Page 15 of Faking It with my Small Town Billionaire

I give him an intent look at that statement. “That’s not true at all. In fact, after what…” I quickly stop myself. I’ve put my foot in it enough for one week. “What I mean to say is, you are a fine speaker, and, from what I have seen, a very genuine person.”

He’s looking at me like he’s trying to figure me out, and then he nods. “Thank you. That actually means a lot.” He glances outside, where dusk is long gone and darkness now presses against the gym windows. “I suppose I ought to get going.”

“Because it’s such a long drive to your apartment?” I quip.

He shakes his head. “Not tonight. I have to head back to the city.”

“But it’s already so late,” I protest.

“I know.” He smirks. “That’s why I need to get going.” He turns, then glances over his shoulder. “I’ll speak to you soon, Lily. Take care.”

I can’t help watching him stride away. His broad shoulders fill that suit more than well, and his long legs make the journey much shorter than mine would.

“He is a fine man,” Jasmine says, coming up behind me.

I turn and smile at her. “You know, I think you might have mentioned that once or twice already.”

She lets out a great big laugh, which causes heads to turn, but I don’t care. In fact, I haven’t cared much for what people of this town have thought of me for quite some time.

“He likes you,” she says when she’s calmed herself.

“Well, of course he does,” I say, feigning confidence. “I mean, really”—I throw a hand at myself—“what’s not to like?”

Jasmine smiles, but her eyes pierce mine. “I’m serious, girl. Take my word for it. He likes you.”

I laugh her comment off. Orson and I have definitely reconnected, but it has more to do with what happened when we were kids. The man is a billionaire and can have any woman on the planet. I hardly imagine a baker who is about to go out of business is high on that list.

7

Orson

It’s been a rough week.

Stubbornness runs in our family, and it didn’t skip a generation when it got to me. Lily had given me an out. But I just couldn’t do it.

It’s more than stubbornness. It’s also pride. The moment she saw my reaction to her suggestion, I battled against any sympathy or understanding she tried to show me. I’m a Donovan, and Donovans don’t back down.

The decision to speak in front of the entire town didn’t come without its challenges, but talking to a friend helped. A really good friend, actually. A guy who has been my friend for a long time.

“Hey man, it’s been months,” Jake Capaldi said when he answered the phone. “What are you up to?”

“Same old, same old, Jake. Have you got some time? I could use your advice.”

It is, in my view, a twist of irony that Jake became a psychologist. All the way through high school, we had each other’s backs. He was as much an outcast as I was, and we were an unlikely pair at first glance.

My family was stinking rich, and his father sold cars. His mom was a cleaner, and mine went to the nail salon, hairdresser, and spa every week. Our backgrounds couldn’t have been more different. But as kids, we didn’t see that. We saw friendship first, and an ally in each other second.

Smart as a whip, Jake graduated from college and then went on to do what he had always talked about doing: helping people who had suffered, just like him.

Now, he has a very successful practice in the city. Maybe Willow Creek did us both a favor. Maybe their hatred motivated us to make it.

When we met for coffee, we threw our arms around each other in a manly hug. Jake is shorter than me, but he works out and fills his suit with solid muscle.

“How’s business?” I asked.

He gave me a beaming smile, his teeth white against his swarthy skin. “Better than ever. I’m doing speaking events now.”

“Huh,” I said, sounding impressed. “Then you’re exactly the man I need to speak to.”

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