Page 15 of Billionaire's Bookworm

And just like that, she was gone, disappearing into the evening shadows without a backward glance.

I stood there, watching the sun sink below the horizon, a bemused smile on my face as I thought about the events of the day.

How this woman could have such an effect on me so quickly I had no clue, but I knew there was no way in hell I was letting it go.

This wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

ChapterFive

Emma

I pushed openthe door of Beachy Keen Reads, the familiar creak of the hinges like music to my ears. Odors of aged paper and ink wrapped around me like a cozy blanket, each inhale settling the restless flutter in my chest. Sunlight streamed through the oversized front windows, casting golden patches across the worn hardwood floors.

A smile tugged at my lips—nothing like a bookstore bathed in morning light to soothe the soul.

“Alright, Emma gal,” I whispered to myself, shrugging off my light cardigan and hanging it on the ancient coat rack that leaned ever so slightly to the left. Charming, really. “Time to get down to business.”

Today’s to-do list was as long as my arm: catalog the mountain of new inventory (note to self—maybe don’t go overboard at the next book fair), update the window display (because apparently, pumpkins and black cats in November are frowned upon), and draft the event proposal for the upcoming children’s reading week. Plenty to keep me busy and, more importantly, distract me from thoughts of a certain irritatingly charming billionaire who had taken up unwelcome residence in my head.

As I wandered through the store, straightening chairs and fluffing cushions in the reading nook, memories of last night’s chili cook-off kept sneaking in like mischievous pixies. The way Wade looked at me after our unexpected tie—those eyes gleaming with a mix of challenge and amusement.

Hotter than any man had a right to be.

And then that kiss. Out of nowhere, right there in front of everyone. Bold as brass. It left me flustered, turned on, and if I were honest with myself, unexpectedly needy.

“Ugh,” I groaned, reaching up to adjust a row of classics on the top shelf. “Get it together, woman.”

I tried to refocus, humming an old folk tune Grammy used to sing, the melody winding its way through the silent shop and calming my scattered thoughts. Stepping back to admire my handiwork, my gaze drifted—of its own accord, mind you—to the spot near the door where Wade had stood just days ago, that infuriating smirk playing on his lips, equal parts charming and exasperating.

“Seriously?” I muttered to the empty store. “He’s like an annoying song stuck on repeat.”

Shaking my head, I resolved yet again, to banish the Greek god from my thoughts.

Easier said than done, clearly.

As I turned to the next task––tackling the heap of books that arrived yesterday and were now precariously stacked behind the counter––I hoisted a particularly heavy stack of hardcovers just as a vivid image of Wade’s teasing grin flashed across my mind.

“Whoa!” The books slipped from my grasp, thudding to the floor in a dramatic cascade.

“Perfect,” I sighed, dropping to my knees to gather them. A couple strolling by peeked in through the window, their eyebrows raised. I offered a sheepish smile and a little wave. Just your friendly neighborhood bookshop owner, casually causing avalanches of literature.

“Get a grip, Emma,” I chided myself under my breath. “You’re acting like a lovesick teenager.”

Something about saying the words out loud centered me somewhat. Stacking the books—again—I decided it was high time for a caffeine fix. Maybe a change of scenery would help clear this Wade-induced fog in my brain.

“Sandy Sips Café, here I come,” I declared, snatching up my purse and flipping the sign on the door to “Back in 15 minutes.” Probably optimistic, but a girl could dream. Silvy wasn’t due to come in until later that afternoon, but we were in our slow season, so I wasn’t too worried.

The crisp morning air greeted me as I stepped onto the boardwalk, the salty breeze instantly lifting my spirits. Seashell Cove was already bustling—shops opening, locals exchanging greetings, the distant crash of waves providing a soothing soundtrack. The scent of the ocean mingled with the aroma of fresh pastries wafting from the café down the street.

As I approached the café, rich smells of freshly brewed coffee made my nose wiggle in appreciation. The quaint little spot was a beloved staple in town—a place where everyone knew your name and your coffee order. The turquoise door swung open with a cheerful jingle of the brass bell above.

“Morning, Emma!” Sandy’s bright voice rang out before I’d even crossed the threshold. She stood behind the counter, her trademark mismatched earrings—a tiny teacup dangling from one ear, a saucer from the other—bobbing as she moved. Today, a vibrant scarf in shades of purple and blue was wrapped around her head, rebellious gray curls escaping in all directions.

“Morning, Sandy,” I replied with a grin. “Smells divine in here.”

“Just pulled a batch of blueberry scones out of the oven,” she chirped, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “Care to indulge?”

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