printouts and, more and more these days, with bill overdue notices.

Kira sat down on one side, and I sat down at the other.

You’re firing me, she said. Right?

Wow, I replied. Talk about getting right to the point.

I’m saying it because if you have some big speech prepared about how you didn’t want it to come to this and you’re so sorry – you don’t need to say it. We’ve been friends for years, and I know you wouldn’t let me go unless you absolutely had to.

I sighed, already feeling like total shit. "I wasn’t going to fire you. It was more like a...furlough."

She smiled. What’s the difference?

It’s...like a firing. Except you can come back as soon as business picks up. But you were already that sure I was going to do it?

No offense, Tess, she said. But the rest of the staff has been dropping like flies over the last few months. I knew it was only a matter of time before it was my head on the chopping block. But I wanted to tell you to let you know you don’t have to worry about me.

Wait, what?

"You don’t need to worry about me because I already found a new job. It is the holidays, after all – tons of opportunities to do some tourist stuff with all the people from the mainland coming in."

What kind of tourist stuff?

Tour guiding. Nothing crazy, but it’s something.

Well, as relieved I am that you’re taken care of, it doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence that the last member of my staff had already been looking for a backup plan.

It’s a downtime, she said, leaning forward and taking my hand. You’ll get through it. I’d be right here with you but, you know, bills and all that lame stuff.

I sighed, turning in my chair, and looking out the window toward the beach. Cage Eats was down below, still packed with people.

It’s not enough he took my business – he had to ruin my view, too.

Kira chuckled. I know it sucks. But that guy who opened it, what’s his name?

Cage Young. Just saying the name was enough to make me feel pissed off and powerless, all at the same time.

He’s probably some rich dork with too much time and money on his hands. Once he gets bored of running a restaurant and all the hard work that comes with it, he’ll move onto something else. And when that happens, you’ll get back all the business you’ve lost and then some.

Thanks for the vote of confidence. But I’m not so sure. He’s got the hottest restaurant in the city. I can’t see him giving it up any time soon.

Well, then...maybe that’s a sign?

What kind of a ‘sign’?

A sign that ‘Ono Grinds is about at the end of its lifespan, she said, referring to the name of my diner – ’Ono Grinds means delicious food on the islands. Restaurants come and go, and maybe you’ll have to close up, try something else new.

No way, I said, shaking my head. This place has been my dream ever since I was a kid. No chance I’m giving it up because some rich kid douche bag opened some trendy joint as an afterthought. There was real anger to my voice. But I was fine with being pissed off.

Sometimes dreams take on different forms. You’ve learned a lot from running this place, right? Maybe what’s next is taking some time off, coming up with some new ideas.

No. My voice was stern, hard. Only one of us is leaving, and it’s not going to be me.

Kira’s lips formed into a flat line. Either way, I’m here for you. When it’s time for this place to take on staff again, give me a call. Hell, give me a call before then – we haven’t gone out for drinks in forever.

I allowed myself a small smile. Will do. And...thanks, Kira.

Any time. I should go check on Paul – he goes through that special sauce like crazy.

I nodded, and Kira left to leave.

When she was gone, I turned my attention back to Cage Eats.

And all I could think about was whether this was it – that my dream might’ve very well be

2

C

AGE

My head was killing me when I woke up.

Actually, that was putting it way, way too fucking lightly – my head felt like the noisiest construction site mixed with a freaking nuclear bomb test range. And that was before I even opened my eyes.

When I finally managed to pull open my lids I looked around, greeted with the familiar sight of my bedroom at my Honolulu penthouse. The windows were open, a pleasant-as-hell breeze flowing through the master bedroom, the white curtains floating on the wind.

Using all the strength at my disposal, I heaved myself out of bed and put my feet on the floor, making my way over to the window and looking out.

Another beautiful day in paradise. The city stretched out before me, the beautiful blue of the ocean glittering in the distance. I was hungover, my head killing me. But how could I be bothered by something as lame as a hangover when I had a view like this to wake up to?

When I’d gotten my fill of the breeze and sun, I turned. And when I did, I was greeted with a sight that most definitely was not something I was used to.

