Bargaining with the Billionaire (Billionaire Bachelor Mountain Cove)

by Maria Hoagland

  Dismissing the unanswerable question, she got to work. First, she propped up the sketchbook to use as a reference. Ready to carve her first piece, she uncapped the wooden can that housed her favorite set of carving tools and grabbed the green ring wax tube to get started. She ran her fingers over the hard wax, her fingertips buzzing in anticipation of starting a new project. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment to picture the finished piece, transforming the two-dimensional drawing into a three-dimensional rendering. It took a minute for her mind to adjust, but as it did, she knew where to start the first cuts.

  She was focused on roughing in the design when a man spoke softly beside her. “Whatcha working on, Autumn-ista?”

  She jumped. “That’s Taylor to you,” she said without turning around, though she kind of preferred the creative nickname. “And it’s not a good idea to startle a woman with a scalpel.”

  From the first word, she’d recognized Kian, his voice floating around her like the warm surf of the ocean. A tingle of excitement enveloped her before she could get a hold of herself. She breathed in to calm her heart, but that might have been the exact wrong thing to do. He smelled fresh, like sandalwood soap with a little . . . bike grease thrown in? He was right over her shoulder, so close she could feel the heat of him. “I . . . uh . . . finally have any—I mean—an idea for my jewelry. For the . . . event.” She was stumbling all over her words, losing every bit of her wits. This was ridiculous. She wasn’t a twelve-year-old with her first crush.

  “I like it.” His whisper moved a lock of hair on the back of her neck, and she felt a tingle to her toes. If she’d had her hair down rather than in a braided bun . . .

  She swallowed, determined not to look at him, not to react.

  “How did you come up with that idea?” The humor in his tone made her sure he knew it was the same plant as the flower he’d put behind her ear the day before.

  She turned to stare at him, but she hadn’t considered that it would put her face inches from his. Her mouth went dry and her mind went blank. She blinked but recovered. “That’s the thing,” she whispered, more deeply than she’d meant. She fought the urge to clear her throat and eased back to give them both a little space. “This morning when I came in, my sketchbook was open to this drawing with dried flowers next to it.” She studied him, not sure why she suspected him, other than the fact that he sounded like he knew too much. He couldn’t possibly have anything to do with this, could he? “It wasn’t like that when I left the shop last night.”

  “Are you one hundred percent sure?” Kian raised an eyebrow, but nothing else in his expression changed.

  She couldn’t say with one hundred percent certainty, but she nodded. Close enough. “I’m sure.”

  “Hmm.” He stepped back and shoved his hands in his pockets. “There’s only one reasonable explanation: Mafalda. She knows a good thing when she sees it.”

  “Nope. Can’t be a ghost. No body, no ability to move physical objects.” She was by no means an expert on the subject and avoided movies about the supernatural in general, but she knew that much. Which reminded her . . . “Question: yesterday, I mentioned the lack of deliveries. Today—surprise, surprise—I find them? You can’t tell me that was a coincidence.” She glared at him accusingly yet playfully.

  “Okay, I won’t.”

  She went from feeling like she had him to completely confused. “You won’t what?”

  “Tell you it was a coincidence.”

  Was he going to own up to it? “So you admit you did it?”

  “Mafalda can be a bit of a prankster. The only thing you can predict about her behavior is that she’s unpredictable.”

  Of course he would blame the ghost. “Is that so?” she said. The harder he pushed it, the less she believed it. Maybe it was his way of joking with her. She could play along. “Then somehow I need to win her over.”

  “Why is that?”

  She pressed a couple of fingers to her temples, kneading out the stress of all she had to get done in the next week. “I need her help. Or at least her compliance.” She paused before rushing to explain. “I have a lot to do in a short period of time, so if there’s anything I can do to keep her from hiding my shipments or moving my things . . .” She shouldn’t complain. The fact that the drawing was exposed and the flowers were set next to it had made her take a second look at the design. “What do you think she wants? What would make her happy? Cookies?” Her chef could make anything, even excellent macarons. “I mean, I guess since she’s dead, cookies wouldn’t be that enticing to her, but if I gave them to you—” She was baiting him, or at least trying to. “Maybe you could convince her to keep it down?”

