Sebastian: A Clean Billionaire Romance

Christina Benjamin

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

Copyright © 2019 by Christina Benjamin

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Crown Atlantic Publishing

Version 1.1

April 2019

Chapter 1

Sebastian

When I close my eyes, I hear it—the sound of everything that I’ve built with my own fierce willpower, relentless charm, and encompassing intellect.

The cheery voice of my secretary floats through my closed office door, muffled by the heavy mahogany wood. No doubt it’s yet another investor eager to jump in on my substantial profits. Behind me, the skyline of New York City rises, the other skyscrapers dwarfed by the one that I had built for my company. Our popularity has been steadily rising, as has our stock value and clientele.

Most people assume that I've grown up with wealth or that I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth. They’re quick to believe that I had a rich father who passed along a huge bank account or trust fund accumulated from generation to generation, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. My mother was a nurse and my father an alcoholic. Now my mother is retired on the huge estate I purchased for her and God only knows where my father wound up.

I'm not angry at him for the life he never provided for me or my sister, not anymore. If anything, I'm grateful.

Spurred on by the conviction to be nothing like my father and to provide for my family in a way that he never did, at only twenty-eight I'm the CEO of one of the most profitable and promising technology firms in existence. Companies all over the nation—all over the world, even—sit with our tech on their desks.

I worked myself to the bone to get where I am today. All throughout school, I studied and toiled away while my classmates goofed off. With their nuclear families and doting parents, they had no reason to dedicate themselves as heartily as I did to my schooling. Even as a child I knew that I had to get scholarships if I wanted to go anywhere in life. By the time I'd completed elementary school, winning science fairs and math leagues, I'd been granted a full ride scholarship to a renowned junior high school, which thrust me into an even more renowned high school, and finally to an ivy league college. I started my tech firm as a freshman in college, pairing with a local distributor and selling specialized calculators to my classmates. I've come a long way since then.

My modesty prevents me from saying that I'm rolling in dough, but I'm rolling in serious dough.

Abruptly, my cell vibrates in the breast pocket of my pressed black suit. With a sigh, I lean back and slide it out to inspect the bright LED screen.

Clara, it announces. A photo of my little sister’s beaming face gazes up at me. She’d set the picture herself last summer when I took her and our mother on a cruise to the Caribbean. She said it was too impersonal for me not to have a photo of her as the caller ID.

When I answer the call, I can hardly hear her over the commotion going on behind her.

“—have to have a vegetarian option tonight, Mom. Graham’s whole family is vegetarian. We’ll just have to tell the caterer to figure something out.”

“Clara?” I ask lightly, scooting my leather chair back to prop my freshly shined shoes up on the corner of my uncluttered desk. “What’s going on?”

“Huh?” she mumbles, like she’s forgotten she was on the phone. “Oh! Hey, Bash! You’re coming tonight, aren’t you?”

“Miss my baby sister’s rehearsal dinner? Are you crazy?” I tease, shrewd business heart melting at the sound of her delighted laugh.

My whole life, all I've ever wanted is to make my mother and sister proud. They’re the only ones who mean anything to me, other than my tech firm.

“I just know how hard you work. I'd understand if something came up. I heard on the news that you have some big merger going on?”

“Not a chance. I can’t wait to celebrate with you and Graham.”

I still can’t believe my little sister is getting married. When I close my eyes, I still see her with bobbing pigtails and a chocolate milk mustache.

“And you know I can’t wait until I'm celebrating your wedding, too!” She laughs though her tone is deliberate.

She’s been gunning for the day I’ll find a nice girl and settle down, but we both know that’s not my style. I'm married to my career. I don’t have time for anything else, though a one-night stand here and there is certainly not off limits. Besides, marrying or getting serious about someone would be dangerous. I have a lot of property and a lot of cash under my belt, and I've heard too many horror stories about my successful friends settling down with women who only have green in their eyes. A bitter divorce six months later and they’ve got nothing left to their name. That won’t happen to me. I won’t give anyone the chance to dig for my gold.

“Is that all, Clara? I have to get back to work. I've got a meeting with my stockholders coming up that I need to prep for.”

“Oh please,” she says, a smirk audible in her voice though I can’t see her face. “Everyone knows you’re a shark. All you have to do is grin at your board and they all get weak in the knees.”

“I think you’re forgetting that you’re talking about sixty-year-old men here, not a flock of lonely housewives.”

“Is there really that much of a difference?” she teases before suddenly gasping. “Bash! I remember now why I called you. The cupcakes. You’re bringing them tonight, aren’t you?”

“Cupcakes?” I echo blankly, vaguely remembering some distant conversation she and I had over one too many glasses of Scotch where she explained that for the rehearsal dinner she and her husband-to-be had decided to go with the delicious little treats rather than an ornate rehearsal cake.

“Bash . . .” she murmurs warningly, “you told me that you were going to order them weeks ago. We have to have cupcakes—and we need that vegetarian option tonight for dinner too, Pierre!” she added desperately to the caterer who must be nearby, obvious stress cracking her voice.

“I've got it,” I answer smoothly despite my blood running cold. “I was just teasing you. Of course I ordered them.”

“You don’t tease a bride the day before her wedding, Bash!” Clara groans as the phone suddenly gives a faint whine, a strong clattering echoes through the speaker as it passed hands.

I grimace, holding it slightly back from my ear.

“Did I hear you saying you’re teasing your sister?” Mom accuses, her voice as melodic and playfully biting as Clara’s. “She has enough stress on her plate. Getting married is a big deal, not that you’ll ever have to deal with that I suppose.”

Those two were like peas in a pod, all big blue eyes and light hair, hung up on romance. I'm the opposite, taking much more after my father to my own disdain. I share his cold metal eyes, dark hair and distrust. In all the pictures of my sister, myself, and our mother, I stick out like a sore thumb. Even as a young teen I towered over both of their petite figures. I guess I'd been born to be their protector.

The phone rustles as my mother travels further away from Clara and the business of the rehearsal dinner setup. A door swings open and slams shut, faint music and voices melting away.

“You didn’t forget the cupcakes, did you?” Mom asks, “You know how important this is to Clara. She’s been dreaming about this day since . . . well, since we realized that if we wanted to wait for you to get married we’d have to wait until hell freezes over.”

“I didn’t forget,” I answer, consciously ignoring her jab at my relationship status as a perpetual bachelor. “I'm on my way to go get them right now from the best bakery in town. She’ll love them.”

The line is quiet for a moment before Mom sighs wistfully, giving a little sniffle.

“Are you all right?” I ask softly, bracing myself for her to poke again at the fact that her only son may never take a wife.

“It’s just both of my kids, they’re all grown up now. My little girl is getting married, my little boy is such a hard worker. I'm proud of you, Bash. I hope you know that.”

“I know, Mom.”

“Which is why I'm going to kill you if you show up without those cupcakes.”

Laughing, I wish her goodbye before hanging up my phone and dropping my head into my hands with a groan so heavy it could’ve come from my toes.

Dammit!

With all the craziness of my company’s looming merger, I'd completely forgotten that I was in charge of the cupcakes. It was the only thing Clara asked me do and there was no way I was going to let her down. She knew I was too busy with my career to offer much else despite being willing to do anything she wanted. I'd even offered to foot the bill for the entire wedding—not that she’d allow me to. Pride ran in our veins.

Ah, hell. What am I going to do?

The thought of letting Clara down, even over something like cupcakes, was horrible. All her life I've been there to help her in any way that I could, and I'm not about to fail now. Her rehearsal dinner is going to be perfect, no matter what I have to do to get these damn cupcakes.

“Rosa?” I call into the speaker on my desk.

My secretary instantly gives a greeting in response. “Good afternoon, sir! Have you heard the phone ringing off the hook? Thank God Friday is coming up, am I right? Ah . . . Um . . . Not that I don’t love being here. Oh my, do I love working. Here, I mean.”

I rub a tired finger in a circle against my temple, a headache blooming as the woman rambles on. When she finally takes a breath, I make my request. “This is going to sound odd, but what’s the best place in town for cupcakes? I'm talking high-end, beautiful, obscenely expensive cupcakes.”

The prim older woman cleared her throat in response, the sound garbled over the speaker. “If you want obscenely expensive cupcakes, sir, then you’re going to have to go to Holly Cakes. It’s on Fifth Ave. It’s real busy though. Sarah Jessica Parker just posted a video of herself there and the cupcakes looked so delicious! It was like a real-life Sex and the City episode—”

“Thanks, Rosa,” I answer before she can go into one of her famous monologues. I quickly shut off the speaker and turn to my computer. “Holly Cakes . . .” I mutter aloud as my fingers clack against the keys.

A bright pink and ivory website loads quickly. A woman with red hair stares out from behind the glassy screen, her smile huge and head thrown back in laughter. In her hands is a tray of the most gorgeous looking cupcakes I've ever seen. My mouth instantly starts watering, and I'm not even a dessert guy. News stories scroll by, highlighting the young woman’s skill with flavor and decorations. A recent article in the Times heralds her bakery as potentially the best up-and-coming confectionery in the city.

“Bingo,” I mutter under my breath, squinting at the screen as I dial her number.

Holly Cakes might be busy, but no place has ever struggled to find a spot for a name as well-known as mine or a wallet as loaded.

Chapter 2

Holly

“Holly Cakes, this is Holly. How may I help you today?” I speak into the phone pressed against my shoulder, voice perky despite being elbow deep in bright blue fondant as I roll it out in front of me.

My muscles already burn all the way up my arms. When I first started baking, I'd been worried that I was going to gain a ton of weight from tasting everything, but I had severely underestimated just how much physical work went into running a business like this.

“Hi, Holly! This is Bob calling again from City Bank. We’re really hoping that you’ve considered our offer a bit more and—”

“Bob, I've told you at least a dozen times already, I am not franchising. I can’t open a second store because there’s only one of me. So, unless you’ve discovered how to clone humans since our last conversation there’s not going to be another Holly Cakes.”

“Don’t you ever daydream about rolling your BMW down Broadway and seeing another Holly Cakes crammed with people?” he asks, forcing enthusiasm into his pitch.

I bite back a sigh and roll my eyes. With my surge in popularity after a featured spot in The New York Times, so had come a surge of people looking to give me advice or to take a piece of the profitable pie that I had so lovingly and carefully baked.

Holly Cakes had been my dream since I was a kid. I used to draw pictures of what my future storefront would look like while my mother hummed and checked our cake in the oven. Fit with gossamer pink drapes and creamy white stools and tables, the bustling bakery that I stood in today is a near perfect replica of my childhood drawings.

I'd grown up in the kitchen, helping my mother make cakes and pastries and muffins. I'd learned everything I know from her. The recipes I use are still based off of her own creations. She would be so proud of me if she could see how I'm doing now. There are times when I still expect to see her come strolling through the door to request a lavender cupcake, her favorite and the store specialty.

Sighing deeply, I hang up the phone on the persistent banker. My nostrils flare as I suck in a breath to calm myself, focusing on the task at hand. I still have to finish the ganache for a customer’s fiftieth birthday cake, then I have to take inventory and make sure that the van is ready for my deliveries in the morning. Most days it feels like my to-do list is never ending, especially during this time of year. Everyone’s getting married or celebrating something, and while I'm grateful and happy to be working myself to the bone, it means that I don’t have a second to relax. If I wasn’t such a workaholic, I'd be miserable.

“Holly!” my assistant says, pointing a flour-covered hand at the phone that’s ringing off the hook again. “The phone!”

She grins and shakes her head while I grab it, tucking it against my ear and returning to my fondant. She would’ve answered had I not been insistent that I should always be the one to do so. There was something special to me about always being the one to greet a potential customer.

“Holly Cakes, this is Holly. How may I help you today?”

The voice on the other end is cool and silky smooth, like dark chocolate. “Hi, I'm calling to put in an order.” There’s a faint rumble to the deep tenor that makes my heart pick up its pace. He clears his throat impatiently when I dare take a breath before answering.

“Fantastic, what are you looking to order, sir? Right now, we’re looking at a month-long waiting list—”

“Oh, you don’t understand. I need this to be ready tonight. I'll be there at six sharp. I need six dozen cupcakes. What flavors do you offer?”

I blink once, then twice, steadying the phone against my ear. My infatuation with the man’s deep voice has completely evaporated into thin air. Six sharp? Sure thing, let me just grow an extra pair of hands and get right on that!

Though I’d rather speak my mind, I table my sarcasm and give a rehearsed response. “I'm sorry, I don’t do orders on such short notice. I have other customers who booked my services in advance waiting for their orders.”

He laughs and I have to resist the urge to slam the phone back on the hook. I've gotten quite a bit of practice with my customer service voice lately, but this guy is pushing it.

“I forgot to tell you who I am, Holly. This is Sebastian Titus, of Titus Tech, speaking. I can pay you anything you want for this order. Now, when can I expect to pick up the cupcakes?”

This time, it’s my turn to laugh. “If you’re that Titus computer guy, then I'm Beyoncé. When you’re ready to put in a real order—which will be ready no sooner than a month from now—then you can call back, pal.”

“Excuse me—” he starts with a gasp, but I've already hung up and dropped the phone lazily back onto the countertop.

When it rings again, I ignore it, knowing it’s just him calling back. I don’t know what’s with people who call claiming to be someone famous. It’s so damn obvious every time they do it. Besides, it wouldn’t matter if it was Elvis calling right now to put in an order, I just don’t have the time. Actually, I take that back. Elvis is the only one I'd be able to squeeze in an express order for. Who can resist a man who moves his hips like that?

Forgetting the annoying phone call and get back to work. Once the fondant is rolled out, I pass it on to my assistant so that she can add it to the waiting orangesicle buttercream cake and instruct her to put it in the huge walk-in fridge when she’s finished. Tomorrow is a very busy morning of orders that need to be delivered bright and early. And being the only one I trust with that duty, I need all the desserts to be together so I can just load them up quick and head out.

It’ll take most of the day, but it’ll be worth it to see so many happy faces when I give them the cake or dessert of their dreams. That’s what this is all about; making people smile with something that I’ve made with my own hands.

Still, sometimes I do wonder if it would be easier if I just hired a ton more people, kicked up my heels, and watched as Holly Cakes flourishes. That’s what Bob says every time he calls. Hadn’t I worked hard enough already? Wasn’t I ready to pass on the baton?

It’s taken eight years to get where I am today. I started when I was sixteen, selling cookies at the local flea market. As the years passed, I opened up an online store, visited local restaurants and peddled my goods, and even traveled to the local nursing homes and grocery stores to try and catch people hankering for a treat.

I didn’t get a real storefront until two years back. Business was slow but steady for a while and I continued to bust my sticky buns slaving over sugar cookies and homemade pie crusts until The New York Times article came out a few months ago. I hadn’t even known I’d been reviewed until I showed up to open the bakery one morning and found a line halfway down the block. Everyone wanted a taste.

Holly Cakes has been slammed ever since, but I haven’t hired a single new person.

