Page 16 of Falling for Mr. Grump, the Big City Billionaire

"Since when do you care what the board wants?"

I glare at my brother. "Since you decided to stay in this small town, and I had to become the singular person to answer to them." I lean forward. "Look, I'm not exactly happy about this either, but-"

"But nothing." Drew cuts me off. "This isn't just some place you can ruin, Troy. This is my home now. These are my neighbors. My friends." He pauses meaningfully. "Including the owner of a certain food truck."

I ignore the jab. "I don't have a choice."

"There's always a choice." Drew stands, leaving his coffee untouched. "You have to decide what kind of man you want to be." He walks away, leaving me alone with a cold coffee and even colder thoughts.

I stare into my cup, seeing Skye's angry eyes reflected in the dark liquid. For the first time in my career, I'm not sure I like the man looking back at me.

Chapter four

SKYE

The next day, I'm elbow-deep in a bowl of mango salsa when inspiration strikes. "Ooh, what if I add a little bit of cumin?" I mutter, reaching for my spice rack.

My food truck, Bessie, might be tiny, but she's got everything I need to whip up some sweet magic.

The morning sun streams through Bessie's window, catching the sparkle of the ocean in the distance. I take a deep breath, savoring the mix of sea salt and spices.

This is my happy place, creating new flavors inspired by my travels.Okay maybe it’s from books about the travels I want to take.

I sprinkle in cumin, give it a stir, and take a taste. "Well, hot damn, that's good!" I do a little dance, spatula in hand.

Take that, Michelin-star chefs. Skye Martinez is coming for your jobs.

I giggle to myself, loving what I’ve been cooking up lately.

As I'm jotting down the recipe in my sauce-splattered notebook, a shadow falls across my counter. I look up, ready to greet my first customer of the day, and...

Ugh. It's him. Mr. Fancy Pants himself.

I still can’t believe he’s also staying at Seaside Cove inn. And now I’m staying there, and right across the hall. It’s crazy.

I wish Zoey’s boyfriend was on one of his usual trips and not home. Then I wouldn’t be staying at the inn with this irritating man across the hall.

He's standing here in another one of those crisp suits that most likely cost more than my entire food truck.

Does this guy own anything casual? Like, I don't know, a T-shirt that doesn't have a designer label?

I paste on my best 'the customer is always right' smile. "Well, if it isn't the walking disaster. Come back for round two with my truck?"

He frowns, those stormy gray eyes narrowing. "I assure you, that incident was accidental."

"Uh-huh. And I'm secretly Gordon Ramsay in disguise." I wave my spatula at him. "What can I do for you, Mr...?"

"Troy."

Tsk. I roll my eyes. "Okay, James Bond. You want food or are you just here to intimidate my poor, defenseless food truck?"

He looks offended, which, honestly, is kind of hilarious. And all he can manage is: "I'm merely observing local businesses, for... research purposes."

"Research, huh?" I lean forward, propping my elbows on the counter. "And what exactly are you researching? The best way to ruin a girl's day with your face?"

His jaw tightens. Oh, I've hit a nerve. Good.

"I'm interested in the... economic viability of small businesses in coastal towns."

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