Chapter 40: The Renegade Billionaire: Chapter 40

“There’s at least a hundred of them,” Clover says, tugging her cardigan around herself so tightly the threads holding it together are pulled to their limits. “The media vans are parked up and down Main Street.”

It’s two hours before the Cozy Cup Festival is set to begin, but we’ve called an emergency meeting at town hall, and dozens of Happiness business owners are sitting on benches, awaiting direction.

“And they’re all waiting to get into the festival?” I ask.

Clover, Blissy, Chief, and I are huddled together at the front of the room, attempting to keep this from becoming a disaster.

“Yes, they’re lined up around the corner,” Blissy blusters. “I had to fight my way through them just to get out of the Chug this morning.”

“Okay. That’s…not ideal.” My mind is running through every possible scenario when Braxton pops into my mind. Not that he’s ever been far from my thoughts, but it’s his kindness and generosity that unravel an idea in my head. “I think I have a plan,” I say, smiling so hard my cheeks ache.

“Well, ya better start telling the folks then. They’re getting antsy,” Chief grumbles. He’s been muttering about security since I called him first thing this morning.

“Go get ’em, girl,” Clover says with a little fist pump into the air. Did she spike her tea already? I wouldn’t blame her if she did, but it’s a little early and we have a long day. “No, I didn’t add sambuca to my tea. Yet,” she teases.

Some of the tension eases in my shoulders as I take the stairs onto the stage. The noise of the room fades away as people notice me.

“Ah, hey guys. So, first, I’m sorry Braxton and I misled you. And second, I’m sorry about this mess. We were trying to save you all from this happening again.”

“Ain’t your fault, missy. You just keep doing you,” someone calls from the back of the room. It sounds like Old Man Cracken, but I must be mistaken.

“Thanks, I think. So there isn’t anything we can do about them being in town. But we can make them pay for being here.”

“What do you have in mind?” Moose asks from the third row. He’s sitting right next to Pops, who’s been prancing around all morning prouder than Pride Peak.

“I’m so glad you asked. Chief, you’re good at spotting fake identification, right?”

“Yes, ma’am. And I keep a running log of everyone here in town all the way over to Hopevale.” That sounds illegal, but I’m running with it.

“That’s wonderful, Chief.” My confidence begins to grow, and I feel ten feet tall. “Then my suggestion is to set Chief up at the entrance, and he can charge anyone from out of town—or at least the ones who look as though they don’t belong here—meaning they’re carrying a camera around their necks or on their shoulders—a $100 entrance fee. We can pool all the money made and reinvest it in next year’s festival. We’ve been needing new platforms.”

“The old outlets in the park need replacin’ too,” someone says.

“And the string lights.”

I hold up my hand to stop the suggestions before they spin out of control.

“We’ll pool the money and put it in the festival bank account. Then we can place a vote before next year and divvy the funds that way.”

“We should charge them per cup too,” Blissy says to a chorus of support.

“Since we don’t normally charge a fee, we have to be very careful that we’re not charging a local. So if you have any questions, it’s best to ask them for their ID. What does everyone want to charge them?”

“They’re going to be fightin’ for your line, Mads.” Pops is positively beaming. “So I say we charge those soul suckers twenty bucks a cup. If they don’t like it, they can get out of the line.”

Again, everyone nods their heads in agreement. I don’t think this town has ever agreed this readily on anything the entire time I’ve lived here.

“Savvy,” I call. She’s standing in the back of the room because she’s had a headache all day. “Do you think you can make some signage quickly for the entrance fee and maybe print some for each booth?”

“Thank God. Yes, I’ll go do that now.” She doesn’t wait for any more direction before she hustles out of the room.

“Again, I’m truly sorry for all this mess. I never wanted to be this kind of burden on you again.” My chin wobbles because I feel so dang guilty it makes my stomach hurt.

“Madison Ryan.” My name is followed by a loud crack.

Old Man Cracken is at the back of the room and has silenced us all by slamming his wooden walking stick onto the hardwood floor.