This bakery means the world to me and I don’t want to take away what makes it special, and that’s . . . well, that’s me. I don’t want anyone to come into my bakery and wonder just who Holly might be. I want to be the one to greet them, to shake their hand, to get to know them.

That’s why I'm the one who makes the deliveries and I'm the one who answers the phone. Bob keeps warning me that if I procrastinate, my time in the limelight will be over before I know it. I'm enjoying my fifteen minutes of fame now, but it will soon come to an end. The celebrities will move on to the next cult crush on the block and the masses will follow.

However, if there’s one thing I listen to more than anything else, it’s my own intuition, and my intuition tells me that I'm going to be just fine because I treat my customers right.

Right, Mom? I add, glancing toward the ceiling as though I could gaze right through the concrete block to the swirling white clouds above to see her gentle smile peering down.

Has it really been three whole years since I lost her?

My heart throbs in my chest, my palm pressing above it to ease the sharp pain. Three whole years and it still hurts as bad as it did that day.

My assistant leans over, thrusting a tin of fresh baked oatmeal raisin cookies into my hands, successfully yanking me out from my own head.

“These are ready for the fridge!” she beams.

I nod absently, glancing at the long line of customers waiting at the register. While a few are here to grab a cookie or muffin a la carte, quite a few of them are eagerly waiting to pick up their finished orders, most of which had been placed weeks ago.

All of a sudden, the line begins to move, surging and swaying as the people are forcefully parted. A dark-haired figure appears in front of the register, shooting a scowl at the first person in line until they step plaintively aside. The man, dressed in a pressed ebony suit that matches his dark locks, looks vaguely familiar—and not just because he looks like he could’ve stepped right out of a Calvin Klein ad. There’s something about his stern, downturned eyes and hard mouth that jostle something in my memory.

“I'm sorry sir, but you’ll have to wait in line,” I say with a frown, gesturing toward the people who he’s displaced from the line.

“I'm Sebastian Titus,” he interrupts, pressing one palm forcefully onto the counter and leaning between myself and the people waiting, “and I need those cupcakes I tried to order over the phone before you hung up on me.”

Chapter 3

Sebastian

The woman’s emerald eyes abruptly narrow on mine, one hand setting firmly on her hip while the other drops a tin of cookies onto the counter before her. She takes a step forward, leaning toward me in a mirror movement of my own authoritative stance.

“So, that was really you on the phone earlier?” she asks, though it’s clear from her furrowed brow that she already knows the answer.

I give an exasperated sigh and nod my head a single time. It’s about time she realizes that she was wrong in assuming that I was not who I said I was.

“Huh . . . My gut is usually right about things like that,” she says. “Sorry, Sebastian. I'm Holly, even though you already know that I suppose.”

Waving away her apology, I shake my head. “Can I put in my order now?”

“Absolutely not. You can either wait in line to put your order in like everyone else or give me another call. But like I told you, it won’t be ready today. We have a waiting list,” she replies curtly, throwing her unraveling braid over her shoulder and shooting a sickly-sweet smile at the man behind me. “But what about you, how can I help you today? Are you picking up?”

The man glances at me, then Holly, then back to me, like he’s afraid of speaking over me. I shoot him a withering look that keeps him firmly in place behind me. By the time I look back at the baker, her smile is gone and an unpleasant glower has taken over instead.

“You’re a real piece of work, Sebastian Titus, you know that?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“First you call me and demand that I make you cupcakes despite the fact that my waiting list is a mile long. Then you show up and shove all my loyal customers out of the way? You’ve got a lot of nerve.”

I glower right back at her, pressing both palms into the counter now. If she wants to play ball, I'll play ball. “I do have a lot of nerve. And I've also got a lot of money, so name your price. You want to double the cost of the cupcakes? Triple?”

I whip out my wallet, thumbing through the hundreds that are gathering dust inside. I use my black credit card almost exclusively now, but always have some cash on me. I keep one eye on her as I count the bills, willing to pay off her damn mortgage for Clara’s cupcakes if I must. My baby sister needs cupcakes, and she’s going to get them.

“Put the cash away, that’s not going to get you what you want here,” she sputters, blinking dazed eyes at me and shaking her head.

The rest of her small staff has slowly congregated behind her, staring at me with wide eyes.

“Please get back to work,” she rebukes gently, frowning at them.

Her staff returns to their stations, but they’re listening with interest now.

“If money won’t get me what I want, then what will? It’s my sister’s rehearsal dinner tonight so I’ve got no choice, I can’t leave here without these cupcakes. She needs them to make her wedding perfect and I’m going to get them for her one way or another.”

The woman sighs. “Then you should’ve called in the order weeks ago.” She bites her lower lip, eyeing me. “You don’t strike me as the type of guy to go through all this trouble for his sister. That’s actually kind of sweet.”

Sweet? I can be sweet if that’s what it takes to get these damn cupcakes. “Well, I’d do anything for her. She’s my baby sister.”

The woman softens. I’m winning her over. Her eyes narrow as she scrutinizes me. “If you’re lying . . .”

“It’s not a lie,” I answer swiftly, dragging out my phone and flicking to a picture of me beside Clara on the day of her bridal shower.

Holly’s eyes soften again. “Look, Sebastian—”

“Bash. Everyone calls me Bash.”

“Well look, Bash. I want to help you and your sister out. I really do, but can’t you see how busy we are? I don’t have time for another order. We close in an hour and these people are all waiting for their own pickups.”

She can’t be telling me no. It’s impossible, inconceivable even. I can’t remember the last time anyone has rejected me. Not on a business deal, not on a request to spend the evening together, and certainly not when I’m willing to pay them for a service.

Irritation prickles my skin, leaving a wake of goose bumps. “This is unacceptable,” I say simply, the softness of her eyes hardening again.

“Bash, I told you that I can’t do this order. If you want those cupcakes made, you’re going to have to come behind this counter and make them yourself.”

She whirls away from me, wiping her palms on her tight denim shorts and leaving a smear of flour behind as she addresses someone else in line behind me. “You’re Lewis Donald, aren’t you? You ordered the raspberry pie and the lemon scones? I'll get those for you.”

When he nods she smiles and heads to the back, not even sparing me so much as a single glance. She’s clearly hoping that when she comes back, I'll have vanished into thin air.

Unfortunately for her, I never take no for an answer.

She comes back a moment later, stopping a few yards away as she steps out of a walk-in fridge unit to scowl at me. “Why are you still here?” she murmurs while collecting the payment from the waiting man and passing his treats back to him.

She’s about to find out just how determined I am.

“Are you . . . are you taking off your jacket?” she lowers her voice to a nervous hiss. “That thing probably costs more than my rent. Bash, what are you doing?”

I drape the jacket over a nearby stool, warily eyeing the people in line and silently commanding them to steer clear of the luxurious fabric. “You said if I wanted my sister’s cupcakes that I had to come back there and make them myself, so that’s what I'm going to do.”

She laughs. “Yeah right.”

But when she sees I’m serious, she calls one of her staff to the register to take over for her. Holly pulls me to the side, eager to get me out of the way of her waiting patrons. “Do you even know how to bake?” she demands.

In all honesty, I've never baked in my life. The closest I ever got to cooking for myself was toast, and there was a high probability that I even ruined that. The second I was making enough money, I hired a private chef, and before that I lived off takeout. I could crush a business competitor out of existence and I could wheel and deal with the devil, but put me in a kitchen and I'm completely useless.

She sighs when I don’t answer except to grit my jaw stubbornly, her hands again finding her hips. Holly is petite, her hair crimson and her expression ever-determined. She’s the type of woman who has a fire burning in her, one that you can see churning in her eyes. I like that, though right now it’s more infuriating than anything else. Come to think of it, she may feel the same way about me right now.

The woman simply gazes at me, her stare intense and penetrating, like she’s trying to read me. Is she waiting for me to beg? Does she want me on my knees pleading with her to allow me to make these cupcakes?

Like hell that would happen, even for Clara. I am not a man who begs, but then again, I am also not a man who volunteers to bake. I can only hope this stalemate ends before it gets even more bizarre.

“Fine,” she says abruptly, throwing defeated hands in the air. “But only this one time and only because you’re going to pay three times the cost—”

“Even though I'm the one baking them?” I interject with a frown.

“Yes. You’re a liability in my kitchen and also, you’re absolutely the rudest man I've ever met. One more complaint and I'll jack the price up even more!” she adds, a smirk now curling the corners of her full lips. “Though . . . if you behave, maybe I'll give you the nice big brother discount.”

I keep my lips deliberately pressed together, though I can feel my brows knotting hard over my strong nose.

“Fine,” I grunt, reminding myself that this is all for my sister.

“Come here, let’s get to work.”

“You’re helping me?” I ask, surprised.

I'd been expecting her to just point me to a countertop and let me go at it, if only to watch me fail.

Holly steps to the side, fishing an apron out of a bottom drawer and holding it out to me. It’s a pink gingham print, matching the ones that the rest of her staff wears. I glance around the shop, frowning when I realize I’m about to match the drapes.

“Like I said, you’re a liability,” she smirks, thrusting the apron closer to me when I hesitate. “You don’t want to get your clothes all filthy, do you? Don’t you have a rehearsal dinner to get to after this?”

With a groan, I tie the apron around my waist and take my place beside her. She leans over the counter top, arranging bowls and ingredients before us.

“Now we’re going to have to keep this simple because we’re on a tight schedule here. What’s your sister’s favorite type of cupcake? And what about the groom?”

I huff a laugh. “The two of them are like night and day. She likes chocolate, he likes vanilla. She likes big and bold, he likes subtle and sweet. They’re not even having a wedding cake because they couldn’t agree. They’re having an ice cream bar instead.”

Holly wets her lips, the tip of her tongue thoughtfully tracing the curve of her upper lip. I find myself staring, my throat going tight. Her white blouse clings to the supple curves of her body, the straps of her bright pink bra peeking through. Her shorts are so tiny that they might as well not even be there. Hell, if she were to bend over even an inch, I’d have a perfect view of everything the denim is hiding. Despite being high-strung, the girl is sexy as hell.

“Are you listening?” she asks abruptly, waving a whisk in front of me.

I swipe at my eyes, shaking my head to clear the naughty thoughts nipping at the back of my mind. Now was not the time for that. Now was for baking—that’s a thought I never thought I'd have.

“The bakery’s specialty is lavender cupcakes. Lavender is unique, but delicate. I think the groom will appreciate that. We’ll jazz it up with a tart lemon icing and I think you’ve got a winner for the two of them. Sound good?”

“Sure,” I murmur, my eyes tracing her body again as she leans over the table, dumping a few ingredients into a bowl.

She might be infuriatingly bossy, but she has the most beautiful body I've ever seen in my life. When she straightens, she meets my eyes and arches an eyebrow.

“Well?” she muses, “Get to work.”

Chapter 4

Holly

“You’re actually doing pretty well for your first time,” I admit in surprise, watching him clumsily grip the metal mixing bowl as he whisked the lavender batter.

In his perfectly tailored slacks, polished shoes now dotted with flour, he looks so out of place here that everyone is staring curiously toward us.

Hell, maybe this would be an interesting way to make some extra money on the side.

I could offer personalized baking lessons.

Maybe this isn’t a total waste of time after all. I still don’t know why I agreed to let the billionaire in my kitchen, though it was probably a combination of his striking looks and his sweet-faced sister. I’m a sucker for a kind big brother. I’d always wished I had one.

Bash gives a grunt as he mixes, the noise a husky rumble in the back of his throat that makes me shiver. I could’ve gotten him the stand mixer, of course, but what fun would that be?

“Don’t look so surprised. I’m good at everything I do,” he remarks, inspecting the batter once more before setting the bowl back down. “Otherwise it’s not worth doing.”

Somehow, I manage not to comment on his lack of modesty. Clearly it’s not one of the billionaire’s strongest traits. It was easy to remember now where I'd seen his face—everywhere.

He was on billboards, commercials, interviews, magazines. He boasted a top ‘thirty under thirty’ role in the business magazine I had on my kitchen table.

Though I knew he lived in the city I never expected to meet him in person. His personality, on the other hand, was just what I expected. A handsome, established, wealthy man, he had an air of superiority and a dazzling grin that could melt steel. I, however, will not be melted. Money is no substitute for manners.

The scent of dried lavender blooms between us. It’s a delicate herb, requiring a gentle hand. A pinch too much and the entire cake will taste like soap. Fortunately for Bash’s little sister, I have this recipe down pat.

Bash looks at his thumb, scrutinizing the glob of batter clinging to the soft skin. Though I expect him to smear it away in disdain, he pops it between his lips for a quick taste.

“Where’d you learn this?” he asks, eyebrows lifting just slightly in surprise. “I've never heard of such a thing before. When I think of lavender, I think of my grandmother’s potpourri dish. This tastes amazing though. Clara’s going to love it. Graham will too.”

“My mom,” I shrug. “She was always experimenting. That’s why we have cherry Coke cookies and strawberry lemonade pie.”

“She sounds creative,” he answers simply, in a way that tells me that must be quite the compliment coming from a man of Bash’s position.

I arch an eyebrow, watching him dole out the cupcake liners. I'd chosen ones with a simple lace print that will flatter any tablecloth at the rehearsal dinner. Usually, I select them much more carefully, but these would have to do on short notice. Bash’s dark hair hangs in his eyes as he moves, a smear of batter on his cheek that he doesn’t notice. His eyes are focused and calm, his lower lip captured beneath his white front teeth as he concentrates.

Say what you will about Bash’s haughty demeanor, the man is sexier than anyone I'd ever met—and I'd had Henry Cavill stroll into my bakery last month for some double chocolate cookies.

I find myself fascinated by the batter on Bash’s cheek, imagining what it might taste like if I lean in a little closer and lick it off.

Down, girl! I mentally hiss before my body starts moving on its own.

Ugh. This is what happens when you work too hard to date.

His arm grazes mine and suddenly I realize this is the closest I’ve been to a man in a long time.

Bash begins to fill the cupcakes with batter under my direction, swiping his hair out of his face with the back of his hand. It only adds more batter to his gorgeous face.

“Here, Bash, you’ve got some . . .” I lean up, flicking a few clumps of batter from his black hair.

He grins at me, a grin that makes my veins simmer. Bubbles of heat burst in my stomach and I clear my throat. “It’s nice of you to do this, you know. For your sister. It’ll mean a lot to her when you tell her you helped make these. It’s the perfect wedding gift,” I babble, straining to focus my thoughts anywhere but his handsome face.

“I could just buy her something,” he answers blankly, mouth pinching slightly to the side. “That would be more memorable, I think, because it would give her something to hang on to forever. These cupcakes will be gone in just a few hours.”

I feel a reflection of his uncertain frown forming on my own face. “When you give a gift, it’s not about how long it lasts, it’s about how much the person will treasure it. Something that you made by hand will surely be something she treasures, even after it’s gone.”

He gives a shrug, dismissing my words as he steps back and shoves his hands in his pockets.

