by Ellie Hall
Only a Night with a Billionaire
Only Us a sweet billionaire romance series
Book 2
by
Ellie Hall
Only a Night with a Billionaire
Copyright© 2019 Ellie Hall
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any informational storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author/publisher except where permitted by law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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Website: http://www.elliehallauthor.com
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Let's Connect
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Chapter 1
Penny
With a bag slung over her shoulder, Penny Jones stood just inside the door to her New York City apartment. She turned around one last time, glanced at the kitchen and sighed—she and her sister had affectionately dubbed the apartment the kitchen closet because the whole space was tiny, except the kitchen. Baking was at the center of Penny’s life and having the space for it was her only requirement. She’d miss her place in Manhattan but she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to apprentice with David Park, master baker extraordinaire.
She smiled, turned the doorknob, and with suitcase in tow, stepped into the hallway. As she closed the door behind her, her stomach did a little flip. She was leaving behind her secure job, her friends, family, and life as she knew it. “What could go wrong?” she whispered under her breath.
In her silent, cat-like way, Mrs. Wong, Penny’s elderly neighbor shuffled past. “Everything, dear. Everything,” she said as if in answer to Penny’s question.
“Huh?” Penny asked.
The old woman passed her an envelope. “The mailman put another piece of your mail in my box.”
Penny glanced down at her full name written across the front. Penelope Victoria Jones. She stuffed it in her suitcase. “You shouldn’t get anything more for me. I was selected for an apprenticeship with David Park.” Usually, when she said this, she got a polite smile in response—not too many people outside the culinary world knew of him.
However, for avid bakers, he was a household name, being the master baker for the royals in Burklingham Palace, but commoners usually didn’t make the connection.
She got just such a smile from Mrs. Wong but it quickly dipped into a frown as she opened her door. “There goes Pumpkin. She escaped again. If the super would take care of the rodent problem, she wouldn’t be so tempted.”
A furry, orange cat streaked by at the end of the hall. Penny set her belongings down and quietly tiptoed down the hall after the cat so she didn’t startle it. She called his name and the images of pumpkin pie, pumpkin scones, pumpkin bread—all the delicious things she could bake inspired by that single ingredient—floated into her mind. What marvelous things would she make at the palace?
She knew she was a bit on the older side when she’d applied for the position—most people applied for apprenticeships or to work as an assistant right out of culinary school, but she had bills to pay and had earned her way forward starting in the kitchens of some of the best bakeries and restaurants in the city because she couldn’t afford to work without compensation. But she’d scrimped and saved and eight years later had her opportunity. Better late than never.
Penny was the kind of person who led with her heart but knew this was her only shot at moving forward in her career. She wasn’t poor but would be living off savings for the next few months and didn’t have enough for whatever would come after the apprenticeship was over. She was giving up her apartment, her security, and banking on her future—not to mention her baking abilities. People came far and wide for her lemon bars, her lavender cheesecake, and macarons. But she was best known for her cookies: good, old fashioned chocolate chip in particular.
Penny scooped up the cat and then hurried to return him. “I hope you have a nice day, Mrs. Wong.”
She nuzzled the giant orange and white feline then said, “Good luck.”
“Thanks, I’ll need it.”
As Penny wheeled her suitcase along the slushy and slippery New York City sidewalk, she looked forward to the gilded halls of the palace, imagining the wood floors and plush carpet. Though, she reasoned, she’d mostly be in the kitchen and pictured it classic but outfitted with modern equipment as well.
She passed her favorite bookstore, the ramen place where she often grabbed lunch, and then the café where she’d met her ex as they’d each vied for the last butterscotch cookie. She won but ended up giving him half. After six months, he broke it off, which was what usually happened—the relationship not the cookie.
In the end, she was convinced he was using her for her whoopie pies. Before him, she’d dated an investment banker and was left feeling like he just wanted her for her morning glory muffins. And the guy she’d met when she first moved to the city was all about her peaches and cream cake.
She hadn’t dated much and had always told herself baking before boys. With the new beginning overseas, she’d stick with it because she’d given up on love and was focused on her career.
Bound for the airport, she squeezed into the subway car. Someone sneezed on her, a toddler had a meltdown and threw himself on the floor, screaming (and kicking, Penny once), and a man decided that would be a great time to play the macarena on his saxophone. She’d miss Manhattan in all its zaniness, but imagined the peaceful tranquility of the palace.
