Page 1 of Rescued By My Small Town Billionaire

Chapter one

Becky

The smell of smoke wakes me.

At first, it’s faint, teasing the edge of my senses like a cruel trick from a bad dream. My eyes flutter open, groggy from too little sleep and the lingering fog of grief. Then it hits me all at once—the sharp, acrid scent of something burning.

This is no dream.

I bolt upright in bed, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it might crack my ribs. My apartment above the shop is eerily silent, except for the distant sound of glass shattering. I scramble for my robe, my mind racing. What if it’s nothing? What if something is very wrong?

Running to the window, I fling it open. A rush of cool early-morning air slaps my face, but it does nothing to calm the fire raging below. Flames lick at the edges of the shop’s side door, their bright orange glow slicing through the predawn shadows.

My floral shop—my dream—is on fire.

I don’t remember moving, but suddenly I’m pounding down the stairs, barefoot and trembling, trying not to trip as panic propels me forward. Smoke stings my eyes as I grab the phonefrom the counter and dial 911, my fingers shaking so hard I can barely hit the buttons. My voice cracks as I speak, barely audible over the roar of my pulse.

“My shop,” I gasp. “Beckon Blooms on Main Street. It’s on fire! Please hurry.”

The operator’s calm voice should reassure me, but it doesn’t. I’m rooted to the spot, unable to do anything but clutch the phone like a lifeline. My hands ache to save the shop, to douse the flames and protect the bouquets waiting for pickup, the arrangements meant to bring joy to brides and comfort to the grieving.

But I know better.

Fire isn’t something you fight alone with your bare hands.

The wail of a fire truck splits the stillness, cutting through my terror. It grows louder by the second until red and white lights bathe the walls in a kaleidoscope of urgency.

Relief floods through me when the truck screeches to a halt and firefighters jump out, their movements swift and purposeful.

One of them turns toward me, his face obscured by the helmet and mask, but his presence is commanding. His voice booms over the crackle of the fire as he shouts orders to the others.

He doesn’t look at me—doesn’t have to. His focus is on the fire, but his confidence in handling it offers a sliver of hope.

Stepping back, I hug myself as the firefighters charge toward the building.

The roar of water from the hose competes with the roar of the flames, and for a moment, I can’t tell who’s winning. My legs shake, and I lean against the doorframe, watching helplessly. The shop feels like an extension of myself, and it’s burning.

“Miss, are you okay?”

The strong masculine voice startles me. I glance up to see one of the firefighters, his mask off now. His brown eyes aresharp and assessing as they lock onto mine. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and so effortlessly commanding it takes me a second to answer.

“I... I think so,” I manage, though the words feel like a lie.

“Stay back,” he says firmly, his gaze softening as he notices my trembling hands. “We’ve got this.”

I want to believe him.

The fire is under control within minutes, though it feels like hours. Smoke still curls from the edges of the shop, leaving an acrid haze in the air.

I’m clutching my elbows, watching the last remnants of the blaze die out, when the same firefighter approaches me again.

This time, he pulls off his helmet, revealing a face that’s both rugged and striking, with a strong jawline and eyes that seem to hold the weight of the world.

“Rebecca, right?” he asks, and my heart stumbles.

“Yes,” I reply warily. My name must be on the 911 report. “Well, Becky.”

“How bad is it?” I ask in a tiny whisper.

---