Chapter 2: The Renegade Billionaire: Chapter 2

The birds are too loud.

It’s not even light outside yet, and I’ve had this dang pillow over my head for close to an hour. I swear little miss robin chooses the same spot year after year just to mess with me. Is her internal clock broken? At least pretend to be a rooster, miss robin. This before-daylight crap is making me grumpy before I even get out of bed.

Eventually I toss my pillow aside, push myself to standing, and turn on the light. It instantly blinds me, and I scowl at the offending light fixture.

It’s not natural to be up this early, but I couldn’t say no to the football team—they need options for their study sessions, and that means less sleep for me. It’s for the greater good though. If I keep reminding myself, it will become my truth.

Tiptoeing to the bathroom across the hall, I avoid the creaky floorboards with years of practice so I don’t wake up Pops.

Done in the bathroom, I creep down the stairs, skipping the fourth and eighth ones because they could wake the entire town when the slightest weight is applied to them, then I stumble to the kitchen to start the coffee.

I won’t make it through the day without a constant stream of caffeine.

What is today? Monday? No, it just feels that way. Today is Wednesday—I think. That means I have all day at the Chugaloo, and my mood instantly improves.

Every night this week, I’ve been there editing and producing podcasts in my sound booth until the early morning hours because while the Chug is profitable every month, this place is not.

As much as it pains me to admit, seeing the number of renovations the inn needs upsets my stomach. Someday I’ll get to them. I will.

My chest tightens, a not-so-subtle reminder of what I’ve lost. Maisie’s Hideaway Inn was named after my grandmother, and I’m doing everything I can to save it, but I’m terrified it won’t be enough—that I won’t be enough.

Ever since Pops turned the Chug over to me, I’ve raised the coworking membership twice, but even that’s not enough to cover repairs at the inn.

Shaking my head, I cross the cool wood floors, refusing to mope around in my despair any longer. I’ll make it work. I always do. And to do that, I can’t be a Debbie Downer. “Suck it up, buttercup.”

I grab the carafe from the new coffee machine Clover gifted me last Christmas and shimmy in place—this thing is better than sex…mostly. I seriously have the best friends.

They’re more my family than my parents ever were, but I suppose it’s hard to feel connected to your parents when they ship you off to live anywhere that’s not with them because parenting was an inconvenience—not that they ever tried very hard.

The old grandfather clock in the entry way chimes five times, hurling me into motion. Crap. I’m going to be late, and I really need to finish the audio I was proofing before I open the doors for everyone. I hustle over to the sink to fill the pot with water and nearly drown myself as water hits me in the face with the power of a firehose, spraying in every direction.

What the heck?

“Argh, what’s happening?” I splutter into the empty room while attempting to turn off the faucet, but the dang thing breaks off in my hands.

No, no, no. Not today. Please, not today.

When I drop the broken piece into the sink, the clatter of metal on metal rings loudly in the room, but I’m too focused on containing the water with both hands to worry about it, and when that doesn’t work, I add my right foot to the tap. Yup, I have two hands and a foot in the kitchen sink and water is still spraying every available surface.

This isn’t happening. I can’t afford this.

The creaky swinging door behind me squeals on its hinges, and I drop my foot back to the floor. Oh, thank God.

“Pops! I need help. Shut off the valve under the sink,” I shriek while water sprays into my mouth and nose. I’m attempting to point all the water on me or in the sink, and failing miserably, but every time I remove my hands, water douses the whole room.

Control the damage, Madison. Dang, my inner voice has all the advice but fails miserably on implementation. But it’s okay. I’ll dry, water stains on the walls will just be one more giant bill to add to my mile-high list.

“Pops, let’s move it. The wrench is already under there from yesterday.”

The floorboards creak, and goosebumps explode all over my exposed skin, which would make sense if the water were cold, but it’s not. The water is actually warm, nearing hot.

When I feel my grandfather behind me, I attempt to move to the side, but that changes my hands and the trajectory of the water.

“You’ll have to climb under me,” I splutter into a spray and instantly choke on it.

“Well now, this is an invitation I’ve never had before.”

It takes more than a moment for my brain to react. The voice is deep and gravelly, and certainly not my seventy-year-old grandfather. It’s another long minute before I get my neck to work and my chin drops to my chest to find a stranger, a stranger, lying on the floor on his back and wedging himself between my legs.

“Who the heck are you?” I shout into the spray of water. It goes up my nose, and I sneeze—it’s a horrible sound that pierces my eardrums.

Sneezing is never cute, but especially when I do it.

His eyes crinkle at the corners just before his head is fully ensconced in the cabinet.

“I’m Braxton,” he says casually. “Brax.”

“That means nothing to me. Why are you here?” I splutter, sneezing again. Is that snot running down my chin?

“Pops checked me in late last night. He said you were working and that I’d meet you this morning. This…” He pauses, and I pull back an inch to get a good look at him.

