SNOWED IN WITH MY DAUGHTER'S BILLIONAIRE

Three hours of white-knuckle driving through increasingly heavy snow, and I was already regretting this whole Christmas arrangement.

My hands cramped around the steering wheel as I navigated the winding mountain roads toward Pine Ridge, the halfway point where Lily and I had agreed to meet. The weather app kept pinging with storm warnings, each alert more dire than the last. But my seventeen-year-old daughter had been so excited about spending Christmas with me for the first time since the divorce that I'd have driven through a tornado to make it happen.

"Mom, you're going to love Noah's dad," she'd gushed over the phone last week. "He's super successful and has this amazing house, and he offered to drive me to meet you since he was heading that direction anyway."

Noah's dad. The mysterious boyfriend's father who was apparently wealthy enough to casually offer three-hour road trips as favors. I'd spent the drive constructing an image of him in my mind—probably some middle-aged real estate mogul with a receding hairline and a gut hanging over his designer belt, the kind of man who thought money could solve everything and probably spoiled his son rotten.

The Pine Ridge Diner sat like a beacon in the swirling snow, its neon sign cutting through the gray afternoon. But my relief at finally arriving evaporated when I spotted the parking situation. The small lot was packed, with only one space remaining near the back corner.

I put on my turn signal and began backing into the spot, checking my mirrors carefully. The snow was coming down harder now, fat flakes that stuck to my windshield faster than the wipers could clear them.

That's when a sleek black Porsche came screaming around the corner and shot straight into my parking space.

I sat there for a moment, staring in disbelief. The Porsche's engine purred to a stop, and through the tinted windows, I could make out the silhouette of a man adjusting his rearview mirror like he hadn't just committed highway robbery.

Heat flooded my chest. I laid on the horn—three long, angry blasts that echoed across the parking lot.

Nothing. The driver didn't even glance in my direction.

I threw the car into park and yanked open my door, not caring that snow immediately began collecting on my shoulders. My boots crunched across the asphalt as I marched over to the Porsche and rapped sharply on the driver's side window.

The window slid down with an expensive whisper, revealing a man in dark sunglasses despite the overcast sky. Even sitting down, I could tell he was tall, with dark hair that looked like he'd just stepped out of some magazine spread. Definitely not the paunchy real estate king I'd been expecting from some random rich dad.

"Hey, asshole!" The words flew out before I could stop them. "I was here first!"

He tilted his head slightly, and I caught my reflection in his sunglasses—wild-haired and furious, snowflakes melting on my flushed cheeks. When he