A Single Dad Fixed a Billionaire's Rolls-Royce in a Snowstorm — Neither Knew Who Was Waiting at the Mountain Lodge

Chapter 7

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“Because I said two hundred.”

“This is a mountain road in a storm.”

“I noticed.”

“You stopped when nobody else did.”

“That is not a premium service tier.”

She stared at him.

He smiled faintly.

“Two hundred.”

She pulled out two bills.

He took them.

Then removed one and handed it back.

“What are you doing?”

“You held the flashlight.”

She stared.

The single father walked toward his truck.

The billionaire looked at the hundred-dollar bill in her gloved hand.

No one had discounted labor because she participated before.

She found herself smiling.

The girl rolled down the passenger window.

“Dad!”

“What?”

“Are we late?”

The single father checked his watch.

“Very.”

“Is the old man going to be mad?”

The billionaire’s head turned.

“Old man?”

The father grimaced.

His daughter continued.

“He already sounds grumpy on the phone.”

“Inside voice.”

“We’re outside.”

The billionaire tried not to laugh.

The single father looked toward her.

“We’re headed to a lodge nearby.”

“So am I.”

He paused.

“The private one past the north ridge?”

“Yes.”

They stared at each other.

The girl said:

“Maybe she’s meeting the grumpy old man too.”

Her father frowned.

“What did I say about—”

The billionaire interrupted.

“Who are you meeting?”

The single father shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

“What does that mean?”

“Owner hired me through an attorney.”

“For?”

“Emergency repair job.”

“What kind?”

“Backup generator and old snowcat.”

She stared.

“Tonight?”

“He offered enough money.”

Something in his voice told her he needed enough money.

She did not ask.

He continued.

“The attorney said the owner wanted me specifically.”

“Do you know him?”

“No.”

“You’ve never been to the lodge?”

“No.”

The billionaire looked toward the mountain.

Interesting.

The same lodge.

A reclusive investor demanding she come alone.

A mechanic specifically summoned through an attorney.

She felt the first small movement of suspicion.

Then told herself not everything was connected.

She had spent too many years in corporate strategy.

Patterns became addictive.

The single father nodded toward the road.

“I’ll drive behind you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

“If the repair holds—”

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A Single Dad Fixed a Billionaire's Rolls-Royce in a Snowstorm — Neither Knew Who Was Waiting at the Mountain Lodge

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