Page 101 of The Billionaire Is Back

He is met with an epic eye roll from his wife, the likes of which Claire could only aspire to.

The love in this room really is overwhelming. The help and support from ninety percent of the people here is less than underwhelming. It is not the least bit whelming.

“Jake?! What did you do?!” Claire removes her beret herself this time and swipes at him with it.

“It just came off in my hand,” he protests. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll grab my toolbox from the truck and fix it.”

“Are you a licensed plumber?” Preston asks.

“No, I’m a firefighter.”

“Is the toilet on fire?”

“Nah, I didn’t have chili for breakfast today.” Jake surveys everyone in the room, expecting laughter, applause, and a rim shot.

Honestly, it’s tough for me to refrain from laughing. But I do. Because I’m here to support Claire, not her brother.

“I will get a licensed plumber here to fix this immediately,” Claire tells the inspector as he makes notes on his clipboard.

“On a weekend? In this town? Unlikely,” he says, shaking his head.

“Listen, I will fly someone in from the other side of the state if I have to, but it will be fixed by the end of day. Can we move this along?”

Preston looks up at me, vaguely confused by my sudden alpha-billionaire voice, which I only use in Beacon Harbor if I’m telling my girlfriend what to do in the bedroom or if I’m telling clipboard-carrying bureaucrats who’s boss.

We’re interrupted by another knock at the front door. I hold Claire’s hand. I can see by her posture and expression that she’s spiraling a little bit, and Vera is not being her usual World’s Best BFF self. She’s in Terrible Employee mode.

When we cautiously turn to look, we find the mayor outside the front door, chipper as ever, jogging in place, alternately waving enthusiastically and giving Claire the thumbs-up. Claire is not nearly as eager to speak to her as she was the last time we saw her at the beach, but we head over to let her in. Before reaching the door, Crabby appears out of nowhere, unlocks the door, and pokes his head out to say, “We aren’t open, Mayor. This here event is for VIPs only. And you’re not one of them.”

To Stacy’s credit, her permasmile doesn’t falter for a second. “Oh, of course! I just wanted to say hello and offer my congratulations!” she calls out to us.

I block Crabby so Claire can greet the mayor. “Stacy, I’m so glad you could make it—I hope you got the invitation for the grand reopening. This one’s for friends andfamily, and Clarence, and the health inspector, but we all think of you as a friend, of course.”

Stacy enters, still jogging lightly in place. “Oh, Preston is here? Fantastic. Or terrible. It can sometimes be terrible. I hope it’s fantastic.”

“It’s not,” Preston remarks as he adjusts his tie.

My girl’s massaging her temples, and the vibe in here is not festive. I signal to Damien to start playing guitar again. “Hey, these s’mores aren’t going to eat themselves, everyone!” I call out to the guests. “Have s’more!” I give Stacy my full attention for a moment because I have a feeling I’m going to need a favor. “Stacy, can I interest you in a mimosa?”

She finally stands somewhat still. “Well, why not? I could use a little vitamin C and sugar to power up the run home.”

“I’ll need to see your kitchen now,” Preston tells Claire.

“Yes, right this way.” She gestures toward the door to the kitchen. “I’m confident you’ll find everything in order back there, Mr. Bellwether.”

I give her a little pat on the butt, letting her know that everything is in order back there too. And then I give her shoulder a little squeeze to let her know that I have her back. Reminding her that I’m here. Silently assuring her that I’m prepared to take care of anything she needs me to take care of before I leave.

Except…

“Raccoon,” Preston says as soon as he enters the kitchen.

“What?” Claire looks around and covers her mouth,muffling a long string of swear words that I’ve never heard her utter before—and honestly, I never even heard her brother say those things that time he stepped on a nail when we were in high school.

“You can’t have a raccoon in here,” he reprimands, as if she were harboring a fugitive.

There is indeed a large raccoon shuffling around, trying to find a place to hide. Worse yet, there is evidence of its attempts at eating anything it could get its weird little hands on. The back door to the alley is open, and the screen door isn’t shut all the way.

“I have no idea how this happened,” Claire says, her voice trembling. “That door was closed the last time I was in here.”

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