I shouldn’t have done that—who has a body with that many dips and grooves and zero cellulite? Who is this guy?

“This is quite the introduction.” His chuckle sends prickles rolling across my skin.

The water slows to a trickle before shutting off completely, and my handsome rescuer slides out from the cabinet enough for me to see his face.

Pops checked in a very handsome stranger and didn’t think to tell me or even leave a note. We’re going to have a conversation about communication as soon as possible.

“This is a first I’ll never forget,” he says with a crooked smile that has my stomach skydiving without a parachute.

Brax, what kind of name is Brax anyway? Like Braxit? Or is that Brexit? Do I even know what Braxit is? Braxit or Brexit? Gah, I’m spiraling!

He slides out a few more inches, his broad shoulders rubbing against the inside of my shins as he stares up at me. It’s only now that I realize I’m dripping water all over his chest. And that I’m nearly naked because Pops never gets up this early and we weren’t supposed to have any guests.

Finally, my brain shouts, move, Madi, move, and I attempt to step over him but slip in the water.

Then everything happens in painfully slow motion.

My eyes fly open. His hands raise to protect himself while my arms windmill and reach for something—anything—to hold onto.

And then I fall spread-eagle on his chest, his hands catching my thighs and absorbing some of my weight, but he still lets out a low oomph.

My wet, nearly naked vagina claps her hands as though this is her lucky day. Why, God, why did I choose today to wear the white boy shorts with bright pink kissy lips all over them?

Talk about mortifying on an entirely new level.

He smiles. I frown. We both freeze. Then he shows even more glossy white teeth while my lips open and close with no words.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to live out a Heartmark movie here.”

His words snap my mouth closed, and my face heats to shades of red I’m positive are a precursor to lung failure because I cannot breathe.

“I, ah, I’m so sorry.” I scramble to my feet and shiver when his hands slowly fall away from my thighs. “No. No. I’m sorry,” I say wagging my finger the way my kindergarten teacher used to do every time my parents forgot to pick me up. “No Heartmark films here. I’m off men. Really, really off them. I mean, I was on you, but not on you on you.”

He raises an eyebrow, and it makes him even sexier.

“I mean, I’m not dating. At all. Ever again. Man, woman, or alien, they’re all off limits.” Holy crap, shut up, Madi. “This is not a Heartmark movie, and I am absolutely not looking for any type of relationship, ever, with anyone. Ever.”

Oh my God. When did I lose control of my mouth?

“Ah,” he says knowingly. “Bad breakup?”

My entire body flinches as he lifts himself to sitting, and I finally put my pointer finger away.

“Something like that,” I mutter. “Only worse.”

Both brows raise while he stares at me. Then his gaze roams lower and lower until his heat has touched every inch of my body.

“I’m so sorry about this. We’re…ah…renovating. Sort of. The sink doesn’t usually go this wonky though. If you want to give me your clothes, I’ll get them cleaned for you right away.”

“You want…my clothes?” he asks with a devilish grin that is definitely not suitable for a Heartmark movie. This man would make millions by simply smiling at women all day on some X-rated website for smile kinks.

When he stands then grips his shirt at the back of his neck, I spin to face the wall.

“No.” My voice cracks, and I purse my lips. Get a handle on yourself, Madison. “Not right this second. Just, change and leave them in the hallway. I’ll get them going as soon as I dry off and start breakfast for you.”

“It’s fine.” His voice is smooth as silk and covers me like a hug.

This is dangerous.

“Turn around.” The command in his tone heats my skin even more. “Please,” he adds. It’s the please that bends me to his will.

Slowly, I spin to find he’s wearing the same easy expression. “I’m Brax,” he repeats.

“You said that.”

“I did.” There’s a casual confidence in the way he carries himself that sets off mild alarm bells. Not enough to make me run, but enough that my ovaries scream warning, warning, proceed with caution. “It’s customary for you to introduce yourself as well though, and you didn’t.”

I slap my forehead with my open palm. “I’m so sorry. I don’t normally start my day assaulting guests.”

Holy crap, Madi. What’s wrong with you?

“That’s a shame.” He chuckles. Why. Why does that sound worm its way under my skin?

Ignore the flirting. Ignore. It. “My name’s Madison. My friends call me Madi. How long will you be staying with us?”

Be professional. That’s the name of this game. Professionals do not react with their vaginas.

He folds his arms over his chest looking even more amused—cocky, but amused. “I’m not sure yet.”

“No wife or girlfriend. A dog, a job, a Bob. Anyone waiting for you wherever you hail from?” Where in the heck did my filter run off to?

“Nope.” He rocks back on his heels. Is it possible for that grin to get any freaking bigger? And why does he have to have dimples? I love dimples. “I’m completely single, unless you count my best friend, Greyson, or our nephew. No one else even knows where to find me.” He frowns for half a second. “It’s shocking how happy that makes me.”