“I don’t agree,” he says definitively, giving me no more room to argue. “Cupcakes are cute, sure. She’ll think it’s nice that I helped bake them if I choose to tell her, though I probably won’t because then I'll have to explain that I forgot to order them ahead of time. But possessions, accomplishments, things that you can actually look at months or years after . . . that’s what I treasure.”

Spoken like a man who has deep pockets and the ability to buy anything he wants.

Naturally, to him, something with a price tag would equal happiness. I decline to press my point further, knowing there’s no point to it.

“I couldn’t imagine doing this,” Bash suddenly says, glancing toward the now dwindling line of people at the front of the shop as my staff preps for closing. “It’s so hot in here with the ovens going and there’s so much noise and constant mess. What about this appeals to you?”

He appraises me as one might appraise an unusual animal at the zoo. I can tell he’s not quite sure what to make of me. Funny, seeing as that’s how I'm probably looking right back at him.

In my line of work, I meet a lot of people with differing values than myself. Somehow Sebastian takes the cake entirely. Speaking with him is like speaking with someone who grew up on a totally different planet.

“Well, I get that this might not be for everyone, but I believe this is what I was put on this earth to do,” I answer with a shrug.

It might not be the most concise or eloquent of responses, but I mean every word. To my surprise, he gives a slow nod of understanding.

“Do you have a bathroom where I can clean up while the cupcakes are baking?” he asks. “I have to head straight to the dinner after this and I've got flour everywhere.”

“It’s because you insisted on taking off the apron,” I tease. “I actually live right above the bakery. You can use my shower if you want.”

“I wasn’t planning on showering.”

“You might want to reconsider, you’ve got flour all over your face.”

He frowns but gives a simple nod, though he doesn’t offer any notion of gratitude.

I pop the cupcakes into the oven, set the timer, and head toward a back door that I keep locked while the shop is open. Bash stands by while I unlock it. I usher him inside, then follow him up the small set of stairs to my equally small apartment.

Though recently I'd been making more money and I suppose I could upsize, I love living above the bakery. The scent of sugar and sweetness lingers in the air even after all the ovens are closed and cleaned for the night, and there’s nothing better than only having to take a set of stairs to your job.

“I'm sure this is way smaller than what you’re used to,” I murmur shyly as I show him to the bathroom and turn on my finicky shower faucet.

I'm well aware of how small my home is, and though I've never felt embarrassed of it, it suddenly feels so crowded with the two of us inside. He stands in front of the bathtub and I stand near the door. Faint light trickles in through the bathroom window, illuminating the shine of his hair. It glistened like raven’s wings. My heart picks up pace again, steadily thumping against my ribs. I wonder if he can hear it.

“I think your home is lovely,” he answers softly, his fingers already carefully plucking at his buttons.

His muscled chest is exposed inch by inch, my suddenly greedy eyes drinking up the sight. I try to avert my gaze, looking anywhere but at the handsome man before me, but my eyes are continually drawn back.

Bash, knowing exactly how gorgeous he is, only continues to taunt me. He pulls his shirt off, folding it and setting it aside. When his fingers move toward his belt I quickly stumble back from the small bathroom.

“Holly!” he calls after me, “I would very much appreciate a towel!”

Hastily, I search through my linen closet for a towel that isn’t threadbare or wrinkled, returning a few moments later to shove it in through the unlocked door.

Bash hums from in the shower, deep reverberations of his voice echoing as steam slowly rolls across the tiled floor. I can see his silhouette through the film of the pale shower liner, his shoulders broad and muscled as his hands move through his hair.

“Dammit, Holly, keep it in your pants,” I mumble to myself, closing the door and stepping away.

It wasn’t like a billionaire would ever be interested in me, even in a purely physical way. He was way too good looking and successful. He probably had gorgeous ladies falling at his feet everywhere he went. At least I could take solace in the fact that I would never be one of those girls.

“Holly?” he calls again, interrupting my thoughts.

The way my name sounds on his lips makes a shudder roll up the length of my spine. When I peer back into the steam filled room, my body feels cold despite the heat of the shower.

“Yes?” I croak.

When he talks, he lifts his voice to speak above the sound of rushing water. “I can’t seem to figure out how to turn down your water temperature. It’s scalding.”

“Oh! You just . . .” I hastily rush forward, thrusting a single hand through the still closed shower curtain to grasp the shower handle. “You have to give it a good wiggle before it turns. It takes a bit of force.”

With a grunt I shove the handle hard to the side to cool down the water, however the force of it topples me over the rim of the bathtub where Bash stands.

Before I know it, I collapse in a heap at his feet. I’m literally falling for him, just as I promised I wouldn’t be a few moments ago.

Bash stares down at me, eyebrows lifting in surprise as streams of water glide down his muscles. My mouth opens and closes, my blouse soaked through in seconds by now frigid water that does little to cool the flaming warmth of my cheeks.

I stammer. “I didn’t . . . I . . . oh my God!”

He reaches down quickly, scooping me into his arms. Carefully, he drags me to my feet. I'm grateful he’s holding me up because my knees are shaking now, his body firm and hot against mine. Every inch of me that’s pressed to his feels as though it’s on fire.

“Are you all right?” He asks, turning off the water before we both start shivering.

I gape at him, trying to speak, but I am consumed by the depths of his dark gray eyes, the fullness of his lips, the nakedness of his flawless body. I try to pull away to escape him but his fingers capture my wrist, pulling me back.

We stare at each other, my chest rising and falling in shallow pants, his eyes narrowing on mine, until I can no longer resist.

I don’t know who moves first, but both of us spring back together at once, our lips desperate for one another’s.

Chapter 5

Sebastian

My feet slide dangerously across the damp bathroom floor, Holly’s body hot in my arms as I carry her toward the safety of carpet just across the threshold.

Her lips are soft as rose petals under mine, the tip of her hungry tongue brushing along the curve of my lower lip. Every now and then, she gives a faint gasp that makes the blood surging through my veins light on fire.

My fingers cup her curves, hoisting her against me, legs wrapping around my hips. Though I'm completely nude, she’s still dressed in her drenched blouse and jean shorts.

We’ll just have to change that, won’t we?

I peel her shirt away, still moving through the cramped apartment. I have no idea where her bedroom is, and neither one of us is interested in breaking the kiss to speak. As luck would have it, the first door we crash through has a bed inside. I toss Holly onto it and kick the door closed behind me.

“This is just physical,” Holly gasps against my lips as I recapture them. “This means nothing. Just once, that’s all.”

I don’t bother answering. I’m completely aware of the nature of this hookup. Instead I lightly suck her lower lip between my teeth, focusing solely on the earth-shattering bliss about to unfold between us.

Her eyes darken, narrowing on mine. Her face and chest are flushed with the rosy red of lust. When she senses I'm going to take my time with her she tries to pull me closer.

I can tell that Holly is a woman used to being in charge, but I have no intention of allowing her that position today. I take my time kissing the sides of her throat, leaving small love bites in the wake of my lips. It’s only when she pants my name, chest heaving, and body trembling that I know it’s time.

* * *

When we’ve wrung immeasurable pleasure from each other, we collapse against the wall. My head finds her neck, face burrowing into her now damp flesh as the aftershocks of intense gratification ripple through our bodies. Dizzy with raw ecstasy, I embrace her against me.

Though we don’t speak, the silence between us is consumed by the sound of our ragged, satisfied breathing.

Slowly I lift my head kissing her one more time before gently putting her back on the ground. She stumbles slightly to the side, giving me a weary smile when I straighten her back up.

We dress lazily after she grabs a dry outfit from her room and then we head back down to the bakery without a word of what happened.

One of the staff members had already iced the cupcakes and left them in boxes for me to take.

“I guess you’re ready to roll,” Holly murmurs softly.

Her voice carries the husk of sex in it. Just the sound makes me want to drag her back up to her little apartment and take her again, though instead of doing that I simply take the boxes.

“Thanks again for helping me out. If I know anyone else who’s looking for some dessert, I'll certainly point them this way.”

She nods silently, sweeping mussed hair from her eyes. A few of the workers give us the side eye, what happened between us apparent by the lust still on my face and the subtle redness of her skin. She gives another dazed smile, still basking in the glow of bliss. She follows me toward the door the same way someone would walk a date out after their night together.

We stand there for a long moment.

“That was . . . nice,” I offer uncertainly, not knowing how to talk to her now.

During my other one-night stands, I typically leave while my partner is sleeping. Now, I actually have to say a decent goodbye.

“It was, for a one-time thing,” Holly answers, as though she could read the hesitation in my mind. “Wish your sister the best for me.”

“I will. She’s having her dinner at The Plaza so these will fit right in.”

The conversation lulls, leaving us simply standing in silence and looking at each other. It occurs to me that I should walk away, but the finality of it keeps me rooted in one spot. If I turn around and head down the sidewalk, I will never see this woman again.

Isn’t that what I want?

“Goodbye, Bash” she says quietly, slowly reaching over and opening the door for me.

A cheery bell jingles overhead, the chatter of passersby greeting us in the warm breeze.

“Goodbye,” I echo, taking one step out.

I stare ahead, listening as the lock turns behind me. Though I want to turn around again, I head toward my waiting limo instead, determined to forget the beautiful baker and her perfect kiss and fierce eyes.

Chapter 6

Holly

I don’t know exactly what came over me with Bash. I'm not typically the type of girl who leaps into a naked man’s arms—or shower, rather.

I can’t believe I did that!

But the sight of him glistening in the water was too much to resist. Not to mention him taking me in his big, strong arms and lifting me out of the shower. It made me melt into a puddle of pure desire.

My eyes drift shut, remembering the feel of his fingertips gliding along my spine and the way my lips are swollen and bruised from his kiss. I can still taste him on my tongue, I can still feel his arms around me. I shiver, trying to push the tantalizing memories away.

I tell myself it’s not a big deal.

I mean, what could it hurt?

It’s not like we’re going to see one another again. Plus, it’s been so long since I let myself feel that good, a type of good that warms my bones and energizes my body.

Don’t I deserve that every once in a while?

I can’t even feel the floor under me while I move about in the bakery, humming some bubbly song that I heard on the radio yesterday.

“Um. . . Holly . . .” my assistant says slowly, edging up behind where I'm giddily marking items off our inventory sheets.

“Oh, hey. Why are you still here?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder at the young woman. “Weren’t you supposed to get off at closing time?”

The girl is holding a pink and cream colored box, the same box that I package up our goodies in before they’re handed off to the customer.

She nods, biting her lip. “I was but I wanted to make sure that all the deliveries were in order for tomorrow morning.”

“That’s so sweet of you, thank you. I'll make sure the extra time is on your paycheck this week.”

“Okay, thanks. It’s just . . . while I was finishing up, I remembered something,” she squeaks, biting her lip so hard that I'm worried she’s going to tear right through it.

“Well, what is it?” I ask, unable to keep one brow from lifting toward my crimson hairline. “Is everything okay?”

If she knocked over the wedding cake I'd spent four hours decorating this morning, I think I might puke.

“Um, that man who was here earlier. Mr. Titus?”

I nod, bracing myself to hear that he’d called again to demand something else, probably a wedding cake for tomorrow that I would never be able to finish.

“Well, while you two were . . .” she trails off and clears her throat. “Um, up in your apartment, I put the cupcakes in the fridge to cool so I could ice them.”

I glance down at the box in her hand, then back up into her worried eyes. “Okay?”

“And while I was just in there organizing your deliveries, I kind of found a box that I forgot to give back to him before he left.”

She holds out the box to me, eyes big and fearful.

In the past two years of having Holly Cakes open, I have never once been late on a delivery or messed up an order. She knows good and well what my record is and how important it is to me.

“Oh no,” I whisper. My mind races, already plotting the quickest course to The Plaza where Bash mentioned the rehearsal dinner would be. “We’ve got to get these to him. He made it clear how important it was for him to get these cupcakes to his sister.”

My assistant nods glumly, her chin hanging toward her chest. Pausing just long enough to put a hand on her shoulder, I give her an encouraging squeeze. “As much as we want to be perfect, sometimes we just fall short. Next time double check the orders you give out, okay?”

She nods eagerly, assuring me that she’ll be more careful in the future. I can see how upset she is at herself for failing both me and Bash, and I know I don’t have to harp on it any longer.

“I'm going to The Plaza to deliver these myself, can you lock up here for me and head on home?”

“Yes, Holly!”

I wink at her, scooping up the box and glancing inside to make sure that it was indeed the cupcakes before rushing out back to my delivery van. The van, recently repainted to match the trademark colors of the bakery’s interior, is freshly filled with gas and ready to hit the road. I leap in, slap on my seatbelt, and careen down the street. I might’ve blown a red light or two, but this was a bakery emergency.

Fortunately for me, The Plaza is only a few blocks away and, thanks to the numerous weddings held there and the cakes I deliver for them, I knew the best route to take.

I make it to the venue in record time and thankfully, the cupcakes hadn’t been handed out to the guests yet. Stealthily creeping along the back of the dining hall, I manage to sneak the last dozen in with the rest. When I try to creep back toward the door, however, I bump headlong into a waiter carrying a huge tray of wine glasses. The glasses clink and clatter together as both the waiter and I try to save them from crashing to the ground.

The noise interrupts the best man as he’s giving his speech, a best man who just so happens to be Sebastian himself.

“Holly,” Bash says in surprise, speaking into the microphone. “You’re here.”

Every single one of the people seated around the tables slowly swivel toward me, taking in the sight of the stranger breeching their event.

“Oh my God, Bash!” gasps a young woman in a floaty white sundress. I recognize her from Bash’s phone, but even if I didn’t it’s easy to tell she’s the bride. She looks from me to Bash. “Is this her? Is this the girl you were telling me about?”

“Clara . . .” Bash warns. His face turns red and he sets the microphone down stumbling over words I can’t hear as he follows his sister, who’s rushing toward me.

The bride is beaming when she reaches me. “Hi! I’m Clara, Bash’s sister. You must be Holly.” She turns to Bash who’s finally caught up to his animated sister. “Oh my God, Bash! You finally have a girlfriend! This is the best wedding present ever!” she exclaims throwing her arms around her brother’s neck.

Bash stares at me over her shoulder, steel gray eyes churning. I can practically hear the gears of his brain grinding, wrestling with how much he clearly adores his sister and how he can’t disappoint her.

Don’t you dare, I silently mouth at him, but I know it’s too late. Before he speaks, I already know what he’s going to say.

He grabs my hand and pulls me to his side, picking up the microphone. “Surprise,” he says into the mic, “This is my date for the wedding. Everyone, meet Holly.”

Chapter 7

Sebastian

“What the hell, Bash?” Holly hisses, cheeks as red as her hair as I drag her back into the reception hall. “Now you want me to be your date to your sister’s wedding? You’re the one who owes me, not the other way around.”

I hold up my palms, quieting her and glancing over my shoulder to make sure my prying sister or mother aren’t trailing after us. No doubt they’re going crazy right now trying to figure out who Holly is and why I didn’t tell them she would be attending the wedding with me.