In the international terminal, when the ticket agent called, “Now boarding flight 3529 bound for London,” Penny had a little skip in her step as she got into the line.
Unfortunately, she was seated near the very back of the plane and had to press past everyone else to get to her seat: between a teenager with headphones whose video game blasting was audible and an older man who decided then would be a good time to tell her the story of his near-death experience while on a commercial flight back in 1973.
It was her first time on a plane and she made a mental note not to buy the cheapest ticket next time—her mother always said you get what you pay for. Her mother, off in the Caribbean with her latest suitor, never paid f
or anything. She liked to refer to the arrangements she made with the men she lassoed. Her strategy was to find someone rich, keep him happy, and be set for life. She insisted her daughters marry for wealth. Emma and Penny made a pact to marry for love. Lucky for Emma she got both, but Penny wasn’t interested in relationships anymore. Her career came first. Baking before boys. Nothing would come between her and her dream of becoming a successful baker.
As the blasting from her seat neighbor came from one side and the older gentleman rattled on about the many calamities in his life, Penny rubbed her temples and reminded herself she was going to London. To the palace. To apprentice under the expert tutelage of the most renowned baker in the world.
When the plane touched down, she gathered her belongings and only got lost once on the way to baggage claim. As the suitcases slowly rode past on the luggage carousel, and hers didn’t turn up, panic twinged in her belly. She thought back to when she stood in her apartment. There was a moment when she’d hesitated…had she made the right choice?
She reported the missing bag and after being assured it would turn up and the airline would deliver it to her free of charge, the employee gave her a pink ticket. “If you have any changes or don’t receive it within forty-eight hours, call this number.”
“Thanks,” Penny said, stuffing it in her bag. At least she had toiletries and some essentials. Namely, leftover cookies. She’d kept surplus in the freezer and in the last remaining days before her big overseas trip, she gave them away to friends, coworkers, and neighbors, leaving her with a few to remind her of home and for emergencies—losing her bag fitted the criteria. She took a nibble as she studied the map for the Underground, referenced the address for the flat she was renting for the next three months and once again, set off.
In contrast to the New York subway, the Underground was tidy and quiet. She people watched and listened for her stop spoken in the smooth British accent over the intercom.
She’d never been abroad but had fallen in love with all things British, especially the prince, at a young age. She even had a poster of Oliver in her room back in high school. The refinement, the customs, the royalty, it had always fascinated her. She lost interest in high school when it turned out he was a snob. Nonetheless, she fought the urge to tell the person in the seat opposite her she was on her way to the palace bright and early in the morning.
When she finally arrived at her stop and emerged on the street, she was not met with the quaint neighborhood lined with trees and people walking their dogs photographed on the website where she’d found the place to rent. Instead, she stared at a brick wall smattered in profane graffiti. Trash littered the sidewalk and a homeless man shambled toward her. She glanced at the address for the rental. “Um, is this Pembury?” she asked him. It sounded so charming in the description and was the best she could afford in close proximity to the Underground.
“Grotty, no good…when I was a boy…” She couldn’t understand the rest of what the man said.
“Um, thanks.” She passed him the cookies she had left and walked in the opposite direction—he probably needed them more than she did.
In the distance, police sirens wailed.
She turned down the street and followed the address. Despite the cloudy sky, at least it was still daylight. She didn’t want to be out there after dark. When she got to the building three blocks later, it was boarded up. Her stomach twisted. “This was not what I expected.”
Her heart sank and she stood there for a few minutes, trying to figure out what to do. Feeling eyes on her, she turned. A man in an alleyway leered in her direction. She tucked her phone in her pocket and rushed back to the Underground, thankful she didn’t have to tow her suitcase behind her.
Back on the train, she consulted her phone, seeking a café where she could regroup and figure out what to do. She also sent an angry email to the person who’d ripped her off. She’d only put a deposit on the rental but now she was out five-hundred dollars. She sighed as she got off the train and emerged from the High Street Burklingham Underground station and was met with houses in lovely colors that reminded her of macarons and a cobbled street and broad park with willows hanging over a pond. She took a deep breath. “This is more like it.”
At a nearby café, Penny ordered a tea and scone and sat at an empty table. “Okay, now what?” she asked. “I’m talking to myself. Great. Could this day get any worse?” She needed a game plan, a place to stay, and her sister.
Last she knew Emma was traveling with her billionaire boyfriend but maybe they were back in London. She hadn’t told her sister about the apprenticeship because she wanted it to be a surprise on her doorstep. She had an elaborate plan of showing up on their doorstep with a plate of her favorite cookies baked at the palace.