“Now you hear me, child. This town was built around caring for our own folks, and you is one of ours, and you always will be. You’ve brought the happiness back to Happiness with your god-awful sunshiny smile and can-do attitude.” If he scowls any harder, his furry eyebrows might touch his nose. “If you think for one second we’re going to hold those big hairy dicks against you, you ain’t been listening to your own advice.”

My mouth drops open in shock while the crowd of neighbors chuckles in their seats.

“Now no more of this apologizing bullshit,” he continues. “We’ve got a festival to get to, and not all of us are as spry as we used to be. And every one of you”—he points his walking stick around the room—“let’s go bleed those beasts dry.”

An unexpected roar of applause has him scoffing in disgust and stomping as fast as his old legs will take him right out of the building.

“Guess we’re going to bleed some big hairy dicks dry.” Clover laughs at my side.

“I need to bleach my eyeballs. I’m never going to get the image of old Mr. Cracken saying ‘hairy dicks’ out of my head.”

Clover laughs, links arms with me, and leads me to what is sure to be a festival to remember.

“We’ve made $7500 from the entrance fees alone,” Pops says, cutting my line and not caring who he pisses off. “You’re doin’ real good, Madi. I’m proud of you.”

“Come on, Pops. Don’t make me cry. They’re still taking pictures, and the last thing I want to do is wake up to a picture of me ugly crying.”

He reaches over the booth and pats my hand. “You could never be ugly, Madi, inside or out. You’re a beauty.” He leans closer. “How are the hairy dicks treating ya? You need a break?”

Paparazzi will forever be known as hairy dicks around here thanks to Old Man Cracken.

I soften my gaze for my grandfather—he’s a little ball of menace and chaos, but so full of love he’s bursting at the seams. I wouldn’t be who I am without him.

“Nah, Pops. I’m good. In case you haven’t noticed the two secret service-looking guys on either side of my booth, they’re not letting anyone give me a hard time. Plus, I have the beefed-up Sage back here helping me make the drinks.”

“Beefed up,” Sage snorts. “I lifted two times—I wouldn’t exactly call it beefed up.” He chuckles but flashes a wicked smile too. He’s not wearing his eyeliner today, and he’s dressed head to toe in football swag he got from the team. He’s as happy as I’ve ever seen him.

“Good. Good,” Pops says, dragging me back to reality. “I’m goin’ to sit with Blissy. She’s all up in a tizzy over your Dirty Matcha thingamajig. People are asking her for it, and she ain’t got the recipe.”

“Aw, poor Blissy. Tell her I’ll happily give her our recipe…after the festival.”

“Good girl.” Pops turns to the crowd of annoyed paparazzi who are surprisingly waiting patiently in line. “You give her any shit, and you’re going to deal with me. Got it?”

As soon as he steps out of the way, another camera greets me. I take a deep breath and try not to look constipated as he clicks and clicks and clicks.

“Thanks, Madi. Can you tell me how you met Braxton Reyes?”

“He rolled into town looking for happiness, and he found me.” It’s my canned response for that question.

The next guy asks, “Will there be a prenup?”

“We haven’t been engaged long. We have a lot to work out.”

The guy after that is the one who throws me off my game.

“What do you think about Braxton firing everyone at Montgomery Media and taking a suspected $15 to $20 million loss.” The guy is more smarmy than the others, and he returns to snapping pictures when he realizes he was the one to put me off balance.

Sage crouches down to get something from under the bar top I’m standing behind. “Remember,” he whispers. “If that’s true, twenty mil is like a trip to Disney for them. It doesn’t hold the same value when you have more zeros behind your name than you can count.”

He squeezes my ankle, stands, and returns to his drink station—he’s such a great kid. As much as all those zeros make me uncomfortable, he’s probably right, so I plaster that plastic smile back on my face.

“I’m sure whatever he did was for the betterment of the world. He and Grey have a vision for their company, and I think it’s safe to say that anything or anyone that doesn’t meet that vision will be cut loose.”

The gross guy chuckles darkly. “Are you speaking for him now?”