I'll come up with some story later to explain the abrupt invitation, but right now I have to convince the beautiful baker to help me out. Having to constantly beg Holly for help is not a position I enjoy being in.

I squeeze the back of my neck guiltily. “I know it’s a little out there and it’s definitely last minute, but I need you to go along with this . . . at least for tonight,” I add when she starts to object. “Come on. There’s an open bar and the caterer is phenomenal. I promise you’ll enjoy yourself. Are you a vegetarian? I heard there’s falafel.”

Holly’s face is unreadable, her green eyes utterly unconvinced. “I don’t even know what falafel is,” she mutters.

I blow out a breath, preparing to beg. “Holly, my sister means everything to me. I want this day to be perfect for her in every way and she’s been dying for me to meet some nice girl. Did you see how happy she was when she thought you were my date? Let her think that you and I are a thing for at least the next twenty-four hours.”

Holly’s pink lips press together, the corners of her mouth tugging into a stark frown. “You know this sweet big brother act isn’t going to work all the time, don’t you?” she mutters.

“I'll pay you,” I offer hastily, knowing I have mere minutes before my sister comes snooping after me. “Just name your price and it’s yours. I'll buy you a whole new bakery if I have to. I'm serious about this.”

“What?” she snaps. “Why do you always jump to offering me money when you want something that’s out of the question?”

“Well . . . to be fair, I did eventually get your help making those cupcakes.”

Her slight frown instantly deepens with annoyance at just how right I am. “Money can’t buy you everything, pal. I’m not running an escort service. You can’t just sleep with me then pay me off to be your date.”

“Come on, Holly. There has to be some way I can convince you. I'll do anything. I can’t show up without you to the wedding now, it’ll devastate Clara. Tomorrow is supposed to be her big day, it’s got to be flawless and having you there would make it more special to her.”

“Why?” she asks, hands falling in exasperation to her hips.

“Didn’t I just explain why I need you there? Because of my sister?”

“No, what I mean is why are they so insistent that you need a date? Is something wrong with you? I mean beside this whole holier than thou superiority issue you’ve got going on.”

“No, nothing’s wrong with me—wait, holier than thou? What is that supposed to mean?”

She just smirks, drumming her fingers on her hips. She loves getting under my skin in any way she can.

Damn. If she wasn’t so gorgeous, I don’t think I’d be able to stand her.

When she grins brightly, I forget my irritation all over again. Holly has a way of doing that, of sucking me in even when she’s driving me absolutely up the wall.

“Look,” she says. “I can tell your sister loves you for whatever reason that might be, but I've got a busy day tomorrow and that doesn’t include getting a wedding.”

I give a faint groan, despising her for making me beg. If this wasn’t for Clara, I wouldn’t be seriously considering groveling on my knees right now. “What’ve you got to do tomorrow? More baking? I could help you again. You said I handled myself pretty well this afternoon.”

She studies me, that frown slowly curling upward into a smile. Somehow, her grin is even more terrifying than her glare. “Actually, I suppose that could work . . .” she says, one finger pressing thoughtfully to her chin. “Okay, you’ve got yourself a deal. I’m not staying tonight. I’m not dressed for this,” she says pointing down to her causal outfit. “But if you want me to be your date tomorrow, then I will—”

“That’s amazing, Holly! Thank you. Really.”

“But!” she continues, my heart sinking like a weight into my stomach with just the single word. Is it too late to backpedal? “It’s going to cost you.”

I instantly relax. “Fine. Just tell me how much.”

She shakes her head and smooths her still mussed hair against her scalp, eyes gleaming.

“No, what I really need is a delivery boy, Bash, and I think you’re just the right guy for the job. You’re going to cart me around while I make my morning deliveries tomorrow.”

My molars clench, grinding down to what feels like nubs in the back of my jaw.

A delivery boy, seriously?

As much as I want to argue with her, I know it’s pointless. I've made my bed by asking the headstrong baker to be my date, and now I'm just going to have to deal with it.

“Fine,” I mutter begrudgingly, squeezing my eyes shut, then slowly opening them again to see utter delight on her pretty face.

“Good. I'll see you at my bakery at 5 AM sharp.”

“Seriously?” I call, chasing after her. “You’re going to make me get up at 5 AM? The wedding’s not until evening.”

“You know what,” she retorts with a smirk. “You’re right. Make it 4:30 just to be safe.”

Holly pushes through the door and steps outside, turning to face me as it slowly swings shut. Just before she vanishes behind the tinted glass, she points playful finger guns at me and winks in celebration of her victory.

I've never been more infuriated or turned on in my life.

Chapter 8

Holly

By the time I’m stumbling downstairs from my apartment into the bakery, I’m already regretting my demand for Bash to meet me so early. Normally, I wouldn’t set out until a little past six, but I just couldn’t resist torturing the handsome billionaire by making him get up extra early.

Of course, I forgot I’d be torturing myself, too.

Yawning, I flip on a few lights in the storefront and find the coffee machine. The sudden light makes stars burst in my vision like technicolor fireworks. I've barely taken a few steps into the shop before I hear a light knocking on the front door.

I freeze, suddenly very aware of the fact that I’m still in my kitten pajama pants and threadbare tank top. It wasn’t like I was trying to impress anyone in my big, lonely bed at night. I probably still had a chocolate ice cream stain from when I fell asleep watching Netflix.

Eyes darting for the door, I squint to see if anyone’s out there or if I'm going crazy. When the looming figure outside knocks again, I hesitantly shuffle forward, folding my arms over my chest as I unlock the door and open it.

Bash steps brusquely inside, setting down two hot coffees.

He looks handsome as ever, dressed more casually today than yesterday—though I use the term casually lightly. While yesterday he was dressed in a tailored suit and jacket, today he wore perfectly fitted slacks and a white button up, the sleeves rolled toward his elbows. I could only assume that was the most informal thing he had in his oversized closet.

“What are you doing here?” I ask grouchily. “It’s only 4:00. I still have a half hour before I have to deal with you.”

“Being on time is late, being early is on time,” he quips, thrusting one of the coffees into my hand.

I inhale the bitter roast, grateful and grumpy all at once. At least now I don’t have to brew my own.

Thanking him, I take a long sip and set the paper cup back down, smacking my lips. The coffee’s actually pretty good, not that I would inflate Bash’s ego further by saying that. We can both just barely fit in here right now with how big his head is.

“I have to change still,” I announce sleepily, heading back toward the stairs leading to my apartment.

I hear Bash march after me and whirl around, holding up a single finger to stop him. I press it against his muscled chest, if only to feel it one more time against my fingertip. Yep, still as chiseled as marble. If there’s one regret I have about our little dalliance yesterday, it’s that I hadn’t the time to fully admire his flawless body.

“No way, mister,” I warn. “I told you yesterday was a one-time thing. I'm going upstairs to change and you’re going to start packing the van. The keys are on the hook by the door and the boxes for delivery are stamped and ready in the fridge.”

With an innocent blink of his eyes, Bash lifts a hand in mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.” He smirks, heading to the fridge.

Shaking my head, I trudge back up the stairs. For a moment, at the very top of the staircase, I glance back at the closed door and almost wish Bash would disobey me, following me up. We certainly have time before the deadline for the deliveries rolls about.

Good lord. What am I thinking?

All of a sudden, I have no self-control. It’s all thanks to him and how amazing he made me feel. If he wasn’t such a good kisser this wouldn’t be an issue at all. Groaning, I make my way back into my apartment and throw on a comfortable pair of jeans and a blouse with the Holly Cakes logo on it.

On my way out, I stop by the picture of my mother and wish her a good morning as I always do. “You would not believe the crap I'm putting up with today,” I add with a sigh, reaching over to touch the corner of the golden frame fondly. “I'll fill you in on that later.”

Even three years after her passing, I still found myself talking to her like I would have if she was still here. There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t absently reach for my phone to call her. Wherever she is amongst the stars, I hope she can hear me.

By the time I return downstairs, Bash has finished loading the van and is kicked back at one of my tables. He lounges, sipping at his coffee. For four in the morning, he looks impossibly peppy. It makes him even more irritating.

“You’re a real early bird, aren’t you?” Even I can hear the resentment in my voice, though it seems to brighten his already chipper mood.

“I have to be. I like to be in my office as early as I can to start the day. Also, just so you know, this is ridiculous. Do you always get up this early to make your deliveries? You can’t be both the baker and the delivery guy.”

“I prefer the term delivery woman. And I like my customers to see my face. I like them to know who I am and how much this bakery means to me.”

He frowns, nodding along though it’s still obvious he disagrees. “I could help you form a new business plan, you know. You can’t be a one woman show forever. There are other ways to keep your face present for your customers, even if you don’t want to expand your store or staff.”

“How do you know about that?” I ask suspiciously, taking a long sip of my coffee and glaring at him from over the rim of my cup.

“Bob Hunt, the banker that keeps calling you, is a friend of mine. He was at the rehearsal dinner last night and he mentioned he’s been in contact with you about expanding.”

I roll my eyes. Lord. Was there anyone Bash didn’t know?

“He’s not wrong,” Bash continues. “You’d gain a lot by franchising.”

“Isn’t that information supposed to be private?”

Bash merely shrugs.

Grumbling to myself, I grab my coffee and point to the van, hopefully cutting off conversation about my finances.

“Well, come on, delivery boy,” I call back to him, “no sense in slacking off when we could be getting work done.”

Chapter 9

Sebastian

It’s taken a whole hour of waiting outside the local grocery store to drop off a huge box of cookies for their weekly stock before Holly admits she made me show up at her bakery earlier than was necessary just to annoy me.

I sat back, sipping my now lukewarm coffee trying to hide my amusement. The joke is on her because I’m actually a morning person and it’s quite apparent she is not. My mood is growing more pleasant by the minute, however, Holly is getting more and more agitated.

“Take the next right or you’re going to run into traffic,” she says abruptly, pointing at the upcoming intersection.

“Are you kidding? It’s not even 6:00 on a Saturday morning. There isn’t any traffic. If we take a right, it’s just going to add more time until the next stop. You know how much gas that adds up to if you do that every week?”

She glares at me from the corner of her eye. “Seriously, if you keep going straight, we’re going to be stuck in a standstill for like twenty minutes. I do this every week, Bash. Take my word for it.”

At the last minute, I take a sharp right at the street she was indicating. The tires squeal and she pitches to the side. A few of the boxes in the back lean dangerously but stay upright.

“You’ve got to be careful!” she cries out. “People are waiting for these cakes and cupcakes! If they show up disheveled, it’ll look bad for my business. I have a reputation around here for perfect deliveries and I'm not going to have you messing it up.”

“You’re the one that asked me to be your delivery boy,” I mutter back, though I remind myself to be a more careful driver.

I'd forgotten that I'm not in my Porsche right now, able to drive however I want. It’s not like I want to ruin Holly’s hard work. To be honest, I'm a little worried about what she’d do to me if I did. She might very well push me off the Brooklyn Bridge. If I was to be even more honest . . . there’s something about her ferocity which I find intensely attractive.

Most people fall all over themselves to flatter me once they know how much money and authority I command. But Holly doesn’t seem to care at all about that. She isn’t blinded or star-struck by my fame or reputation. She treats me like any other person on the street, and though we bicker and butt heads, it’s possibly the most real connection I've had with anyone in a long time.

The only ones who actually treat me in a similar manner are my mother and sister, both strong women in their own rights. Holly reminds me of them, fiercely independent but sweet at the center of it all. Even with her gorgeous hair and supple body, her strength and honesty are probably the sexiest things about her.

“See!” she says triumphantly, bad mood vanishing like a rain cloud as she points a victorious finger toward the highway ramp.

I glance over, catching a brief glimpse of cars lined up on the road. It’s just like she said. We would’ve been stuck there for God knows how long if I'd insisted on going straight.

“I suppose even a broken clock is right twice a day,” I say playfully, chuckling when she rolls her eyes but continues to smile.

Fortunately, her bad mood seems to have gone for good.

“What in the world are they doing down there?” I ask, focusing again on the road as I steer further down the highway and check the GPS for our next location.

“It’s a little league tournament. It happens every couple of months around this time.”

When the GPS instructs me to, I pull off the highway and onto a small side road. Though I'd thought we were headed toward another grocery store or boutique like the previous couple of stops, we turn into a tiny parking lot of an equally tiny café.

Holly leaps out before the van has even come to a complete stop. She heads to the back and pulls out a case of cupcakes bigger than she is. She seems to carry it with ease, declining my offer to take it from her.

“You can carry that one,” she says, gesturing to a box barely bigger than a coffee cup.

Shaking my head, I grab the light box and follow after her.

The back door of the café swings open and an elderly woman with silver hair steps outside. “Good morning, Holly!” she calls with a cheery wave, her movement freezing when her eyes land on me. “And just who might this handsome fellow be?”

“This is Sebastian Titus, he’s helping me with my errands this morning. Isn’t he a wonderful delivery boy?”

“Oh, that’s good. You work too hard, sweetie,” the woman murmurs, still visibly appraising me like one would examine beef steaks at the meat counter.

As Holly passes into the café, the woman sticks her hand out toward me. I shake it, grinning at her.

“Mary Perkins,” she beams, “I own Perkins’ Perk Up. Holly brings us some of her treats to sell with our coffee. Can I get you something? We have the best cappuccinos in town. I just fired up the machine a minute ago.”

“We actually just had some coffee,” Holly begins apologetically, finding a spot on the counter to rest the box, but Mary’s already headed to the machine.

The old woman glances back at me eagerly, wiggling her silver eyebrows.

“That sounds lovely, Mrs. Perkins,” I say, sliding into one of the chairs.

Holly pauses, gazing at me with curious eyes, but eventually follows suit. Now that she’s already set down the big box of her confections, she reaches over to take the smaller one that I still carried.

“I made this for you,” Holly says softly as Mary pours our cappuccinos into to-go cups and hands them over. “I don’t know if it was appropriate but—”

“Oh, Holly . . . sweetie . . .” Mary gasps, opening the box and gazing down at a single cupcake. The woman’s hands shake slightly, the edges of the box wavering in the air. Her expression is stunned, her jaw slightly slack.

To me, the dessert inside the box looked rather simple. Chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and a single strawberry on top.

“I'm sorry if I overstepped,” Holly adds hastily. “It just felt odd, not bringing one.”

Mary swallows hard and closes the box, “Thank you, dear. This means a lot. I greatly appreciate your thoughts.” Dabbing at misty eyes, she glances at me with a small smile. “My Hal passed eight months ago,” she explains. “Every year on our anniversary, Holly would bring us a cupcake to share. She’s been making them for us since she was a girl. Her mother was a family friend.”

“Mary was my first customer when I opened Holly Cakes,” Holly says brightly, reaching over to squeeze the woman’s hand.

Mary leans toward Holly, pressing a kiss into her cheek and then shakes her head. Silver strands hang into her teary eyes. “You two better get back on the road! You still have a few more deliveries, don’t you?”

