Page 10 of Faking It with my Small Town Billionaire

“Ellie. Seriously.”

“Well”—she smiles widely—“you always did have the biggest crush on him. You can’t tell me your heart didn’t do a somersault when you saw him.”

There’s no point lying to them. My sisters know me too well.

“My jaw may or may not have dropped to the floor. And yes. I think there was a point where I actually pinched myself.”

They both giggle at me, the excitement of the conversation making us all a little giddy.

After many more inappropriate remarks from my sisters, we eventually say farewell and end the call. As always, I am in a far better mood. But with Orson on my mind, I return to my doubts.

As hot and as cute as he is, both of which are undeniable facts, that itch still can’t be scratched. I’m super tired and start to ready myself for bed, but as I stand in the bathroom and brush my teeth, I am determined to keep a close eye on our new investor.

Looking at myself in the mirror, toothpaste foaming in my mouth, I shake the toothbrush at my reflection.

“Keep your eyes open, Miss Harper.”

After spraying toothpaste across my bathroom mirror, I rinse, spit, and turn the bathroom light out.

5

Orson

It’s been a week since my first visit to Willow Creek. Armed with a substantial plan for the redevelopment of the town, I returned yesterday to meet with the town council. All four of them. We sat around a small table in a tiny room at the local library.

No lie, my bathroom is bigger.

When you’re used to huge conferences with long tables and twenty or more in attendance, sitting in that tiny room makes you feel like you’re in the twilight zone, or worse, back in kindergarten.

I’d given them all the information they needed to know for now, and while three of them looked pretty impressed—no one more than Mr. Lyle—there was one council member who remained dubious.

Lily Harper listened intently to what I had to say, but I could see the reticence in her eyes. I figured that after the last time we met, especially given it was she who had organized that town meeting in favor of fighting against Donovan Enterprises, she would give me the most trouble.

After the meeting ended, I pulled her to the side.

“Have you got a minute, Miss Harper?”

“Sure,” she said, looking up at me with raised eyebrows.

“This is a huge undertaking, and I don’t want anyone to get lost in all the elaborate verbiage of the contracts.”

“Elaborate verbiage?” She smirked. “You mean the long-winded jargon, right?”

I smiled at her quick deconstruction of my statement, as ironic as it was.

“Yes. That’s exactly what I mean. I have a proposal specifically for the bakery. I think, given that it’s the heart of the town, it might be a good idea for us to start with your business.”

Yes, all right. I was sucking up to her, but it wasn’t a lie. Harper’s has always been a constant of the town. It was the longest standing business that I could recall and thus represented Willow Creek at its roots.

She gave me a look that told me she wasn’t so easily worked and then shrugged. “Sure.”

That dismissive answer didn’t give me much hope, but I had known before I stepped one foot back into Willow Creek that this project was never going to be a walk in the park. That said, I figured Lily Harper would be the easiest to start with. She was one of the few people I could look in the eye and not want to wish harm upon.

“Why don’t you come around to the bakery tomorrow evening?” she offered. “I close the doors at six, so does seven work?”

“Sounds perfect,” I replied.

And thus, at 6:45 p.m., I am currently sitting in my car across the street, waiting for the minutes to tick by.

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