Page 1 of Billionaire's Bookworm

ChapterOne

Emma

I beboppedmy head to the obnoxious 80’s pop rock song blasting through the bookstore’s speakers while arranging the already perfectly aligned tomes on the front table for the fifth time. The music was loud and upbeat, just the way I liked it.

I enacted a little slide to the end of the table, my chunky boots not hindering my dance moves in the slightest. Reaching out, I chewed the tip of my tongue as I squinted and adjusted another book a millimeter to the left.

Golden morning sunlight spilled through the front windows, catching dust motes dancing in the air. A soft smile curved my lips as I breathed in the familiar scent of aged paper and freshly brewed coffee. My little shop might be a bit hodgepodge, but it was home. It was everything.

Business was dead this Tuesday morning, leaving me with nothing better to do than compulsively tidy and dance around the room like a weirdo—and dread the upcoming electric bill.

Slow days weren’t unusual during the winter months in Seashell Cove, a picturesque little beach town just thirty minutes outside of Miami. Floridians could handle the blistering summers, but give ‘em even a whiff of winter and they bundled up like it was subzero outside.

Myself included, as evidenced by the knee-high boots, worn but warm jeans, and cozy slouch-neck sweater I wore. Only the brave ventured outdoors and walked the main street of our tiny town in the middle of Florida’s so-called “winter.”

Lost in my own little rhythm, a sudden bark jolted me back to reality. “Well, look who’s awake!” I turned to see Porky, my lovable Goldendoodle, stirring from his sun-soaked slumber on the floor. His goofy curls bounced with each sleepy shake of his head, and his tail thumped against the hardwood like a metronome gone wild.

“Decided to join the party, did you?” I grinned, kneeling down to ruffle his floppy ears. His warm brown eyes met mine with that endless adoration only a dog—or maybe a really good slice of cheesecake—could muster. My heart melted into a puddle.

“Hey there, buddy,” I cooed, scratching that spot behind his ear that made his leg twitch. “Isn’t it just the best being home?” He answered by flopping over onto his back, paws in the air, shamelessly begging for belly rubs.

“Oh, you big ol’ softie,” I laughed. “Fine, you win.” I gave in to his not-so-subtle demands, running my fingers through his fluffy fur. Moments like these were exactly why Beachy Keen Reads was my little slice of heaven.

Here, I could be unapologetically me, instead of some wind-up doll caving to my mother’s demands. Left to her devices, I would have been carefully groomed to become the next Stepford Wife of some crotchety old billionaire.

As I stroked his soft curls, a thought nudged its way into my mind. Funny how different life could’ve been. Back in that other world, dogs were accessories—a photo op on a jeweled leash, toted around at gala events like the latest designer handbag.

Not disheveled goofballs who snored louder than a freight train and thought mud puddles were the height of fashion.

I cringed, memories sneaking in like uninvited guests. Me, plastering on a polite smile for strangers who saw me as nothing more than a pawn in their social-climbing chess game.

A prize to be won or a deal to be brokered.

I shook my head, trying to physically dislodge the lingering anxiety. It’s amazing—annoying, really—how easily the past tries to pull you back.

Porky had drifted back to sleep, his paws twitching as if chasing squirrels in his dreams. A silly grin tugged at his jowls, and a tiny snore escaped his nose. I couldn’t help but chuckle.

That right there—that was the freedom I craved. A life untouched by the gilded cage of wealth and expectations. One filled with spontaneous moments, silly indulgences, and the unabashed joy of being exactly who I wanted to be.

No strings attached, no masks required.

“Sweet dreams, Porky,” I whispered, giving him one last pat before standing up. The sun poured through the windows, casting a warm glow over the rows of books lining the shelves. My little kingdom. And for the first time in a long while, I felt completely at peace.

My best friend, Silvy, sat in one of the overstuffed chairs in the corner, bopping her own head, snapping gum, and sorting through a recent delivery of books, arranging them alphabetically for shelving later.

She wore attire similar to mine, though her color choices were splashy and loud. I guessed that was the blessing of being blonde and tan.

Silvy could wear anything and make it look good. In contrast, I leaned toward more muted colors that complemented my bright red hair and—significantly—paler skin. My gaze roved over her with affection. That girl was my rock, always game to offer a listening ear and helpful advice.

Or a shovel and rope, depending on the situation.

She caught my gaze and blew a bubble at me. “Any hot dates lately?” she teased, making conversation. I rolled my eyes and shook my head with a laugh.

“You’re one to talk,” I remarked. “Last I heard, you were trying to set your momma up with the hot yoga instructor. How’d that work out?”

Silvy blushed, popping her gum. “Hey, gotta look out for my momma’s love life, you know?” She winked. “Besides, it’s not like you’re actively trying to snag a man either, Miss ‘I’d rather stay home with my dog and a good book.’”

“There’s nothing wrong with a little independence,” I retorted, grabbing a nearby stack of newly arrived paperbacks. “Besides,” I said, placing a well-worn copy ofPride and Prejudiceon top, “Mr. Darcy never judges my taste in pajamas.”

---