“Just one,” Holly says, pushing the keys over to me and grabbing both of our coffees.

Together we walk toward the door, though I hesitate for just a moment to look back at Mary. She’s lifted the cupcake out of the box now, lovingly running a finger down the side of the strawberry.

I return to Mary’s side, leaning in so only she can hear me. “Happy anniversary, Mrs. Perkins,” I say simply, hoping that the words cause more comfort than pain.

Mary turns glassy eyes to mine, a smile again parting her lips. “Thank you, Sebastian. It is a beautiful day, indeed.” She pauses, looking past me to where Holly waits, then glances back with sage eyes. “You know Hal drove me bonkers when I first met him. I told anyone who would listen just how much a bother he was.” She smiles wistfully. “Even the most beautiful of flowers can appear to be just a weed at first.”

I clear my throat, unsure what knowledge she’s trying to impart, and give a curt bob of my chin.

With her knowing smile following me, I rush back out the door to where Holly waits in the van. She gives me an appraising glance when I climb up into the front seat before gazing out the window. The GPS has already been updated to show our next and final location, a restaurant that I recognize. It’s one that I frequent quite often for work lunches.

“I didn’t realize how many places sell your cupcakes,” I muse offhandedly. “You’re everywhere.”

“I try,” she grins back, eyes still distant.

We’d driven all over town today, spending hours greeting her customers and making sure that their orders were just right. Holly has a way with people that I admire, and a conviction for her job that is equally as commendable. I've never met anyone as clearly devoted to their career as I am. It’s refreshing.

“That Mary is a nice woman. Did you know her husband well?” I ask, unused to Holly being the one to sink into such a heavy silence. It’s usually her who keeps babbling when the quiet runs on too long.

“He taught my mom how to play piano when she was younger even though she didn’t have the money for lessons. He was a very sweet man.”

“And your mother, does she still play?”

Holly goes abruptly still then clears her throat. Her eyes dart toward me then away. “She passed a few years ago, actually. It was unexpected, a car accident. She spun out on some black ice on the highway.” She trails into silence, biting her lip. “We all loved Hal.”

The heavy silence stretches longer and longer, settling like a storm between us. I shift in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable.

“I'm sorry,” I offer, the only words that I can come up with. Though I find they do little to actually comfort anyone when they are used in a situation like this.

“Of all the things you’ve done, that’s the one you apologize for?” she teases, a slight smile shining on her lovely face. “The one thing you have nothing to do with?”

I glance at her as we pull to a stoplight, watching the way the sun makes her freckles shine like golden flecks on her cheeks.

Mary’s words echo in the back of my mind, interrupted by the blaring horn of a car behind me when the light turns green and I don’t notice.

Chapter 10

Holly

“Take a left here,” I cry abruptly, shooting straighter in my seat and pointing down the next corner.

Bash frowns, brow creasing. “Okay, I know you were right before but if we turn left we’re going to be headed in the complete opposite direction of the last delivery. And this time I know what I'm talking about. I go to that restaurant all the time.”

“Must you incessantly doubt me?” I dramatically heave a sigh, which turns into a grin as he takes the turn as I instructed.

There’s a certain amount of obvious delight I take in giving him orders and having him follow them. It feels, I imagine, like successfully mounting a wild stallion. And what I wouldn’t do to mount him again.

Seriously, Holly? I scold myself, shaking my head at my own lustful thoughts.

I focus ahead once more. “Ah, here we are!” I announce, giddily.

“Holly,” the billionaire responds, his tone entirely unimpressed. “This is a McDonald’s.”

“Yep, and I'm starving. Come on, I'll get you a sausage biscuit for helping me out today.”

“Wow. A whole biscuit? You’re too kind,” he says sarcastically.

“Hey, don’t forget I’m in charge of you this morning. Don’t make me change my mind about being your date tonight!”

“Don’t tempt me,” he jokes.

I stick out my tongue.

Bash just rolls his eyes, at least having the sense not to argue with a ravenous woman. He throws the van into park before following me inside the small fast food restaurant. When we step in, we’re immediately deluged by the smell of frying potatoes and sizzling meat. My tummy growls, palm pressing against it as though I was asking it to wait.

We step forward in line, stuck behind a woman and her toddling son. Bash glances at his watch, then me. The time for our delivery is getting closer and closer. If we don’t get served soon, we’ll just have to leave. The little boy whines, tugging at his mom’s shirt as she digs in her purse. The woman casts an apologetic look at us, just noticing our presence. We’re the only ones in the restaurant this early.

“I'm sorry, I can’t find my wallet. Just give me a moment,” she begs, continuing to paw through her bag. Tears are beginning to form in the corners of her eyes and her son starts to wail. “Honey, I think we might have to go home and find my wallet,” she says, grabbing the child’s hand and trying to drag him toward the door.

“But Mommy you promised! We never get to go out for breakfast and you promised we could!” the child cries, voice pitching higher and higher. “I'm hungry!”

Before I can say anything, Bash suddenly takes a single stride forward, sliding a gleaming black credit card over the counter toward the cashier. “I'll pay for it,” he says with a gentle smile at the startled woman. “Holly, what do you want? Add it on, too.”

“Um . . . I'll have a sausage biscuit and an orange juice,” I murmur, shocked by his kind gesture.

“Thank you,” the mother says, grasping at Bash’s arm and then quickly releasing him. “You have no idea how much easier you just made my morning, I'm already late for work and all I wanted was to do something nice for my son. Johnny, what do you say to the nice man who helped us?”

The boy, now suddenly shy, hides behind his mother and casts Bash a timid look. “Thank you . . .” he mumbles, sticking his thumb in his mouth.

With another grateful smile, the woman steps aside as the employee begins to bring out the food.

“That was really nice, Bash,” I say quietly.

He glances at me, eyes narrowed just slightly as though he’s trying to find the veiled jab in my words, but there is none. The man at my side, one who I'd labeled as selfish and condescending, also has an inexplicably kind side.

“It was just to make the kid stop crying.” He shrugs, but I can tell by the tenderness in his eyes that wasn’t the case at all.

It tugs at my heart that he tries to pretend there’s some other reason than kindness for his actions. Just how many times does he act this way, knowing that no one will see through his mask?

But I do. I see him now. There’s more to Bash than the calculating exterior he presents. It’s not just his sister whom he adores. He helped that woman and her son because he wanted to, it was as simple as that.

My heart feels warm in my chest as Bash collects the food and hands my biscuit and OJ to me. He hadn’t gotten anything at all.

“Should we hit the road?” he asks, “We still have that one delivery left. They’re probably waiting for it, aren’t they?”

I can only nod, trailing after him to the van. My head feels hazy, like I'm dreaming and I'll wake up at any second. I'm more confused than I've ever been in my life.

Just who is Bash exactly? And why do I feel like I'm peeling back layers to expose something absolutely beautiful within him?

Chapter 11

Sebastian

“Where’s your date, Bash?” Mom asks curiously, her arms folding over her chest.

I take a sip from the glass of Scotch in my hand, gazing back at her with an equally level stare. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping your daughter get dressed instead of grilling your son?”

Mom laughs. “Your sister is with her bridesmaids right now, so I have a few minutes to spend with my son.”

She reaches over to take a sip from my glass before grimacing and shaking her head. I smirk. My mother is the type of lady who sticks with sweet white wines only.

“I don’t get why you drink that,” she says.

“I like the way it burns.”

“You always did have a flair for drama.” She sighs, glancing around again at the guests beginning to congregate. “Now I'm serious, where is that girl? Did you already manage to scare her off? She’s the one who made the cupcakes, right? They were absolutely marvelous. I had three, but don’t tell your sister. She wanted to take some home but there weren’t any left.”

“Holly will be here,” I promise, though the assurance is mainly for myself. Holly was supposed to have been here thirty minutes ago. “She owns a bakery on Fifth Ave. Rosa highly recommended her.”

I finish my drink, waving over a waiter and getting a fresh one a moment later. A single ice cube clinked against the glass.

Mom smiles. “That Rosa, she could talk for an hour about paint drying. She’s here somewhere. I think I saw her talking to your uncle . . ..” Abruptly, my mother stops talking, her eyes going round as saucers.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, glancing around in stark confusion. “Did they run out of your favorite wine or something?”

She grabs hold of my arm, whirling me around to face the doorway of the reception hall.

“Oh,” I say simply, my jaw joining my mother’s on the floor.

Silhouetted by fading, golden light, Holly has just stepped through the open doors. Her crimson hair is piled atop her head, a knee length lavender dress wrapped perfectly around her body. Cut modestly in the chest but low down her spine, it exposed just enough of the woman’s pale skin to make my whole body feel suddenly hot.

My veins throb inside my body, heart jolting against my chest. Fire and lightning bolts, that’s what looking at her feels like. Just when I thought she couldn’t get any more gorgeous . . . she goes and shows up in something like that. It amazes me how great she looks in everything from jean shorts to kitten pajamas to a stunning evening dress.

Holly nervously glances around before her eyes lock on mine across the room. A slow smile blooms on her lips, the kind that makes everyone else in the room disappear. Everything melts away—the people, the scent of flowers, the music . . . all that exists is her.

The brush of my mother’s hand on my elbow suddenly drags me gasping back to reality as Holly approaches. “Holly, this is my mother, Renee. Mom, this is Holly.”

“It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Titus,” Holly says brightly, her pink lip gloss shimmering as she smiles. I find myself licking my lips, eager to have a taste. “I'm thrilled to be able to spend the day with you and your family.”

“Call me Renee, please. I have to say we’re all so excited to get to know you, Holly. Our Bash doesn’t bring girls around very often.”

“Well, I know firsthand just how much you and Clara mean to him. I’m sure he’s just careful about who he deems worth meeting you.”

Mom blinks, taking in the beautiful woman and then looking suspiciously toward me. “Where’d you find this one?” she asks accusingly. “She’s far too sweet for you.”

When Holly laughs, shooting a wily grin at me, Mom leans closer to her. “Be patient with him. Bash drives us crazy, but he’s worth it.”

“Mom!” I mutter.

Mom winks, murmuring that she’s going to help Clara get dressed, which really means they’re going to be gossiping about Holly and me. She waves goodbye and before leaving, gives Holly a swift hug.

“Can I get you something to drink?” I ask Holly, trying to remind myself not to stare at her, though that’s proving to be nearly impossible with how beautiful she looks tonight.

“Oh, it looks like you already have!” Holly teases, taking the Scotch from my hand and throwing back her head to finish it.

When she’s done she smacks her lips, smiling like she’d just taken a big gulp of refreshing water.

A woman who likes Scotch? Damn that’s sexy.

Holly gazes around the room. “I've never been here as a guest before. It’s a little odd to be on this end of things.”

Soft music begins to play and the ushers direct us out the doors and onto the veranda to take our seats for the ceremony. Holly and I walk together, side-by-side. Something about having her beside me feels oddly right, like I'd been missing a leg my entire life and hadn’t noticed I was limping until she came along. The way she and my mother had that instant connection, how she seems perfectly keen to go with the flow and soak up everything here at the wedding, it amazes me.

I've been dreading another evening making idle chatter with people who I couldn’t care less about, but with Holly it all seems so much more enjoyable. What was it about her that made my heart feel so heavy in the best way possible—like it was suddenly full for the very first time?

“And just who do we have here?” asks a sudden, booming voice, as a curious man approaches. “Hey, Bash. Nice to see you and this is . . . ?”

I tense when I recognize the womanizing lawyer from my firm. “Rex, this is Holly. Holly, this is Rex. Holly’s my date tonight.”

“Well you’re a lucky, lucky man,” Rex purrs, inching closer to Holly as we continue to our seats.

Jealousy prickles along the back of my neck, rising along with the hairs. A primal instinct to keep Holly shielded from my sleazy friend’s lingering gaze wells in my core. I don’t even have a reason to be jealous, do I? It’s not like this date means anything. She’s only here because I begged her.

Holly smiles at Rex, wrapping one arm around my own. I hold my breath, fireworks dancing along my skin at her touch. “Bash is certainly lucky to have me here and he knows it,” she laughs, sneaking me a knowing wink.

Rex pouts, sensing Holly’s disinterest. He shrugs, easing his hands into his pockets as he turns his attention back to me. “Can you believe it? Little Clara getting married. I swear she just graduated from high school.”

“I know,” I murmur, glancing toward the closed doors of the bridal suite.

Any minute she’ll come strolling out those doors to Graham, who is standing at the end of the aisle while the rest of us settle into white chairs.

Graham shifts nervously from foot-to-foot, his eyes scanning the crowd. His gaze is vacant, searching out only one face amongst the sea of people here to celebrate his love. He’s waiting for Clara.

Have I ever once looked at someone the way he’s about to look at my sister? Have I ever felt even a sliver of what he must be feeling in his heart right now?

“Bash,” Holly whispers in my ear, her voice gentle, “look.”

Unbeknownst to me, the bridal march has started. Played by a string quartet nearby, the music drifts over the breeze and plucks at my ears. Every note touches my heart in a way that it certainly wouldn’t had it not been for Holly beside me.

The doors swing open, my mother and Clara’s bridesmaids stepping out first. One-by-one they pass. Each person makes my heart thud harder and harder against my ribs. My baby sister, all grown up and so in love . . .

When Clara finally appears, she looks like an angel. My chest is bursting with pride and joy for her. I watch her for a moment before my eyes turn back up the aisle. Graham stares at her, jaw hanging open, eyes round and teary. On both of their expressions, pure love shines like beacons through a still night.

Holly abruptly steps closer to me, her small body pressed to my side. One of her hands lifts, pressing to her heart. She tips her head up, gaze meeting mine as she swallows hard.

The apples of her cheeks glow pink in the fading light. Soon, stars will twinkle overhead, reflecting in her eyes. “It’s lovely,” she whispers throatily. “So lovely.”

You’re lovely, I almost utter back. So lovely.

Chapter 12

Holly

“I am definitely not a dancer!” I say with an embarrassed laugh, apologizing for what feels like the tenth time of stepping on Bash’s toes. “Can you even still feel your poor feet?”

“They’re hanging in there,” the billionaire teases, his warm palms sliding down my back.

His fingertips brush along the plunging back of the dress, making my skin prickle. Was I ever going to get used to him touching me like this?

It lit a fire in my core, reminding me what it felt like to be wrapped up in his arms and pinned against a wall while his mouth explored my body. This is going to be a very, very long night. By the end of it, I just might burst into a bonfire of desire.

It didn’t help that Bash had been unusually subdued throughout our evening together. We weren’t bickering like normal, his tone more gentle and warm. I had a bet with myself about how long we’d be able to stand one another as dates for the evening, but so far it was a completely pleasant experience. His family and friends were interesting and generally welcoming and the food and music were amazing.

After the gorgeous ceremony, we sat at our table for a few minutes, each nursing a drink, when Bash’s mother floated by and asked why we weren’t dancing. Knowing it would attract even more attention to be sitting on the sidelines, we both slowly headed for the dance floor. Clara and Graham were still taking pictures outside, having been whisked away immediately following their vows.