My bedroom was a mess, covers here and there, empty booze bottles littering the place, clothing on the ground, and hanging from the furniture.

And it wasn’t all men’s clothing.

But there was no mystery to who the women’s clothing belonged to. Nope – it was property of the two women still sleeping in the bedroom. One was on the far end of the bed, the other -wearing nothing but skimpy red underwear- was on the couch.

A snore cut through the air, sounding from the balcony. Confused, I stuck my head out. Didn’t take me long at all to realize the source of the sound – splayed out in one of the balcony chairs, wearing nothing but a white, fluffy robe with my initials on the chest, a half-drank glass of stale wine on the table next to her, was another gorgeous woman.

What the fuck had I gotten up to last night?

Another breeze blew, and suddenly I felt nice. Like, extra, extra nice – all over. I looked down to see that I was naked, my cock hanging between my legs.

Whoops.

I hurried into the bathroom, stepping carefully as to not wake up the women. I grabbed a robe and threw it on, cinching the belt as I slipped out of the bedroom and shut the door behind me.

I let out a sigh of relief as soon as the door was shut. My two-story penthouse was spread out around me, the colors all white, the floor-to-ceiling window-walls giving me a panoramic view of the city and beach.

As I stepped down the stairs, I saw, um, markings on some of the windows – smears that looked like bodies had been pressed up against the glass.

Naked bodies.

I tried to piece the evening back together but was coming up short. Needing some coffee, I headed in the sleek, modern kitchen and got some hot water going. I leaned against the counter, trying to figure out what had happened the night before.

But I didn’t get much time to think about it. My phone on the counter rang, the screen letting me know it was a call from my friend Dawson Parker. Well, kinda friend. We ran in the same circles, both being the sons of rich parents. But our relationship was...touchy.

Shit – Dawson. It’d been his birthday. The details were staring to come back together. He’d turned thirty-three, one year younger than me.

Hey, I said, my voice weak.

Yo, man! he shouted. What’s up?

I held the phone away from my face and winced.

Easy, dude, I said. Still dealing with a hangover – each one of those syllables sounded like a small explosion in my head.

He laughed, the laugh less like explosions and more like a jackhammer chipping away pieces of my skull.

"Man, if you’ve got a hangover, it was one you earned."

What happened last night?

Come on, you’re gonna tell me you forgot about my birthday?

No, I remember that. It’s just the details that are harder to keep straight.

Well, me and you and like, ten other guys all went clubbing. Then, while we were some place nearby this group of Instagram models all in town for a shoot came by. Next thing I know, you vanished and took three of them with you.

That explained the women in my apartment – one mystery solved, at least. That only left a dozen or so.

By the way, he said. "What did happen with you guys? I mean, I can guess what the great Cage Young would get up to with three babes in his apartment. But hearing the straight shit never hurts."

My hot water kettle clicked to let me know it was ready. I poured a cup of coffee, the smell enough to invigorate me.

Dude, if I remember you’ll be the first one to know.

Pictures! he shouted, his voice loud enough to make me pull the phone away from my head. Look at the pictures!

Here’s the deal, I said. I’ll check out the pictures if you keep your voice down below a hundred decibels.

Fine, fine. Look!

I did as he asked, opening up the photo album on my phone and flipping through.

Oh.

Oh.

They...told a story, alright. Specifically, it was a story of what three girls like them will get up to when they’re all trying to compete for the attention of a rich guy.

And it was a hell of a story.

Come on, man! he shouted, clearly having no intention of living up to his end of the bargain. What happened?

Stuff happened, I said.

Send them to me. Now.

I don’t know. These are...I don’t know if they’re PG enough for you.

Think of it as a late birthday present, he said. But you can’t hold out on me.

He was still yelling, and it was about all I could take.

"How about this – let me try to work off this hangover and I’ll let you check them out the next time I see you. Well, I’ll let you check some of them out."

"Come on! he shouted. You can’t leave me hanging like that."

I’ll talk to you later, birthday boy.

Hey! he said, the voice another jarring stab into my brain. "What’re you doing later? Want to grab some lunch?