She pressed call on her phone. Emma didn’t answer but moments later her phone beeped with a text.
I have terrible phone service here. I answered your call but then the connection went dead.
Where are you?
In the Caribbean.
With mom? No way would Emma willingly travel to visit their mother. She used to pester the girls, nonstop, about when they were going to get married. Penny imagined it would only get worse now that Emma was with a wealthy and well-known guy.
Goodness, no but I’ve been in contact with her. I’m with Will…on his private island. I wish you were here. Wait. Where are you?
I'm in London.
A slew of emojis came next. Then I just tried calling. The reception here is so spotty. Penny, what are you doing in London?
She explained about the apprenticeship and then the two went back and forth about why Penny didn’t tell her. Mostly she didn’t quite believe it herself and because she didn’t want to jinx it. Too late for that. Then she told her about how she was going to surprise her with homemade chocolate chippers.
My mouth is watering. Anyway, make sure you get an international phone plan. I didn’t and it cost me!
Penny had already thought of that; she’d obsessed over every detail in the months before her scheduled departure. However, she had to rent the flat sight unseen and should have gotten references or something.
Her tea had gotten cold. What was she going to do?
Where are you staying in London? Emma asked via their text thread.
Penny replied and asked for recommendations for where to stay after typing a long explanation of what had happened with the rental but she didn’t get an answer. She blamed it on the bad service. Figured, considering how her day was going.
Penny stayed in the café, hoping to hear from Emma again and searched for a place to stay. She found a few affordable options but they were far. After she consulted the map for which trains to take, she opened the car service app on her phone. “Three transfers or a twenty-minute ride for twenty pounds…”
She sighed again but stepped out onto the sidewalk. None of the classic London taxis passed and it was getting late in the day, nearly dark. The scent of baking bread met her nose, reminding her why she was there. She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders and navigated the Underground once again.
When she stepped onto the sidewalk a third time, it had started to rain. She dashed to the nearest, though decidedly sketchiest hotel on her list and booked a room.
“It’s only temporary,” she told herself.
When she got upstairs, the room smelled like cat pee, reminding her of chasing after Pumpkin early that morning. “Was that really today?” she whispered.
A fluorescent light flickered overhead and something green and jelly-like was on the bedspread. She lowered into a chair, told herself she’d figure out what to do the next day, and fell fast asleep.
Never mind that she woke with lines imprinted on her cheek from the scratchy chair, or that her back ached, also from said chair. Forget that she was without housing and her luggage. As Penny splashed cold water on her face, she smiled at her reflection in the mirror. “My apprenticeship at the palace starts today. I can do this.”
She smoothed her hair and set out.
The letter of acceptance for the prestigious position was printed on thick, cream-colored cardstock. She followed the directions leading to a service entrance at the back of the palace. She figured she’d get to see the front, in all its splendor, at the end of the day. She had enough time then but it was blustery and she already looked like she’d just rolled out of bed—because she didn’t dare shower in the hotel—, no need to make things worse.
She waited in line at the security checkpoint. When it was her turn, the guard asked for her ID and followed up with several other questions.
Penny referred to her letter. “I’m here to meet Esther Newman, the coordinator for employment, positions, and stations at the palace. I’m the baker’s new apprentice.”
“Oh, shame about David. He’s been sick.” The guard shook his head.
Penny’s stomach sank. “That’s terrible news but I’m happy to pitch in.” Maybe she could pick up the slack and prove herself. She was a quick learner. She clung to this hope because she desperately didn’t want her opportunity to fall through.
Nonetheless, the guard directed her down a hall, giving a complicated set of instructions. “Left, right, right again, left, then continue down three steps. You’ll see three doors. Don’t enter any of them. Go back up the steps and go through the entrance on your left.”
Penny tried to follow the directions but soon found herself wandering aimlessly beneath the palace. She invented a scenario where she bumped into the prince and they quickly fell into a sweeping romance and she went on to live a fairytale life.
“Baking before boys,” she muttered, not that the fairytale would ever happen.
When she got to a set of three doors, she tried to remember which entrance to use. She closed her eyes, spun in a circle and then opened a door.
She stepped into an actual fairytale. Elegant gowns in every color, fabric, and style lined the wall. She’d stumbled upon the sewing room. She ran her hand down a silky, peach dress embroidered with little golden threads that reminded her of a sunrise.