After the ceremony, Bash and I had remained sitting while everyone else slowly rose and headed to the reception area. I can’t imagine how it must feel to watch your younger sibling get married, especially with so much love between the siblings. Bash must be so proud, but the smile that graced his face was almost bittersweet.

“You’re doing fine, Holly,” he adds, watching as I stare intently down at our feet, struggling to avoid stepping on him again.

It seems like the harder I try, the more of a magnetic pull my feet have for his. To his credit, he’s being very kind about it.

The song changes, melting from an upbeat tempo into a slow, lovesick ballad.

I look up at him hesitantly, still keeping a certain amount of distance as the rest of the couples sink into one another, their arms looping around each other, their bodies swaying together.

Does he want to slow dance or is that crossing some unspoken line in our fake wedding date contract?

The plans for tonight felt so simple until we spent all morning making those deliveries together. Seeing how generous Bash can be, what kind of heart he’s hiding under his guarded exterior, it’s left me feeling confused about him now. Not that it matters. It’s not like Bash is interested in me. We had our our one-time tryst. I’m sure he’s ready to move on.

But what about me . . . am I ready to move on?

It’s odd, but even though we’ve only known each other for two days, I'm already having trouble imagining tomorrow when I will wake up with no reason to speak to him again.

Gently, he pulls me closer to him, a faint smile on his face. “A slow dance will be easier,” he whispers under the tone of the music so no one else can hear. “We can just sway together and you don’t have to move your feet as much.”

There it is again, that thoughtfulness. If only he stayed impossibly arrogant and pompous, this would be so much easier. Then I’d only be thinking about how sexy he is, not what kind of soul is concealed beneath his Armani suit.

Our chests press together, my arms sliding slowly around his strong neck. There’s a rapid beating reverberating against my ribs and I honestly can’t tell whether it’s his heart or my own.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” he murmurs, voice deep and husky.

His fingers trace up my spine, counting the vertebrae. I have to bite back a moan.

“I'm actually having a lot of fun. I wasn’t sure I would. Some weddings are pretty lame, ya know?” I'm rambling now, trying to keep my thoughts anywhere but him and his touch. But the damn music is so slow and our bodies are so close and I can still remember the sweetness of his tongue against mine.

He gazes at me with unblinking eyes, hands stroking my back. His eyes seem to glow; silver molten lava licks his dilated pupils. He feels it too, I realize . . . this heat. The air seems to crackle, charged with mutual longing. He pulls me closer, closer, my eyelids drifting shut as my face tilts up toward his. I feel his warm breath fan my cheeks.

“There you are!” cries a voice as arms fling around Bash’s neck.

We stumble apart as though the skin where we touched has suddenly burned.

My chest heaves as I struggle to calm myself, knowing my cheeks must be bright red.

Clara squeezes Bash tight, her groom standing awkwardly behind her. “Hi, Holly,” he says kindly. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you yet. I wanted to introduce myself. I'm Graham, Clara’s husband. Thank you so much for those cupcakes, they were amazing. I'm so glad you came today.”

“Oh, y-you’re welcome—” I stutter.

“I am still so shocked that Bash brought you here!” Clara adds, excitedly. “My brother never introduces us to the women he dates. How long have you two been seeing one another? Is it getting serious? I'm going to toss the bouquet any minute . . . Want me to aim it at you? Maybe it’ll be you who’s next to the altar!” Clara claps her hands together. “You and Bash would have such adorable kids—”

“Okay, Clara, calm down,” Bash mutters, nudging her lightly with his elbow.

The girl, sweet and bubbly as she is, is also overwhelming. The walls of the room seem to be closing in with each word she says, threatening to crush me whole. I have a feeling if we were talking about anything but the future that Bash and I absolutely won’t have, Clara and I might’ve been friends. But right now, while I'm feeling this confused, I just can’t handle this conversation.

“I'm just making conversation!” Clara pouts, looking to her new husband for backup.

“I'm sorry!” I interrupt, retreating from both Bash and his sister. “I just need some air. I'll be back in a second.”

I evacuate further from the swaying bodies, desperate for a moment of fresh air and distance from the suffocating conversation. The last thing I see before turning and darting through the doors is Bash’s bewildered, steely eyes—eyes that I can still feel piercing my heart.

Chapter 13

Sebastian

Clara frowns as Holly disappears into the crowd. “Are you going to go after her?” she asks, glancing up at me with worried eyes. “She looks like maybe she’s not feeling well.”

“No, she said she needs space. She might’ve just had a little too much to drink,” I offer limply, despite knowing that she’d barely had anything past finishing my Scotch hours ago.

There’d been something written in her eyes as she rushed away, something I feel like a fool for not being able to translate. Half of me did want to chase her, to pull her back into my arms and ask her what was wrong, but the other half was resolute in staying behind and allowing her to leave, even though each step she took away from me was nearly painful.

“I came on too strong, didn’t I?” Clara continues helplessly. “I was just so excited for you to be here with a girl like that. She seems so put together and nice.”

Graham clears his throat, shifting on his feet again. “Um, maybe Holly is just having lady problems?” he suggests artlessly.

Clara winces, patting her husband’s arm. “Graham, sweetheart, love of my life,” Clara sighs, brow deeply furrowed, “please don’t ever say that again, and could you go get me a drink?”

“Sure!” Graham says, all too thrilled to be excused.

Before escaping in a similar fashion as Holly, he gave me a terrified nod. Graham had always been afraid of me, probably because I threatened him before his first date with Clara. I told him if he ever broke her heart I would hunt him down myself and make sure he never hurt another girl again.

Clara gazes after her new husband with tender eyes then looks back at me. “Isn’t he the best?” she says softly, one hand resting on her heart, her wedding band glistening in the chandelier light.

I shrug. “Sure.”

She grabs my arm, pulling me further onto the dance floor. She wraps her arms around my neck, staring intently up into my face as we began to dance together. When she was little, she used to stand on my feet while we would dance around the living room. Now I can’t help but wonder if this is perhaps the last time we’ll ever dance together. It makes my throat tight with emotion.

Even though there’s only six years between us, it feels like so much more than that. I’ve had to be more than a brother to her. I was her best friend, her protector, her father figure. It’s strange how all of that is changing now.

Clara blinks up at me. “Bash, you need to tell me what’s going on with Holly. There’s something you’re not saying and I want you to tell me. I get not telling Mom, she’s so nosy, but me? We tell each other everything. Don’t think that’s going to change just because I got married.”

I smile and hug Clara tight. She’s said just what I needed to hear without knowing it.

Clara smiles back at me, though I can tell she’s still waiting for an answer. She can see right through me, she always has.

“Out with it,” she whispers firmly.

I heave a sigh, chin dropping toward my chest. No point in hiding it now. “Holly and I aren’t dating. I met her yesterday at her bakery when I went to pick up your cupcakes. I forgot to order those, by the way, and Holly made me help her bake them.”

Clara smirks. “You baked? Now I know you’re lying.”

“I’m not! I swear.”

She frowns pensively, processing my statement. “I knew you forgot . . .” she mutters before shaking her head, “but that doesn’t explain why she’s here. You invited a random girl you don’t even know to be your guest to my wedding? That’s a little weird. I mean, she’s a great baker but . . .”

“I know it sounds weird but at the time it felt like the right decision. You seemed so happy when she came to drop off some cupcakes I left behind.”

“Okay, ignoring the fact that you forgot my cupcakes twice, I was happy, Bash. I want you to find someone. It worries me that you’re always alone. You need someone in your life. Something besides your work.”

“Clara . . .”

She puts her hands on her slender hips. “Don’t argue with me on my wedding day. Just listen.”

“Fine.”

“I'm going to ask you a very simple question, big brother. Do you like this Holly girl?” Clara asks quietly, the question almost hidden by the trill of the music. “Not as a baker, but as a woman.”

As the music loudens again, I consider ignoring my sister’s words, but when I try Clara gives me a little squeeze. “You’ve never been good with love, have you, Bash?”

“What?” I quip back, almost pulling free of her arms in shock. “I go on dates all the time. I can have practically any woman I want.”

This time it’s her turn for a sad smile. I feel so guilty for causing even the remotest hint of sadness on her face that I start apologizing but Clara cuts me off.

“Bash, that’s not at all what I meant and you know it. What is it that’s holding you back? Are you afraid of a relationship turning into the one Mom and Dad had? Or of someone leaving you like Dad left us?”

I swallow hard.

“You know you’re nothing like either of our parents. You’re just . . . Bash. Protective and gentle and kind. And I can tell by the way Holly looks at you that she sees that.”

I nod, looking away. We rock to the music, Clara’s gaze never shifting from me.

“Mom and Dad’s relationship . . . it’s not what I’m afraid of,” I finally say. “Not entirely, anyway.”

“Then what? What makes a relationship so scary to you? Is it Holly, are you just not interested in her?”

“No!” I say hastily before I can stop myself.

Clara’s eyebrows raise, a knowing smile on her face.

“No, it’s not that,” I mutter.

“So, you are interested in her then?” Clara presses, determined to hear the words.

My neck feels hot, palms clammy, heart pounding. Never once has a woman’s name or image in my mind brought on such a reaction. With Holly, it’s like everything is fresh, everything is vibrant, everything is just better. “I am interested in her. Holly is kind, fearless, sweet. She challenges me, but strangely I think I like it.”

Clara grins. “She sounds perfect.”

“She’s not,” I laugh, shaking my head. “Good God, she’s not even close. She’s impatient, sarcastic, bossy, and maybe even too smart for her own good.”

“Bash . . .” Clara sighs, shaking her head as she gives a pitying click of her tongue. “I didn’t mean she was perfect as in the woman is flawless. I meant that she sounds perfect for you.”

Clara’s words are a bucket of cold water tossed over my head, drenching me through.

“What do you mean?” I ask quietly, the words more of a grunt than a sentence.

“You need someone like that to balance you, to call you out, to stand at your side. You need an independent, smart little firecracker. That’s her, don’t you think?”

I don’t answer, looking away again.

“You don’t have to be worried about Mom and me. We don’t need you to replace Dad anymore. Stop ignoring your own needs for us. We can take care of ourselves. If Holly is the right woman, then you don’t need to worry about your business or your money either. All you need to worry about is if you’re okay with waking up tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, without her in your life. If you don’t chase her now, you may lose her forever.”

Even though the music continues, my body halts its movement, the song muting in my mind.

“Are you okay with that?” Clara asks firmly, gazing at me as I step back from her, arms falling limp at my side.

My eyes travel the room, passing over every single person inside on a hunt for the one person who matters.

I know what I have to do.

Chapter 14

Holly

“Why can’t you be here, Mom?” I whisper to myself, chin tilting up toward the sky.

Overhead, gray clouds slowly creep across the sky. They swirl, blocking out the twinkling stars one-by-one. The weatherman promised a completely clear night. Obviously he was wrong. It’s not like I could blame him, it’s so easy to be wrong.

If I could have just one more conversation with my mother, maybe I could make some sense out of all of this. My emotions are more tumultuous than the brewing storm, whirling around like a hurricane in my core.

When I close my eyes, all I see is Bash’s face. I see his warm eyes, that faint smile, I feel his hands curling around my hips to pull me against him. I see his gentleness with that stressed mother this morning. I see his reassurance to Mary. I see him focused intently on the cupcakes for his sister.

A hot breeze blows through the veranda, floral scents prickling my nose. Lavender suddenly wafts through the air, my eyes springing open. Bash stands before me, several long sprouts of the purple tipped herb trapped carefully in his large hand.

“I saw them on my way over here. They made me think of you.” When he speaks, the sound is quiet, gruff . . . uncertain.

He thrusts the flowers toward me. I take them, inhaling the comforting scent that reminds me of my bakery and my mother.

“Are you all right?” he asks, edging closer. “You ran off so quickly . . .”

I nod, scooting over on the bench so that he can join me. Together, we gaze back at the reception as music drifts through the breeze. The people inside are all having a great time and here Bash and I sit in tense, awkward silence.

I open my mouth, struggling to put words to my thoughts, but I can’t seem to manage any.

“Will you dance with me?” he asks abruptly, cocking his head just slightly so he can gaze at me from the corner of his eye.

His question is so unexpected that I can’t help but laugh in surprise. The action eases my troubled heart. Or, perhaps, it’s just being with Bash again that makes me feel calmer. When I’m around him I feel truly content.

Well, when I'm not imagining him ripping off my clothing, that is.

“You want to dance?” I ask.

He nods.

“Why?”

“We didn’t finish our song,” he explains simply, as though that made all the sense in the world.

Strangely, it did.

When he stands, holding out a hand toward me, I can’t imagine saying no. Silently, I take his hand in mine, shivering at the brush of our palms as I settle in his embrace.

We rock together, moving slowly despite the quick tempo of the song. Soon the music seems to fade away all together. All that remains is the rushing of wind through the trees, the buzz of fireflies in the air, and the scent of lavender from the flowers in my hand.

Bash takes a sudden breath, his grasp tightening on my hips as he pulls me closer to his chest. Arms snaking around me, his fingertips press into my bare back as he holds me tight. Our movement stops, my breath freezing in my lungs. I can’t help but melt against him, relishing in the feeling of his body pressed to my own. I feel the same thundering against my ribs and realize with a start that it’s both of our hearts beating rapidly in time.

“Holly,” he murmurs huskily, “I don’t want tonight to be the last time I see you.”

I pull slightly back from him, gently pressing my palms to his chest. He tries to hug me back against him and I can see now that he’s trying to hide his expression. Those eyes, usually so cool and guarded, are more open and vulnerable than I’ve ever seen them.

“What are you saying?” I ask gently, refusing to allow him to tug me back into his arms even though it takes all of my might.

I can see the weight of what he’s trying to say on his shoulders and I want to gaze into his eyes for every second of it.

He swallows, chin lifting as though he was inhaling courage. “You terrify me, Holly. The things you stir up inside of me are things that I've never felt with anyone else. I've never been the type of man to want a connection deeper than anything physical, but with you . . . with you, I just want to know everything there is about you. I want to listen to you talk about your mother. I want to watch you chat with customers who adore you. I want to watch you bake and create something delicious and beautiful with your own two hands. I want to annoy the hell out of you and kiss you while I'm doing it.”

“Bash . . .”

“You’re amazing, inside and out. You make me feel amazing. I know I’m probably not saying this right. I'm not used to feeling like this. I'm used to business negotiations and dealing with cutthroat competitors, so I don’t know how to tell you just how I feel, but I'm doing my damn best here, Holly.”

My heart throbs in my chest like it’s trying to leap up out of my throat. I try to speak but I can’t yet summon the words.

Bash continues speaking, filling the void. “The reason I'm saying all this now is because you told me once that a gift doesn’t have to be something physical that you can hold in your hand, that something immaterial can be just as precious and memorable. I'm hoping these words will be just that. I am falling for you, Holly. Falling so hard that I'm spinning head over heels and I don’t think it’s ever going to stop. I don’t want it to stop.”