  Not reacting, he looked away, turning his attention to the laptop on her left. She’d closed out the vendors’ websites, leaving her own front and center. With embarrassment at being caught with her website open, her face flushed, but she calmed when she saw his interest. He watched as the slideshow carousel clicked through her image gallery.

  “What can I do to help?” he asked, never looking up from the screen. After a moment, he pointed to the mouse, questioning with his eyes. She nodded and waved a go ahead with her hand, curious what his next move would be. He clicked on one of the images—an engagement set—and leaned in to study the image on the screen.

  Ignoring his inspection of her work, she focused instead on the conversation opening she needed to capitalize on. “I have a client coming next Thursday—a huge one.” She shrugged. She might as well tell him the whole truth. Maybe he would take pity on her. “The woman organizing the Barefoot Ball silent auction is coming to look at my designs. I’ve got a few ideas—” She motioned toward her sketchbook. “—and it would help to have some models ready.” She indicated the mess of wax shavings and the ring she’d started. She wouldn’t have time to cast them in gold before Veronica came, but if she had a few wax models, that would be a good start.

  “Each piece needs to be unique, and when we’re talking—” She raised her hands, palms up. “—I don’t know, fifty, maybe more? I’ve got a ton of sketches to do.” She dropped her head in her hands. This was crazy. She’d never have enough time. Not in a week. Even having half the number of needed rough sketches and one or two wax models by then would require her to work around the clock. And that was only if her muse wasn’t scared off by the noise. She looked up at him with pleading eyes. “What I need more than anything is quiet.” She was desperate but didn’t want to beg.

  “I take it you mean me.” Kian folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the worktable she was seated at, facing her. “I wish I could, but keeping the place quiet after shop hours the next several nights will be impossible. I’ve got sold-out shows with the Fourth of July weekend.”

  She nodded her understanding. She wasn’t asking him to sacrifice that.

  “But on the other nights—”

  “Especially Thursday,” she inserted.

  “Especially Thursday,” he agreed, “I might be able to swing it. What do I get in return?”

  She wasn’t agreeing until he was clear on the terms. She raised a finger. “Not a sound,” she clarified. “Not one peep from downstairs until nine o’clock Thursday night.” His shows typically started at eight, with people and music making all kinds of noise a good hour before that.

  “Done,” he said simply. “If you sing onstage the next night.”

  Shocked, she waited for him to laugh it off. This had to be a joke. He had no idea if she could even sing. He remained expressionless and unmoving. He was serious. Her heart skipped, galloping with fear. She took a breath. He won’t be able to hold up his end of the bargain.

  “Deal.” She held her end of their staring contest, but her mind whirled with questions. Why had he thought to ask that? Had he known how shy she was and wanted to use it against her so she wouldn’t agree? She had to break this contest of wills. “Now, why did you come again? Did you need something?”

  Kian’s face softened into a smile, his
blue eyes sparkling like ocean water in the sunlight. “To say hi. And to see if your muse showed up after our bike ride.”

  “It did.” She picked up her wax and carving tool. She was blowing Kian off, telling him she needed to get to work, but she was secretly pleased he’d come by. “Thanks for checking.” When she looked up at him and caught him staring at her, she blushed. “And thanks for the inspiration.” The day off, the fresh air and conversation, had been the respite her creative brain had needed.

  “You’re welcome,” he whispered. His hand grazed her shoulder as he stood up straight. “See you onstage next Friday night. Be ready to belt your heart out to some Thomas Rhett.” He winked at her, and her heart fluttered. It was a good thing she was already sitting down, because she was pretty sure her knees would have buckled.

