Torn A Billionaire Bachelors Cl(13)

Except for me. My family is still drowning in a sea of debt, and it’s only a matter of time until they decide to close the bakery once and for all. I think they believe it’s a fun little project for my Aunt Gina and me. Like we’re pretending to be business owners.

None of them understand how much this bakery means to Gina. Or me. I’ve only been running it for a year, but I’ve worked here off and on since I was a teen. It became my after-school job, my summer job . . . I met my first boyfriend here. Had my first kiss out in front of it, too.

Autumn Harvest has tremendous sentimental value to me. I also think it has tremendous potential, if only I could find the extra funds to make it really shine. Not that anyone cares.

“What do you say?” Gage’s delicious rumble of a voice draws me from my thoughts and I blink up at him, still caught in hazy longing for the past. I make bad decisions when I’m feeling like this. All based on what my heart says versus my head.

My heart is almost always, always wrong.

“Say about what?” I ask, wanting to hear him ask me out on the dinner date again. I need to stall. I need to rationalize with my overexcited thoughts how going out with this guy is a huge mistake. My change of heart in regard to Gage is confusing even to me.

He smiles, the sight of it sending a flurry of butterflies fluttering in my stomach, and I stand up straighter. Determined not to act like a silly, simpering female.

I want to though. Just looking at him, listening to him talk, sets me on edge. In a deliciously scary way.

For whatever strange reason, I’m fairly positive Gage Emerson has set his sights on me. And I think I kind of like it.

His smile grows. God, he’s pretty. “Go out with me. Come on, Marina. It’ll just be a simple dinner, and in return you can have thirty minutes of Archer’s time, or however long you need, to tell him all about this mysterious proposition.”

“And what do you get out of this arrangement?” I ask warily.

“Why, the pleasure of your company of course,” he says smoothly. Effortlessly.

Men who speak too effortlessly tend to scare the crap out of me. Usually means they’re hiding something. My one long-term boyfriend in college was like this. Very charming . . . and eventually, he became toxic to my mental state. He was a liar and a manipulator. I don’t need another one like that in my life.

So what is it about this guy that I’m drawn to? Because I am. I can’t deny it.

I study Gage for a long moment, letting the anticipation roll through my veins. Saying yes would be tremendously easy. So would saying no. In fact, refusing him would be even easier. Then I’d never have to worry about Archer Bancroft or the good idea I want to bring to him. I wouldn’t have to put on a phony show for Gage while going out on this date with him. Being something that I’m not; I do that constantly.

“Take a chance,” Gage murmurs, his decadent tone reaching right into me, shaking me up. “Say yes, Marina. You know you want to.”

“Hmm. Funny thing is I don’t want to.” I try to sound irritated and instead it comes out breathless. What is wrong with me?

His expression goes from confident to crestfallen, like I flipped a switch. “You hate me that much?”

“Hate is a pretty strong word, so let’s just say I’m not your biggest fan.”

“So you won’t go to dinner with me.”

I slowly shake my head, disappointment filling me, and I push it aside. I’m doing the right thing. I need to remember that. “You’ll probably try to pull some funny business, and I’m a little behind on my self-defense classes.”

“Funny business?” His lips twitch, despite his sadness just a second ago over my rejection. “You sound like your aunt.”

“You’re right. I do,” I agree. “Going out to dinner with you would be a mistake, Gage. We both know this.”

“We do?” He sounds surprised.

“I do. And I can’t afford to make any more mistakes in my life. I’d rather date no one than fall for some gorgeous guy who’s out to manipulate me. Right?” I offer him a tentative smile, but he doesn’t return it. I can’t blame him. I just called him a mistake. We’ve insulted each other, lobbing them back and forth like a tennis ball for the last ten or fifteen minutes. Imagine an entire evening just the two of us? Tearing each other apart with our words. Maybe tearing off each other’s clothes with anxious, eager hands . . .

Swallowing hard, I usher him out of the bakery with a few choice words and a firm push on his shoulders so he goes through the door. I slam it shut behind him, turning the lock with a forcible jerk. The loud click rings out—I know he heard it—and he glances over his shoulder at me one last lingering moment before he heads off into the sunset. As in for real, he walks toward the sunset, no doubt in search of his car.