He pauses, sucking in a breath through his flaring nostrils and then gives a decisive nod. He’s finished speaking, his patient eyes narrowing squarely on me.

My mind races, thoughts spiraling out of control. For the first time in my life, I think I'm at a loss for words. So I don’t talk. I leap. I jump into Bash’s arms, abandoning the hunt for the right words to say. I throw my arms around his neck, kissing him with all the passion I can’t put into words. He holds me tight. So tight that I can’t breathe, although I've never felt more free and happy in all my life.

“Me too, Bash,” I finally manage to say, pressing my forehead to his and gazing into his eyes. “When I first met you, I thought you were just some shrewd businessman but now I see who you really are. The way your sister looks at you, the way that woman you helped did too . . . you’re a wonderful person. With you, I feel like I can just be myself. I don’t have to pretend to be happy, I don’t have to fake a smile . . . it just happens. I feel as light as a soufflé when I'm next to you.”

Bash is grinning so brightly he steals my breath.

“I want to see where this goes, Holly. I think it might be somewhere incredible,” he says softly, as our bodies begin to sway to the music again.

“As long as you’re with me, I know for a fact that it’ll be somewhere incredible,” I whisper back, capturing his lips one more time.

The moon shines, peering out as the clouds slowly part and begin to drift away, the storm having changed its mind. The stars glimmer again overhead, casting a warm glow over both our swaying figures.

Neither of us notice the breeze or the silver moonlight. All that we see, feel, and savor is each other, and the hope of what the future might bring in each other’s arms.

Epilogue

Holly

“You’re getting so good at baking, Bash . . .” I tease, playfully spraying whipped cream on his bare chest and leaning over to lick it off.

I glance up at him through my eyelashes, watching him bite his lip. He laughs, grabbing me and easily lifting me onto the countertop beside our freshly baked pumpkin pie.

Ever since Clara and Graham’s wedding almost a year ago, we make an effort to have a weekly baking date night in Bash’s penthouse, where I help him learn a new recipe and he teaches me to dance while our creations are in the oven.

We made plenty of time for one another despite how busy we both are with work—Bash’s office still booming and my bakery still bustling despite the fact that I still haven’t franchised. I did finally relent and hire more staff, including a delivery man, but I still made time to visit each of my clients on a regular basis.

“Has it really been almost a year?” Bash murmurs as if reading my mind, leaning in for a tender kiss.

I savor the sweetness of his lips for a long moment, my fingers trailing up his strong jaw. His hands run down my back, scooting me closer to the edge of the counter. Our clothes have slowly been stripped as we baked and danced, and now I’m left in little more than my matching pink bra and panty set and he in his navy-blue boxers.

“It still feels like days, doesn’t it?” I laugh, lifting the whipped cream can up over my lips to devour a mouthful. “Sometimes I expect to wake up and find this whole thing has been a wonderful dream.”

“It does feel like that sometimes, doesn’t it? But I know it’s not a dream. It’s all too good, all too real . . .” He trails off, kissing a smear of whipped cream from my lower lip.

His fingers brush up into my hair where they knot at the base of my skull. I shiver, abandoning the whipped cream to slide my arms around his neck.

“I love you,” I whisper, the words thick with meaning.

I never get tired of saying it, just like I never got tired of hearing it.

“Holly, you’re the woman of my dreams, I love you more than anything.”

My sweet and stoic billionaire has certainly come a long way when it comes to expressing himself. He makes me feel more special than I've ever felt in my life. When he looks at me, it’s as if I'm standing under the most warm and welcoming spotlight in the world.

It’s still hard to believe that Bash is all mine.

His warm lips brush my cheek, searching for another kiss which I am all too willing to give. He leans into me. “I still can’t get enough of you,” he breathes into my ear.

My chin tilts back, gulping down air. My head spins, dizzy with desire for him. There’s a sense of utter wholeness and joyful completion that comes when he and I are wrapped in each other, with nothing between us.

Forgetting our baking, desire takes over. I catch sight of us, twined in a passionate embrace on the reflective metal of his fridge. I cling to him like one clings to a life raft in the open sea, the only thing keeping me grounded. I hope our life is always like this—so full of unyielding craving for each other.

Bash holds me against him, love and honesty pouring from his steel gray eyes. “I love you, Holly,” he whispers one more time, savoring my name on his tongue.

“Another perfect date night . . .” I tease, hazily remembering our abandoned pie.

His fingers weave through my hair, my name a pleasant sigh on his lips.

Fortunately for us, the pie can wait. We’ll have an eternity together to get around to it, reminding me that the sweetest things in life are always worth waiting for.

— E — N — D —

Do you want to know what happens between Holly and Bash behind closed doors?

Download The Exclusive Content Here

Also by Christina Benjamin

THE BILLIONAIRE BOYFRIEND SERIES

Sebastian: A Clean Billionaire Romance (Book 1)

Cooper: A Clean Billionaire Romance (Book 2)

Donovan: A Clean Billionaire Romance (Book 3)

Eric: A Clean Billionaire Romance (Book 4)

Jacob: A Clean Billionaire Romance (Book 5)

YOUNG ADULT CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE

(All Boyfriend Books are Stand-Alone Novels and can be read in Any Order)

The Practice Boyfriend (Book 1)

The Almost Boyfriend (Book 2)

The Goodbye Boyfriend (Book 3)

The Holiday Boyfriend (Book 4)

The Stand-In Boyfriend (Book 5)

The Maybe Boyfriend (Book 6)

The Accidental Boyfriend (Book 7)

The Summer Boyfriend (Book 8)

The Wedding Boyfriend (Book 9)

The Winter Boyfriend (Book 10)

Coming Soon: The Lost Boyfriend (Book 11)

About the Author

Author, Christina Benjamin, lives in Florida with her husband, and character inspiring pets, where she spends her free time working on her books, eating chocolate and drinking wine.

Christina is best known for her bestselling Young Adult romance novels, The Boyfriend Series, which proves that book boyfriends are like chocolate... you can never have enough. Check out the Boyfriend Series for fast, fun, YA romance reads. These destination novels let you fall in love in a new city with new characters, every time. 

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Cooper: A Clean Billionaire Romance

Chapter 1

Cooper

“How about here, sir?” Suzette holds the frame against the white painted wall in a spot where the fading summer sun shines in through the open window behind my desk. “Look at how handsome you are in this magazine cover. I can’t get over it!”

The thirty-year-old mother of two giggles and winks at me when I roll my eyes. She’s talking to me like she would one of her little boys, despite the fact that I’m only younger than her by two years.

I dismiss her enthusiasm with a wave of the hand. “You know how much they touch those things up. The picture barely looks like me. My tie wasn’t even red when I did that photoshoot, it was black.”

Suzette just shakes her head, ignoring me as she inches the frame a little to the right. “Maybe here would be better? In the evening light like this, you look quite scholarly. Like a professor or something.”

“I’m not a professor, Suzette, I’m a CEO,” I grumble. “Leave it there and I’ll hang it later.” I wave my hand, dismissing her constant fussing.

She’s been trying to find the perfect spot for the frame for a good forty-five minutes. There’s no need to spend so much time on office décor, despite the fact that it’s office décor with my face on it. We had more important matters to focus our energy on.

Suzette nods, hiding a smirk. With a pencil, my assistant lightly marks the wall where the corners of the heavy wooden frame should be placed then sets it down on the floor with a quiet thud. Stepping back, her eyes trail over the walls of my office, perched high up on the thirtieth floor of my very own skyscraper. An abundance of certificates, magazine covers and awards are already hung proudly, as well as quite a few framed photos of Rosco, my silver-furred Husky.

Suzette smiles when she focuses on a photo of him, tongue lolling from the corner of his mouth and large snout tilted happily toward the sky. “Your dog is so cute. My boys have been begging for one but we just don’t have the time. I think I would go insane if I had to walk a dog and keep the kids alive. Parenting is hard enough.” She turns toward me, grinning in a tired but gratified way. “I just keep telling myself if I work hard enough, they’ll end up like you, successful and smart.”

“That’s nice of you to say,” I offer uncomfortably, unsure how to react to being a role model to children I’ve never met. Especially when I didn’t have very good role models myself as a child.

Unfortunately, my parents aren’t where I got my famous drive and ambition. If anything, the only thing I inherited from them was a fear of commitment. Their toxic marriage ended in divorce when I was sixteen, but it seems I still haven’t healed from being used as a bargaining tool to inflict pain against each other. It led to my early emancipation and continued aversion to personal relationships—something Suzette endlessly tries to remedy by setting me up with hordes of her just-so-happens-to-be-single friends.

The woman can’t take a hint. If she wasn’t the best damn assistant I’d ever had I wouldn’t put up with her pushy personality. Currently, she’s laughing at my expense, taking in my stiffness with delight, before gesturing back to the framed magazine cover.

“It really is a remarkable photo,” Suzette purrs. “You should let me show it to some of my girlfriends.”

I roll my eyes and stare at the massive frame now leaning against my wall.

‘30 Billionaires Under 30!’ the headline reads, my face proudly smirking out from the glossy cover. I inspect my photographed tie, trying to pick out any fine black stitches that might’ve been missed in photo-shopping it red, but it’s flawlessly edited. It’s perfect enough to make me almost doubt that I’d been wearing a black one tie, despite the fact that I’d never owned a red tie in my life.

“I read your interview yesterday, Cooper. I can’t believe I’ve been working here for two years and I never knew the whole story. I knew you built Townsend Tech from the ground up but I didn’t know your family had nothing to do with it. I always assumed . . .” She trails off abruptly, clearing her throat. “Well, you know,” she settles on saying uncertainly.

I appraise her, noting the anxious twitch of her lips. “That I had a trust fund to fall back on if I failed?” I reply, suppressing a smile of my own as I complete her thought.

She sheepishly nods and offers an apologetic shrug. “I had no idea that you started this tech firm with nothing more than your own grit and determination. It’s so impressive, especially with how young you are.”

“Thanks,” I offer with a smile.

She sidles toward the door, her face clouding. I can tell when she has something to say—something I’m probably not going to like. She clears her throat, hands finding her hips before she slowly winds her way back toward me.

“Yes, Suzette?”

“It’s just, well I had lunch with an old college girlfriend last week. She’s sweet as can be. Went to Yale to get her master’s. She’s a lawyer and super successful. She’s sought after by every divorcee looking to stick it to their cheating husbands.”

“And why does this concern me?” I ask without emotion, trying not to let it strike a nerve.

Suzette may have read the article, but she doesn’t know how nasty my parents’ divorce was and that dating a divorce lawyer is the absolute last thing I’d ever want. So I do what I always do—pretend not to know where my personal assistant is headed with her calculated banter. It’s the same tedious direction every non-business conversation goes—my personal life.

Or lack there of . . .

Suzette clears her throat. “Well, I was just thinking . . . it confuses the heck out of me that she’s single—a clever, ambitious lady like her. And as she was telling me that she just hasn’t been able to find the right guy, you popped up in the back of my head. Like fate. Like it was meant to be—”

“I’m sorry, Suzette, but you know I’m not dating right now. I have too much on my plate. I haven’t had a weekend off in . . . I don’t even know how long. I haven’t celebrated my birthday or even Christmas in just as long. This company needs my constant attention, and the little bits of leftover time that I have go straight to Rosco.”

“Yes, but you’ve been saying that for the past two years. You don’t have to work so hard, Cooper. Not anymore. Don’t you see that? You’ve made a hugely successful tech firm that doesn’t need your constant supervision. You have the best managers and accountants and personal assistant,” she pauses to wink and point a thumb at herself before continuing, “that money can buy to help you carry the load now. You need to take some time for yourself.”

Again I shake my head, folding my hands firmly on the desk in front of me. When my mouth forms a hard line, she holds up her palms in surrender.

“I know, I know! Mind my own business. But I had to try,” she mutters quietly. “I don’t want you to end up alone. My husband and kids, I don’t know what I’d do without them. They’re my whole world and my reason for living. I love working here with you but the second I get home, I know that’s where I’m meant to be.”

“You and I are different people, Suzette. You enjoy your family life and I enjoy my business one. Thank you for your concern, but I’m perfectly content.”

I don’t mean to speak with a clipped tone, but I can tell I am by the way her hopeful smile purses into a taut frown.

Still, I’m only speaking the truth.

Between my dog, my colleagues, and my business, I don’t need anyone else. That’s how I’ve always lived and that’s how I plan to continue. I see no reason to change. Not when anyone I date would most likely only be interested in me for my money. And God knows that would end terribly. I’d be right back where I came from, stuck in a loveless marriage, probably with kids who suffered for it.

No, being single is best for me.

Now if only I could get everyone to understand that.

Suzette heaves a sigh that seems to come all the way from the tips of her toes. “Whatever you say.”

“Now,” I begin, glancing down at my watch and then climbing to my feet. I smooth my hands over my suit, making sure the expensive fabric has not a single crease, “I’ve got just enough time to go home and visit Rosco before I return to start the weekend research. You can go on home, Suzette. Enjoy your family.”

“Yes, sir,” she says, watching me with sympathetic eyes as I grab my things and head from the office.

Though I know the staff loves their time off, I’d always appreciated my weekend shifts here in the office. From Monday to Friday the skyscraper is bustling with activity, but on the weekends it becomes much more quiet and peaceful. Sometimes I think I get my best work done on the endless Saturday and Sunday shifts I spend here. The only thing that I truly dislike about being here so often is that my boy Rosco can’t come with me. I’d brought him in once only to have the spunky gray beast chew up one of the business reports I’d spent at least twelve hours working on. I didn’t blame him, Rosco was only bored and acting out at the time, but it did make me realize that he just wasn’t a cubicle puppy.

It’s been almost five years now since I rescued him and he still has so much energy that it feels wrong keeping him cooped up in the office with me when he could be romping around my neighbor’s apartment and being taken for countless walks. I’m lucky to have that sweet old woman just a few stories down from me in my building who happily watches Rosco daily. I don’t know what I’d do without her.

As I make my way down the hallways of my office, my staff greets me eagerly, every single one watching me. They gaze on, awed just by my presence. I’ll never get tired of that. I know most of them have their own dreams of starting a company just like I did and making a ton of money, but the truth of the matter is that hardly any of them will go on to find even a sliver of the success that I have. It takes too much dedication. Too much blood, sweat and tears.

The ones who do make it may even turn out to be my competitors someday. That doesn’t stop me from basking in their admiration and my position as their business idol though. The more inspired my employees are, the harder they’ll work and the more they’ll add to the growth of our shared achievements.

* * *

By the time I walk out onto the bustling streets of New York City, the sun has drifted below the line of skyscrapers towering around me. The sidewalks buzz with people heading home at the end of their own long days, eager for Saturday to welcome them. I walk along with them, hands in my pockets, knowing my reprieve will be much shorter. I’m only returning to my penthouse apartment for a few minutes to see Roscoe. Then I’ll be making the familiar trek back to my office.