“Why wouldn’t she?” I jump up and down trying to see over the heads of photographers because I know that voice. “She is my fiancée, after all.”

Braxton’s head finally appears, followed by the rest of him, and I’m so happy I nearly collapse right there.

Instead, I duck under the booth, almost knocking over our display, then run and jump into his arms.

“You’re home,” I say, peppering his handsome face with kisses.

The flash of cameras is blinding and never-ending as he holds me up by my thighs and walks us behind the booth.

“Give us five minutes, and we’ll be back to answer all of your questions,” he calls over his shoulder just before we disappear from view.

The men and women standing in that line are so greedy for photos, they don’t make a peep.

“So that’s how you do it?” I say, grinning against his lips.

“I tried to get here earlier. I was worried you’d be overwhelmed or at the very least require some PR coaching before handling those assholes. But once again, you surprise me, Miss Madison.”

“Once I decided to use them just like they’re using me, it wasn’t so bad.”

He laughs and gently guides me down his body to my feet.

“Is that why The Matchmaker Manual logo is all over the inn’s booth?” His voice carries a hint of humor, but it’s his eyes that undress me, making my pulse skyrocket.

“Mm-hmm. And I’ve already gotten 10,000 new subscribers, so it’s worth answering a few questions over and over again.” Nerves hit me, and I drop my gaze to the ground. “Are you mad that I used the inn to pimp my podcast?”

He uses one long finger to bring my chin up to face him. “No, sunshine. I think it was brilliant. The inn and the podcast are both yours to do with as you please. And we have a business proposal for you, Savvy, and Clover.” He shrugs. “If you’re interested, anyway.”

“Oh my gosh. Are you serious? What kind of proposal?” Butterflies attack my stomach, and I can’t help bouncing a little on my toes.

“Braxton? Mr. Reyes?” the paparazzi shout, and he immediately envelops my hand in his.

“We’ll explain it in more detail later, but essentially, we’re thinking about starting a broadcast channel, and we’re hoping to syndicate your shows while also having you consult on other programming. You’d have full control of your show.”

“Mr. Reyes.” Dang paparazzi.

“That’s—I, that’s incredible, Braxton.”

“It was both of our ideas, but I’ll be getting it off the ground. We decided to pool our resources from Omni-Reyes and his inheritance from the Wells fortune. He’s going to run Omni-Reyes with me as a consultant—as long as Ace’s will doesn’t have any more surprises—and I’m going to run Sunshine Studios while expanding our Daily Deeds nonprofit.”

“You get to be a helper.” Pride fills my chest. I love this man.

“Yeah, I guess I do.” He nods, and his eyes glow with emotion.

“Holy crap, Braxton. You guys figured all this out already?”

“We haven’t slept much.” He squeezes my hand. “But this makes us both happy. And the best part is, we’re going to do it all from Happiness, Georgia. Well, I think Omni-Reyes will open headquarters in Hopevale—they have more industrial space, and from the looks of it, they need a boost in their economy. But we think it will bring people from all over to work and help all the surrounding towns too.”

“Mr. Reyes, please.” Those dang paparazzi are so stinking pushy.

“Ah, guys?” Sage pokes his head out the back of the booth. “I’m loving all this love, but if you don’t get out here soon, things are going to get ugly.”

“Coming,” Braxton says. He hasn’t let go of my hand since I attacked him.

“That’s a lot of information to take in. I’m still kind of processing, so if it seems as if I’m not excited, that’s why. It all sounds really, really good.” I inhale a shuddering breath. “And I’m so happy that you’re making Happiness your home.”

“Sweetheart,” he says, pulling me under his arm and walking us back to the booth. “Wherever you are is home to me. I came here searching for something as elusive as happiness, and I’m staying because I found it in you. Oh, before I forget.” He reaches into his pocket. “We stopped at the house before coming here. I believe it’s time to put this back on your finger.”

He slips the ring he had made onto my ring finger, and I smile. It will always remind me of love and happiness.

I am his sunshine, and he is my happy place.