“You’re hiding?”

“I’d call myself a principled explorer.”

“You’re running away?” I surmise.

The way he stares at me makes my insides do a funny little dance that has me backing up a step. “Maybe I’m a renegade.”

I shouldn’t be enjoying this interaction so much, but I can’t seem to walk away either.

“So,” I drag out the word, biting my lip as I attempt to focus. “You’re a traitor.”

He playfully clutches his chest. Playful Braxton is even more dangerous than handsome Braxton.

“Never,” he says in a silvery voice. “I’m simply changing my priorities.”

“From what?” Water drips down my face, and I wipe it away. It’s then I remember I sneezed earlier, and I surreptitiously take a swipe at my chin.

He smirks, but his gaze has me in a chokehold. “The kind of responsibilities I didn’t get to choose?” With a shrug, he drops his gaze. “My family, I guess. They’re…not aligning with who I want to be.”

Lord, do I know how that feels. I’ve spent the last sixteen years trying to be better than my parents, not that they set the bar all that high.

“Huh,” is what I say as I grab a hand towel and hand it to him. “I…can understand that.”

And that’s as personal as I can get with this handsome stranger.

“Well, I should get dried off. I’ll have breakfast ready in thirty minutes.”

Crap. Crap. Crap. I wasn’t anticipating making breakfast for anyone but me and Pops this morning, so frozen waffles are out of the picture. If I hurry, I can get something made and only be fifteen minutes behind. Possibly.

“Anything I can do to help?” he asks, his voice pitching higher as though his own question startled him. Then he frowns while glancing around the kitchen—it’s as if he’s truly seeing it for the first time.

I know what he finds as he scans the space. The floorboards in desperate need of sanding. The old cabinets that date the house. The tired wallpaper curling at the edges. What he doesn’t see is all the love and life that’s happened here.

And no one may ever see that again.

Swallowing around the lump permanently lodged in my throat, I offer something that probably looks closer to a grimace. “No, but thank you. You’re the guest, just give me a few minutes.”

His gaze returns to mine, and there’s something in his expression I can’t read—understanding, or maybe sadness he’s trying to hide. But it doesn’t matter. I cannot afford to get caught up in whatever mess he’s running from.

I’ve got my own problems to solve—starting and ending with saving the inn.

“It looks as though this was a great place to grow up. There’s a lot of love in these walls.” His voice is sandpaper rough, as if he isn’t used to speaking so gently.

The ball in my throat grows spikes—that’s the last thing I expected him to say.

“What… Why do you say that?”

“It’s the way you look at it, as if it holds all the stories of your life.” His jaw tightens, and he runs a hand through his thick dark hair. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep. I’m— It’s been a rough couple of days.”

How did he go from soft and tender to stone-cold in the span of a sentence?

The sun is starting to rise now, and the glint of amber in his stare is intense. No, scratch that, I have a feeling he’s intense all over. I need to check the book and see how long he rented a room for. The sooner he leaves, the better.

“Did you know amber eyes are one of the rarest colors?” Instantly, I slap a hand over my mouth.

Those dang amber irises my mouth appreciated so much sparkle when the corners crinkle, gentling his features.

“I did not know that, but I do love a good fun fact.”

He stands there, staring, smiling, taking me in for longer than is comfortable.

“Sorry,” he mutters, dragging his gaze away from me and back to the sink. “I’m not quite myself. It’s— There’s been a lot of change for me in the last couple of months, but I’ll, ah, get out of your hair.”

Before I can tell him that he can stay, he’s gone. The old swinging door sings its age behind him.

It isn’t until I’m alone in my room that I realize my shirt is completely see-through and not once did he perv out and leer at me.

I left breakfast for the not-handsome guest in the kitchen, then ran back upstairs to get my stuff together for the day. So when I step out onto the porch, the last thing I’m expecting to find is Braxton with a stack of pancakes in one hand and his phone in the other.

Glancing around, I don’t see a car in the parking area other than mine. I bite my tongue, hard. I do not offer strangers rides. Even if said stranger is sleeping in the room next to mine for who knows how long. Leave it to my grandfather to not include a check-out date.

“Do you need a ride somewhere?” Stupid people-pleasing curse.

His gaze jumps to mine, and for the first time, I get the full experience that is his face in the sunlight—because it is an experience.

Oh, crap. He’s more than handsome. He’s freaking devastatingly beautiful. And then he goes and smiles again. Why the heck is he so happy?

“No thanks, Madison. I’ve got it covered.”

I’m thankful and perturbed that he didn’t accept my ride, but I walk down the steps to my car with a generic expression saved for strangers and police officers.

“Okay. Have a good day. I’ll be back to make dinner around six.”

He nods and waves as I back out of the driveway, feeling more unsettled than I have in a very long time.