  12

  If Kian had to wait more than a week to see Autumn, it would be entirely too long. He understood the need for her to work, but this was a holiday weekend, for goodness’ sake.

  It wasn’t that he hadn’t seen her exactly; he had seen her—if he counted making silly faces at her through her workshop window, helping a delivery man move jewelry-making equipment into her new studio opposite his office wall, and watching her walk to her car every night—but he hadn’t had the chance to spend any real time with her. That was all ending today, especially because Kian had something he needed to talk to her about.

  Even on the busy Fourth of July, Kian could post a sign saying he’d be right back and run upstairs to talk to her. He could email her website and just ask. But he couldn’t text her. Why hadn’t he thought to ask for her number yet? Making do with the options he had, Kian went old school; he looked up the number for the Looking Glass, placed the call, and waited.

  “The Looking Glass stained-glass artists. This is Katrina. How may I help you today?”

  Katrina’s seriousness in someone her age almost had Kian cracking up, but he held it together. “Hi, Katrina. This is Kian from downstairs. Is Autumn busy?”

  “Oh, hi, Kian.” Katrina’s voice got softer, more playful. “She’s with a customer, but I’ll get her.”

  “No—” Kian was going to object, but he heard the phone set down on the counter. Seriously old school.

  Several moments later, he heard the phone being picked up again. Knowing he was about to speak to Autumn, he felt his pathetic schoolboy-crush grin start up. It was a good thing she couldn’t see him.

  “I’m sorry, Kian.” The voice wasn’t Autumn’s; it was Katrina again. “She asked me to take a message.”

  “No worries.” Though he was, a little. Should he read anything into her refusal to talk to him? He could think of one way to find out. “Do you think she’d mind if you gave me her cell number? Then I could just shoot her a text.” He held his breath. The way Katrina responded would be a pretty clear answer.

  “Sure. Good idea.” Katrina eagerly whispered the digits.

  “Got it. Thanks, K.”

  As soon as the call disconnected, Kian sent a text to Autumn’s phone: How about tonight, we take a quick break? Join me on the stairs for a moment to honor history under some pretty spectacular lights. I’ve got some shocking news. —Kian

  He kept the news part of it vague on purpose. Sure, he could open up a dialogue over text, but this news needed to be an in-person conversation that happened sooner rather than later, as far as he was concerned. Hopefully, the message was intriguing enough to entice her to join him. No matter how busy the night was, he wasn’t about to miss out on fireworks.

  Finally sitting down—even if it was on hard concrete steps dwarfed between two tall buildings—was so completely refreshing, Kian was in danger of falling asleep and pulling a Humpty Dumpty down a very painful path. Luckily, he’d only had to wait a few minutes when the door to Autumn’s studio opened up on the landing a few steps below.

  Catching his eye, she smiled and closed the door to join him. “Where is everyone? I thought it would be crowded with tourists.” She looked around, wide-eyed, and then slumped down next to him with a contented sigh. “I expected crazy out here, but this quiet is kind of nice.”

  It was, especially because it was just the two of them—and a couple of noisy crickets trying to get their attention.

  “Most everyone’s left town already. The fireworks are shot off over by the Christ of the Ozarks statue, so not especially close. But don’t worry, we’ll see them.” Even seeing them from a distance was better than nothing. With as much time as she’d invested in her designs lately, he had the feeling she’d been planning to skip fireworks altogether. A complete travesty for sure.

  She leaned back, her elbows on the stair behind her, her head leaning against the one above that, and looked up into the sky. “This is so nice. Thanks for inviting me to come out.” She looked exhausted.

  “Busy day?” It was a dumb question, and he knew it.

  “Yes, especially after the parade—which might have been fun to attend. What I could see from my shop window was kind of awesome.”

  He doubted she could see much with the sidewalks packed four people deep. Unless she stood on a stool. He smiled at the image.

  “Did you do bike tours, or was everyone doing other touristy things today?” she asked.

