The Billionaire's Gamble Read Online Free PDF
Author: Ava Miles
Tags: Humor, Suspense, Romance, Sagas, Family, Mystery, series, Contemporary Romance, Romantic Comedy, new adult, Cooking, Paris, Love Story, Friendship, Heroes, Collections & Anthologies, small town, Billionaire, sweet romance, Baking, Sisters, falling in love, beach read, alpha males, award-winning romance, best selling romance, Bread, how-to
rather liked the idea of helping someone achieve her dream.
The bakery hadn’t been remodeled in decades, and according to Margie, the décor had been old-school diner, with red leather booths and a long counter lined with red bar stools, before her contractor had ripped them out. The old coffee-and-donut crowd wasn’t going to like some of her changes, but she couldn’t cater to everyone.
Margie was planning on bringing in a new kind of community focus while preserving some of the old-time favorites like peanut butter pie, jelly-filled donuts, and—of course—the famous cinnamon rolls. She also hoped to draw in a younger crowd since Dare Valley was well populated with students and young families. Based on the crowd passing by the front windows, with people peeking in occasionally to see what he was doing, Evan knew she’d have plenty of foot traffic.
She’d left him alone two hours ago to run over to Don’t Soy With Me, where she was training the new manager, Rebecca Merriweather. He hoped to be further along by the time she returned.
When he heard a metal sound near the front door, he swiveled on his haunches to watch her unlock the front glass door. So much for that. The bell chimed as she opened the door, and she looked upward as she shut and locked the door behind her.
“I am so going to have to get rid of that bell,” she said, briskly coming inside and setting her zebra-print purse on the plastic he’d lined the floor with in anticipation of painting. “Hot Cross Buns is going to play the kind of soulful music you’d hear at Don’t Soy With Me. Anything from Coltrane—one of my favorites—to John Legend. I might have to play some ABBA when Jill shows up. She’s a rabid fan.”
“I love Coltrane,” he responded, standing up. He was slightly embarrassed to hear his knees crack like an older man. People who painted for a living deserved a heck of a lot more respect than he’d ever realized. “And Miles Davis.”
“Oh, Miles.” Her green eyes sparkled as she patted a hand to her heart. “If anyone’s voice could be compared to a cinnamon roll, it’s his.”
He felt his mouth twitch. “A cinnamon roll, huh? He’d be singing the goo instead of singing the blues.”
She laughed. “Oh, that’s terrible. Don’t quit your day job. And my cinnamon rolls are not filled with goo, Mr. Murray. That’s a rich caramel sauce, thank you very much.” She stomped her foot indignantly.
He held up his hand like a white flag. “Don’t shoot. I surrender. No goo.”
“You definitely won’t be writing my menu,” she said, putting her hands on her curvy hips.
For a moment, all he could imagine was covering her hands with his and pulling her to him. “I wouldn’t presume. Now, you might be wondering why I’ve only laid painter’s tape across this one wall. It might be a revelation to you, but nothing in this place is level.”
Her head shook in confirmation, making her sable hair sway around her face. “Yes, I know. My contractor had to forbid his wife from bringing their young children to visit when he was over here since he was dropping the f-bomb so much.”
He opened his mouth in feigned shock. “You mean I can actually drop the f-bomb around here? I thought people who did that were kicked out of Pleasantville.”
She gave him a playful shove, one he found altogether too arousing. “That’s Paradise, you idiot. We have normal people in Dare Valley who swear and everything.”
“Color me surprised,” he mocked, wishing she’d shove him again.
For a Pocket Venus, she was stronger than she looked. Most of the models he dated barely ate anything, giving a whole new meaning to “couldn’t lift a finger to help.” He’d given up on trying to tell them that it was okay to eat.
“I see you already poured the paint out,” she said, pointing to the flat tray on the floor.
“I was feeling pretty positive when I started.” He’d covered the tray with plastic thirty minutes later,
The bakery hadn’t been remodeled in decades, and according to Margie, the décor had been old-school diner, with red leather booths and a long counter lined with red bar stools, before her contractor had ripped them out. The old coffee-and-donut crowd wasn’t going to like some of her changes, but she couldn’t cater to everyone.
Margie was planning on bringing in a new kind of community focus while preserving some of the old-time favorites like peanut butter pie, jelly-filled donuts, and—of course—the famous cinnamon rolls. She also hoped to draw in a younger crowd since Dare Valley was well populated with students and young families. Based on the crowd passing by the front windows, with people peeking in occasionally to see what he was doing, Evan knew she’d have plenty of foot traffic.
She’d left him alone two hours ago to run over to Don’t Soy With Me, where she was training the new manager, Rebecca Merriweather. He hoped to be further along by the time she returned.
When he heard a metal sound near the front door, he swiveled on his haunches to watch her unlock the front glass door. So much for that. The bell chimed as she opened the door, and she looked upward as she shut and locked the door behind her.
“I am so going to have to get rid of that bell,” she said, briskly coming inside and setting her zebra-print purse on the plastic he’d lined the floor with in anticipation of painting. “Hot Cross Buns is going to play the kind of soulful music you’d hear at Don’t Soy With Me. Anything from Coltrane—one of my favorites—to John Legend. I might have to play some ABBA when Jill shows up. She’s a rabid fan.”
“I love Coltrane,” he responded, standing up. He was slightly embarrassed to hear his knees crack like an older man. People who painted for a living deserved a heck of a lot more respect than he’d ever realized. “And Miles Davis.”
“Oh, Miles.” Her green eyes sparkled as she patted a hand to her heart. “If anyone’s voice could be compared to a cinnamon roll, it’s his.”
He felt his mouth twitch. “A cinnamon roll, huh? He’d be singing the goo instead of singing the blues.”
She laughed. “Oh, that’s terrible. Don’t quit your day job. And my cinnamon rolls are not filled with goo, Mr. Murray. That’s a rich caramel sauce, thank you very much.” She stomped her foot indignantly.
He held up his hand like a white flag. “Don’t shoot. I surrender. No goo.”
“You definitely won’t be writing my menu,” she said, putting her hands on her curvy hips.
For a moment, all he could imagine was covering her hands with his and pulling her to him. “I wouldn’t presume. Now, you might be wondering why I’ve only laid painter’s tape across this one wall. It might be a revelation to you, but nothing in this place is level.”
Her head shook in confirmation, making her sable hair sway around her face. “Yes, I know. My contractor had to forbid his wife from bringing their young children to visit when he was over here since he was dropping the f-bomb so much.”
He opened his mouth in feigned shock. “You mean I can actually drop the f-bomb around here? I thought people who did that were kicked out of Pleasantville.”
She gave him a playful shove, one he found altogether too arousing. “That’s Paradise, you idiot. We have normal people in Dare Valley who swear and everything.”
“Color me surprised,” he mocked, wishing she’d shove him again.
For a Pocket Venus, she was stronger than she looked. Most of the models he dated barely ate anything, giving a whole new meaning to “couldn’t lift a finger to help.” He’d given up on trying to tell them that it was okay to eat.
“I see you already poured the paint out,” she said, pointing to the flat tray on the floor.
“I was feeling pretty positive when I started.” He’d covered the tray with plastic thirty minutes later,