Page 28 of Falling for Mr. Grump, the Big City Billionaire

As the event winds down, I start packing up my station. Troy's long gone, probably back to the inn or wherever corporate types go after mingling with us commoners. But I can still see his smile, still hear his laugh.

"Great job, Skye," Mayor Thompson says, patting me on the back. "This event was a real success."

I nod, trying to focus. "Thanks, Mayor. I'm glad it worked out."

But even as I chat with the lingering attendees and help clean up, my mind keeps drifting back to Troy.

The way his eyes lit up when he talked about Mr. Jenkins' seascape. How he actually listened when I babbled about my weird food combinations. The warmth of his hand when it accidentally brushed mine…

It’s almost like I’m in high school again and I’m crushing on the annoying popular jock in my grade.

Ugh!

Stop it, Skye! I mentally slap myself. This is Troy we're talking about. The guy who ran into your truck and probably doesn’t give two cents about Seaside Cove. The enemy, remember?

But as I pack up Bessie Jr. and head home, I can't shake the image of his smile. It's like it's burned into my brain, popping up every time I close my eyes.

I flop onto my bed, groaning into my pillow.

This is bad. This is very, very bad.

Because for the first time since I met him, I'm not seeing Troy as the enemy. I'm seeing him as... Troy. And that might be the scariest thing of all.

I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling. "Get it together, Martinez," I mutter to myself. "He's just a guy. A stupidly handsome, surprisingly sweet guy, nothing special, nothing special at all."

Great.Now I'm talking to myself.

About Troy. Again.

I grab my phone, thumb hovering over Zoey's number. I need a distraction, stat.

But what would I even say?

'Hey, remember that guy we are supposed to hate? Yeah, I think I might like him. Send help.'

Nope. Not happening.

Instead, I find myself scrolling through the photos from tonight's event. And there he is, in the background of a group shot. Head thrown back in laughter, eyes crinkled, that damn dimple on full display.

My heart does a little somersault, and I groan again. This is going to be a long night.

As I drift off to sleep, one thought keeps circling in my mind.

Who are you really, Mister Troy? And why can't I stop thinking about you?

Chapter seven

TROY

I can't believe I let Drew talk me into this.

A sailing lesson? Me?

I'm a CEO, for crying out loud, not some beach bum with nothing better to do. But here I am, standing on the dock in shorts and a polo shirt, feeling completely out of place.

"Come on, Troy," Drew had said, grinning like an idiot. "You need to loosen up a bit. Experience the local culture."

Local culture. Right. As if I care about that.

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