  “Only one tour this afternoon. We had to start the bands early so the crowds could catch the fireworks.”

  “I heard the music.” She sat up again.

  “Did it keep you from working? I’m sorry about that.” He looked to gauge her reaction. He did feel slightly guilty about it, but this weekend’s shows at the club had been excluded from their deal. A few test fireworks went off, shimmering in the distance, and his anticipation heightened. It wouldn’t be long now. “I was pretty lucky to get Eureka Springs’s Mrs. Apple Pie Queen and Mr. Firecracker to kick off the first band.” Getting them to come sounded more monumental than it actually was.

  “Mister and missus what?” She chuckled.

  A small group of people started down the stairs, and Autumn scooted closer to him to let them pass.

  He noticed she didn’t move back when she could have. “Just part of the small-town holiday package.” He wasn’t sure why, but the image of her signing good night to him leapt to mind. “You know sign language?”

  “Yes! You totally surprised me!” She covered her face with her hands and laughed. “That was so cool that you understood me and signed back. Made me so happy!” She pressed her hands over her heart.

  “It was unexpected.” He waited for her to answer the question, and she took the hint.

  “I took a couple of semesters in college. I’m nowhere near fluent—haven’t had a whole lot of chance to practice.” She leaned toward him, her eyebrows brought together, and touched his arm excited. “What about you?”

  Wishing he knew more, that’s what he was. If only he did and he could let her practice, it would be another something to bring them together. “I had an aunt who was Deaf. She and my mom would sit at the kitchen table and chat for hours when I was little. They taught me some, but I don’t remember much. Though I probably understand more than I can sign.”

  Sometime during his explanation, the fireworks had started. They fell silent, the sky lighting up with color. He was about to say something to her, but when he turned to speak, the wonder on her face and the fireworks reflected in her eyes made him forget everything.

  He swallowed and turned back to the display. Up close, the fireworks would be bigger, louder, more exciting, but never had they been more magical than sitting here with Autumn at his side.

  “What’s this shocking news you referenced?” she whispered, her eyes never leaving the night sky.

  The biggest shock he felt was at her question. When he’d sent the text earlier, he’d fully intended to tell her he’d found out she was the billionaire trying to buy his building. Now, for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out a good reason to bring it up. He wasn’t the one she was buying the building from, and though she knew he would be aff
ected, she hadn’t brought it up. Was there a reason she didn’t want to talk about it?

  Would it be so bad if she owned the building? It couldn’t be worse than Roger Luman, but then again, he’d been hoping to buy Roger out.

  When his lawyer had sent over the information the day before, initially, Kian had been surprised. But then when he thought about it, Autumn being a billionaire made all the sense in the world. He’d heard Tommy bragging about her fame and fortune—what had he said, she designed jewelry for the entire wedding party for the latest royal wedding?

  The question was, did knowing her financial statue change anything? He did a quick search inside himself. Autumn was Autumn, not Autumn the billionaire. She was funny and playful and creative and down to earth—who else would work so hard at babysitting her father’s shop personally rather than paying to hire more employees so she could do her own thing?

  This wasn’t the kind of thing you just brought up. What kind of conversation starter was “So I hear you’re a billionaire”? He tried not to smile. He wouldn’t go with “So you’re trying to buy my building?” either. It would open the whole can of worms of the property dispute between him and Roger. But if he continued his Mafalda campaign, maybe she would drop it. His lawyer had said she hadn’t made any formal offers, and if she was losing interest in the sale, Roger might sell for even less.

  He needed time to figure this all out. Maybe he could strike his own deal with Autumn to lease back his shop indefinitely, but until he’d worked through every possible angle and consequence, he wasn’t ready to pin down details. He had to figure out what assets he had to bargain with first—it was too important. Talking with his dad on Father’s Day had rekindled his determination to keep the building as a family heirloom. There had to be a way.

  He ran a hand through his hair. Thinking in circles like this hurt his head.