Page 13 of Meet Jon, the Billionaire

I entered the clubhouse and found that my buffet line was doing great. Everyone walked away with a smile on their face. As well as it should be, I thought to myself. I wanted people to associate the name Acme Bread with high class and elegance in dining. It was all part of our rebranding efforts.

I turned around and cast a sneering smile at the pathetic, itty bitty table with baked goods on it. The poor Breadcetera guy just stood there looking like a goof. Weird, it was almost as if he was pretending to be a statue.

You should be trying to entice patrons over to try your bread, buddy… oh, who am I kidding? It wouldn’t do him any good!

Suddenly, I was struck from behind. I staggered forward, letting out a cry of shock more than pain. I turned about to find out which jerk had decided to try and knock me over. My irate rage died in my throat when I realized there was a micro-stampede of terrified humanity about to sweep me up in its wake.

I had no choice but to let it sweep me along, going with the flow until I was back by the exit. One of the women stopped in the doorway, staring over her shoulder at the sign-up table.

“Excuse me, ma’am, but what happened? Why was everyone running?”

“Someone saw a black widow spider over by the signup sheet,” she said, panting. “Although it looks pretty safe now.”

I frowned. “That sounds impossible. They fumigate here regularly.”

I left her at the entrance and crossed the floor, looking for Amelia. I wasn’t too worried about the black widow, because I heard they weren’t all that vicious and rarely lethal even without antivenom. Also, I was worried about Amelia, even though I wasn’t prepared to admit it yet, not even to myself.

I spied her dark lock of hair at the sign-up table. I felt my face stretch in a smile when we made eye contact. She smiled back. Oh, that smile. It reached its hands into my chest and played my heartstrings like a violin virtuoso.

“Hey,” she said. “How’s Flash?”

“Playing with some of his doggie buddies. He’ll be fine.”

“Oh, that’s good—so I signed us up already. Look, we’ve got our first match-up. See?”

I followed her pointing finger to the big blackboard with the tournament brackets written on it. I noticed that I didn’t have a last name on the board, but that didn’t bother me.

What did cause me to take notice was the names of our opponents. Chad and Tiffany Maddox. Chad Maddox was on the zoning board. He would be one of the people who would decide who got that corner lot.

Fortune smiles. My own smile faded a bit when I remembered the second half of the saying. And then betrays…

“It looks like we’ve got a bit of time to kill until our match,” I said. “Would you care to partake of this fine buffet?”

“Um, sure, but what about that other buffet?”

“Buffet?” I sneered at the Breadcetera ‘spread’ with great disdain. “Why would we even consider it, when there’s this magnificent repast Acme Bread has prepared for us?”

She heaved a sigh, looking unexpectedly sad. “No reason, I guess. God, I’m starving…”

We loaded our plates with goodies from the buffet. I took some scallions, a slice of filet mignon, but I eschewed the lobster. Not that I don’t like it, but I’d had it for dinner just the night before and I was feeling a little burnt.

Amelia ate with gusto, and that made me glad. I hated it when women just picked at their food. She was truly appreciative of every bite, but she had her critiques as well.

“The scallions should have been seared with olive oil but then sauteed in butter,” she asserted. “And what is this? Philly rare? This steak is a hockey puck on the outside, gooey red mess on the inside.”

“You sound like you know a thing or two about food preparation.”

“Oh, maybe,” she said, smiling again. “Listen, I hate to disappoint you, but I’m not the world’s greatest tennis player.”

“This is for charity,” I said, trying to make her feel better.

“Well, I just don’t want you to get your expectations up too high.” She swallowed as I drank in the sight of her sweet feminine mystery. “For the tennis game, I mean.”

“My dear Amy,” I said, putting my hand on top of her own “I always keep my expectations high.”

My fingers curled around her own, and I could feel the rush of heat that passed between us.

“Don’t you get disappointed sometimes, though?” She asked in a husky whisper. “I mean, when you don’t get what you want?”

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