Suzette’s words linger in my mind as I march along, making me wonder just how long this chaotic life of mine might be sustainable.

My tech firm is all I’ve ever wanted, isn’t it?

I huff a laugh. Of course it is.

But why then do I keep hearing Suzette’s motherly tone ringing between my ears?

“Hello, sir!” the uniformed doorman greets me as I approach my apartment.

He grabs hold of the gold-plated door handle and draws it open, gesturing me inside with a slight bow. I smile at him, skin prickling as the cool breeze of the AC lovingly brushes away the lingering heat of summer.

I make my way to the elevator, stifling a yawn as I shoot upwards in the gold-plated lift. I’ll have to get a coffee on my way back to work. I can already tell my eyelids are going to be feeling heavy by the time midnight comes around and I have enough work to keep me going until at least the early hours tomorrow.

The elevator comes to an easy halt at the middle story of the building, the floor where my dog-watching neighbor lives. Mrs. Donnell and I met shortly after I first moved in. I’d been walking Rosco outside the front of the building when she sauntered right up to him and stroked his head before I had a chance to warn her that he didn’t like strangers. Fortunately, he’d been more than happy to allow her to stroke his ears. The rest just fell into place. We started talking and when she heard how much I worked, she’d offered to look after Rosco.

I think she was lonely, her family living across the country. She told me she’d had a poodle that recently passed and she was eager to hear the sound of four paws scurrying around her home again. At that point, I’d tried a few dog sitting services but they never worked out.

My Rosco is not a dog who trusts often.

He was a year old when I adopted him and had lived a difficult life. He was born into a puppy mill, neglected and downtrodden. He hid under my bed for a week after I brought him home. He’s come a long way since then, but he still remains cautious of strangers. Mrs. Donnell is the first person he let come near him in a long time, and I’d had little choice but to share him with her while I went to work.

When I knock on her door, I hear Rosco’s powerful bark and then a sharp whine when he recognizes my scent beyond the sturdy wood. His feet patter anxiously from side to side as Mrs. Donnell undoes the lock and swings open the door. Rosco launches into the hallway, jumping into my arms.

“Hey, boy!” I laugh, letting him lick my cheeks before calming him down. “Thanks so much, Mrs. Donnell. I’m going to take him up and feed him and then I’ll be back down in like half an hour to—”

“I’m so sorry about this, Cooper,” she interrupts.

For the first time I realize her weathered face is pale. Her eyes are teary and her mouth is pinched. I’ve never seen the jubilant woman look at me in such a way. “I’m not going to be able to watch him tonight, or tomorrow, or possibly for a very long time.”

“What happened?” I ask hurriedly, standing up.

Rosco seems to notice the change in mood, his tail tucking between his legs. He’s quick to pick up emotions. He gives a faint whine, nudging my hand with his powerful snout until I distractedly scratch him.

“It’s my sister. She’s taken ill and I need to fly out to see her. I know this is a huge inconvenience to you. I’m so sorry.”

I think of Suzette and the last time one of her boys had the flu. The woman had come in with bloodshot eyes and worry painted on every line of her face. Though I may not have close family of my own, I know just how I would feel if Rosco was sick.

“Don’t worry about that,” I answer hastily, despite the fact that my mind is reeling in an attempt to figure out what I’m going to do with Rosco while I’m supposed to be working this weekend.

I certainly can’t take him to the office, but I can’t keep him trapped in my apartment alone the entire time either. It takes an hour to get back to my apartment from the office. If I have to travel back and forth multiple times a day, then it’s hardly worth going in.

Rosco again thrusts his snout into my hand as though he can tell that we’re speaking about him. I crouch down, letting him press his body against my chest. I know that he’ll get fur all over my suit, but that hardly matters at the moment. When Mrs. Donnell sniffles, dabbing at her eyes again, I climb back to my feet and pull her into a hug.

She clings to me, then clears her throat and withdraws a business card from her pocket. “Here, this is the very best dog walker I know. I believe she also pet sits on occasion but I know she gets booked up very quickly. I’ve been calling her all day but I haven’t heard back. She’s probably with another client. Give her a ring and she’ll get back to you, I’m sure.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Donnell. You take care of yourself and your sister, all right? Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”

“Thank you, Cooper,” she sighs, wearily waving goodbye before stepping back.

Mrs. Donnell takes one more look at Rosco, tears filling her eyes before the door swings shut and she leaves my dog and me out in the hall alone.

I look at the business card, whipping out my phone and dialing quickly. When there’s no answer, I hang up and inspect the card again for an address.

“Well buddy, looks like we’ll just have to go plead our case.”

Chapter 2

Summer

“Summer, I can’t thank you enough for giving so much attention to Curly for me today,” sighs the woman as she snuggles the poodle up against her chest and presses a big kiss into his white fur. “He was so sick yesterday but I’d already signed up to chaperone my kid’s field trip. I didn’t have a choice. If I couldn’t go they might’ve had to cancel the whole trip.”

“It’s no problem at all. I never took my eyes off him and I kept the vet on call. Curly was a little lethargic, but now he doesn’t seem sick at all. Maybe he got into something in your house. Want me to come look around when I have some free time?”

“No, it’s all right, I’ve already cleaned top to bottom to make sure there’s nothing laying around. I did figure out my kids were hoarding Halloween candy under their beds. Maybe that was it.”

“Either way, if he starts looking ill again, you should take him to the vet.”

“I will,” the woman promises, reaching over to squeeze me tight. “You’re the best dog sitter ever, Summer. You care for my dog like he’s your own.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. It’s just how I would want Sadie and Lola treated if they were in someone else’s hands.”

My client nods and sets Curly down, watching as he wags his tail back and forth, happily panting. “We’ll get going. You enjoy your weekend, okay? I bet a pretty young thing like you has so many plans and parties to attend.” She sighs wistfully. “I remember those days. I hope you’re living it up while your hips still let you!”

I give a shallow laugh, walking the woman to the door. “I’m doing my best.”

After she leaves, I shake my head and turn back to where my two pups lounge on an oversized dog bed in my living room. “Yep,” I smirk to my dogs, “we’ve got big plans, don’t we?”

Lola and Sadie, two mutt sisters I’d adopted when they were the size of my palms cupped together, are now close to thirty pounds each. Their brindled fur is thick but smooth, their eyes wise and clear. They’ve become more like sisters, friends, and daughters to me than pets. They’re my whole world.

Though, I guess, dogs in general are my whole world.

There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them.

Since I was a kid I’ve always had a bond with canine-kind. I was always finding lost pups and guiding them back to their homes, refusing a reward because the joyous reunion was reward enough. I volunteered at a dog shelter all through high school, and finally started my own dog walking business after graduation. I dabbled at college for a bit, getting an associate’s degree in business just so I’d be able to understand and run my company better, but at the end of the day, all that matters to me is being able to spend time with the dogs.

I know being a dog walker isn’t exactly considered an inspiring career choice, but I also know that it’s my reason for being on this planet. Clients love me, my list of customers is endless, and the dog kisses are the best reward.

It’s the perfect life if you ask me.

Okay, life would be more perfect if I had a good man to share it with . . . but maybe there’s no such thing as perfection.

My last relationship ended horribly, so I’m afraid to go down that road again just yet. For now, it’s just me and my dogs—as close to perfect as can be.

Sadie, the bigger of my two girls, gives a bark like she agrees. I waltz over and sit beside my dogs, letting them eagerly snuggle up close and lay their heads in my lap. Sadie rolls over, exposing her soft stomach so I can give her a belly rub.

This weekend, our big plans include a pizza for me, dog treats for them, and a binge-watching session of trashy reality TV . . . when I have time, anyway.

During the summer, my Central Bark Dog Walking service always explodes with appointments and last-minute calls as the wealthy uptowners head to the Hamptons or wherever rich people go for vacation.

I certainly wouldn’t know.

The farthest I ever go for a getaway is the nail salon down the street when I got a coupon in the mail.

I lift up my hand, inspecting the neatly filed nails. I kept them short. There wasn’t much of a point in painting them, it wasn’t like I had anyone but my dogs to impress.

Scratching the dogs’ bellies for a long moment, I finally climb to my feet and hunt around for my phone. I’d misplaced it earlier in the day and had been so distracted with Curly’s health that I’d never found it again. When I do finally track it down, knocked under the couch, most likely by playing dogs, I find a handful of missed calls listed, the most recent being twenty minutes ago.

“I’ll call them back after I shower,” I muse aloud, heading down the hall of my small apartment toward the bathroom.

While I walk, I pop open my emails and thumb through the messages from my clients, making a mental list of who needs what. I also notice an email from a dating app I’d tried last year. My heart stops in surprise. I could’ve sworn I’d disabled that account, though maybe I’m not tech savvy enough to have done it correctly.

Apparently, I have a few new matches.

For a second, I feel the electric flutter of excitement at the idea of meeting a tall, dark and handsome stranger. But that’s the last thing I need. Thanks to Colin, I don’t think I’ll be ready to date anytime soon—if ever.

I don’t even bother opening the email, rolling my eyes instead. “Like I have time for that.”

Not when my taste in men is abysmal and my business is booming. Besides, dogs are the only beings that I truly trust. Their top three traits are sweetness, loyalty, and not playing mind games, which is certainly something I can’t say about the last guy I dated.

As much as I try to stop them, images of Colin begin to swim in my mind and my stomach churns with betrayal. This is always what happens when I think of him—which is why I rarely allow myself to.

My penchant for bringing home strays brought Colin into my life. I’d thought he was just down on his luck and needed someone to give him a chance. It turned out he needed someone to abuse. My chest tightens as the fear he left me with coils around my throat. I swear sometimes I can still feel his fingers there. The dogs begin to whine, pulling me from my phantom fear.

“I know,” I say, petting them as much to soothe myself as to comfort them.

I hate that I let one person destroy my faith in humanity, but I hate it even more that I let that person terrify my dogs. They deserve better.

We all do.

I sigh, wondering if maybe I’m just not destined to find love beyond my dogs.

I push the thought away almost as quickly as it forms. I’m too busy to worry about that right now. I turn on some music, crank up the volume, set my phone down and tug my shirt over my head. When it falls to the ground, a cloud of dog fur rises from it. Vacuuming is a daily chore for me. The battle against the fur is endless.

Facing myself in a mirror that needs to be cleaned, I run my fingers down tired, lean muscles. My body is toned and tanned from hours spent parading dogs up and down the busy streets of the city. I wash my face, removing the remnants of sunblock from earlier, hips swaying slightly to the pop song playing. Behind me, steam begins to roll up from the basin of the shower, fogging up the mirror.

Leaving the door open, I strip the rest of my clothes off and hop in.

The water surges around me, rinsing off the remaining grime of the day. I tip my head back, welcoming the flow of the water as I belt out the lyrics along with the song. My athletic legs ache just slightly from all the activity of the day and my arms are tired from the constant strain of the leashes but I can’t help but groove to the beat of the lively music. It’s my favorite way to destress.

From beyond the trill of the upbeat song and the thrum of the water hitting the shower floor, I hear Lola and Sadie bark. I stop singing and dancing, though I still lazily scrub at my body with my pink fluffy loofah, straining my ears to hear whether someone is knocking on the door.

The only person who would be knocking this late is my landlord, though I’d dropped my rent check off at his place this morning on my way out for my earliest dog walking appointment.

He never seemed to mind if I left it under his doormat before . . . Maybe he’d missed it? Oh hell, what if someone stole it?

Even though business was doing well, it wasn’t like I had a ton of money lying around to cover a missing rent check.

I strain my ears, listening. A feeling of unease begins to twist my insides as my mind jumps back to thoughts of Colin.

Calm down, I tell myself. Colin is in jail.

I’d pressed charges after the second time he’d hit me. My bruises and his prior record were enough to send him away, but that still didn’t stop my fear from running away with me.

After a few more minutes of barking, Lola and Sadie go quiet and I hurry to finish washing up. I’d only just lathered up my tea tree shampoo on my head when I heard the creak of the bathroom door followed by a voice—a man’s voice.

“Hello? Hello?”

The voice is deep and intimidating. My landlord, though a man, has a voice more high pitched than mine. I have no idea who this voice belongs to.

Panic cracks through me like a whip making me turn so quickly I lose my balance. My feet go sliding out from under me, sending me flying through my shower curtain. I grab at the wet curtain as I fall but that does nothing but cause the metal shower rod to crash down with me. Blinding by my shampoo, I army crawl over the floor and snag a nearby towel, wrapping it around me. Suds stings my eyes, making it hard to see but I don’t stop. I can’t. Not if it’s really him, coming back to finish what he started.

I try reasoning with myself. He’s in jail, Summer. You put him there. But the pounding of my heart makes it hard to hear my own thoughts. I use the towel to wipe the soap from my eyes as I scramble for any sort of weapon in my tiny bathroom. That’s when I notice the pair of polished black loafers standing just outside the doorway of the bathroom.

Colin never owned anything that expensive.

“Don’t come any closer!” I shout, wondering just where the hell my two guard dogs have disappeared to. My brain scrambles, trying to remember what I’m supposed to do in the event of a break-in. I have pepper spray but it’s in my purse. “I’ve already called the police, they’ll be here any second!”

“Somehow I doubt that,” the person answers in a husky voice. “But you do look like you could use some assistance.”

“What I need is for you to get the hell out of my house!” I squawk still trying to wipe my eyes while containing some level of modesty with my too-small towel.

“Listen, I’m sorry I startled you. I mean you no harm. A friend gave me your business card and I tried calling but you didn’t answer and I really need to talk to you.”

I glare at him now, though I can barely see through my soap-stung eyes, “I didn’t answer my phone so you decided to just show up and walk right into my house?”

“It’s an emergency. I need your help. My dog needs your help.”

The word dog catches my attention but does little to calm my temper. I point a single finger away from me. “Go out there. Sit down and put your hands where I can see them.”

He nods and through my blurry eyes I swear I can see him smirking before he easily strides back to the living room. I can hear Sadie and Lola sniffling and trotting around, inspecting the intruder. Some guard dogs they are! I guess I’m going to have to keep that in mind if I ever do have someone try to break into my place someday. My dogs are just too friendly for their own good.

Slamming the bathroom door shut, I climb slowly to my feet and jump back in the shower just long enough to rinse off the remaining soap. I run my palms over my sore knees hoping they won’t bruise. Then I climb back out of the shower, dry myself off and dart from the bathroom to my bedroom to pull on clean clothes.

A few minutes later, I’m standing impatiently in my living room, pepper spray in hand as I furiously glare at one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen in my life. He leans back against the couch, one ankle crossed over his knee. He’s wearing a suit that fits him perfectly and shoes so polished that I can see my own reflection in them. One of his hands rests atop the beast beside him. The Husky is still as a statue, large and gray and quiet. The dog’s ears are pinned against the back of his head.

“Now explain why I shouldn’t call the police,” I demand furiously.