Torn:Billionaire Bachelors Club #2(7)

"You're right." His vivid green eyes dim. "I'm an arrogant ass and I'm  sorry. Forgive me again by coming with me on this date? I'll make it up  to you."

I'll make it up to you.

There is a hint of sexual promise in his request, in that one specific  sentence. I'm drawn to all that heady temptation, despite wanting to  also knee him in the balls and tell him to go to hell. God, I hate rich  dudes who think everyone owes them something. They are the absolute  worst because usually, in the end, they always get what they want.

I've dealt with plenty in my lifetime. My family is both populated with  and surrounded by wealthy, powerful men. We move in the same social  circles. I went to high school and college with plenty of those who were  going on to be successful, wealthy men-and women too, of course.         

     



 

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.         

     



 

Walking back toward the kitchen, my entire body begins to relax. I'm  thankful to be out of Gage's presence. It's too overwhelming, just  flat-out too much. He makes me think things, say things I don't normally  ever think or say. I'm a nice person. I don't reject people or call  them names. And I called him a disgusting pig. Talk about harsh.

What the heck is wrong with me?

Gage Emerson is what's wrong with you.

I barely hold back the snort of laughter. God, ain't that the truth?





Chapter Four




Marina

MY EYES BURN as I flip through the stack of bills yet again, pulling one  out in particular that I've been avoiding for a while. I order flowers  from a local florist-not the one Gage used because I so can't afford  that place. Gina and I use them to decorate around the café where we  can, knowing they add a nice touch. The customers appreciate them, as do  Gina and I.

The flower order has gotten smaller and smaller over the last year. I'd  started choosing the cheapest flowers they had, too. And now it's  finally time for me to bite the bullet and cancel the order outright. I  hate having to do it but we can't afford the expense. I'm trying my best  to cut corners where I can.

And this is the next corner being cut.

Deciding I can piece out the bouquet Gage sent me and use the large  variety of flowers for decoration over the next week or two if I stretch  it right, I slap the bill on my newly made "call tomorrow" pile and  sigh wearily.

Sometimes it feels like we're spinning our wheels. I'm doing everything I  can to make this bakery work, but competition is stiff. There are  popular bakeries and cafés all over the valley. The locals and the  tourists love to get their eat and drink on so we're all battling  against each other, trying to fulfill that need.

No one-and I mean no one-can make a cake like my aunt, but not enough  people are discovering them or discovering our bakery. I got her out of  the ruthless catering circle despite the loss of decent revenue. I had  to do it. Baking and decorating elaborate wedding cakes every weekend  was both exhausting her and killing her creativity. She does her best  work when she can let the wild ideas fly.

Lately she's made some true masterpieces. They taste so delicious, and  look so beautiful, it's almost a crime to carve into them. I have about a  bazillion photos on my phone of her cakes, like I'm a proud mama dying  to show them off. I need to create some sort of brochure featuring them  all.

Another sigh leaves me, and I'm feeling stuck. We don't have enough  money in our current advertising budget to do much beyond the chalk  easel I set outside the front door every morning announcing our daily  specials. We do a lunch special featuring sandwiches with our artisan  breads and homemade soup that Gina also makes, so we get a terrific  lunch crowd. Our morning crowd is okay too, but we're no Starbucks.

Grr. Just thinking of giant conglomerates makes me frustrated. Small  towns gripe all the time about Walmart coming in and destroying local  businesses. I'm starting to believe them one hundred percent. Walmart,  Starbucks, they're all soul-sucking destroyers of the local business  economy.

Yet I frequent our local Walmart at least once a month. Don't do  Starbucks anymore, though. Why would I, considering I have an espresso  machine here in the bakery and I know how to use it? Besides, I can't  hand them four dollars plus for a coffee when my place is barely making  it.