Billionaires Runaway Bride (A Standalone British Billionaire Romance Novel)

by Claire Adams

  Early on, my younger sisters had formed an impenetrable team that left me outside looking in. We were all two years apart, but Faith and Hope acted like twins. It didn't help that they also looked almost identical. All of us girls had the same wheat-colored hair and blue eyes, but Faith and Hope had also inherited the petite bone structure from Mamm's side of the family. They looked like the perfect Amish girls with their impeccable dresses, which now were black because we were all still in mourning, and their crisply starched kapps pulled down on their heads without a hair out of place.

  I, on the other hand, had inherited the larger bone structure of Dat's people, and the blonde hair and blue eyes from Mamm's. Since I was a child, I'd never been able to keep myself as neat and clean as Faith and Hope. I always had hair sticking out from under my kapp and my dresses seemed to constantly be missing a pin or two. Once my sisters were old enough to dress themselves, they began giving me the once over before we left our room in the mornings. It had been kind and helpful when we were children, but the habit had extended into areas where I did not welcome my sisters' input, and by the time we were teenagers, Faith and Hope had fully conformed to the Amish way of life whereas I was constantly pushing the boundaries to see where they would give.

  "Grace, what's going on with the store and the farm," Hope said as she pulled a loaf from the basket and began slicing it on the sideboard.

  "We don't need toast, Faith. I'm making pancakes," I said gritting my teeth as I poured batter into the hot cast iron skillet and listened to it sizzle in the melted butter.

  "I know, but you'll need it later for lunches and you know you never get the slices all the same size," she said without turning around. I bit my tongue to keep from saying something I'd probably regret. All I had to do was figure out how to keep the store and the farm running until Verity and Honor could take over, and then I could go back to my life in Chicago. Until then, I was going to need help getting everything on the right track, and Faith and Hope were the only ones in a position to assist. I could not afford to alienate them over issues that, in a few months, would no longer involve me.

  "How's Danny doing?" Faith asked.

  "He's been quieter than usual, but I imagine he's just trying to make sense of things the same way we all are," I said, wondering why she'd asked.

  "Mmm, okay," she nodded as she finished cutting the bread and grabbed a cloth from the sink to wipe up the crumbs she'd left on the cutting board.

  "And the store?" she asked as she brushed the crumbs from her hand into the compost bin under the sink.

  "I've got a meeting with the suppliers this afternoon and I'll find out what's going to need to be done to keep everything on track," I said as I slid the spatula underneath the bubbling circle of batter and quickly flipped it over silently cheering when I saw that it was the perfect shade of golden brown. "Then I'll take a look at the books for the farm and figure out how we're going to harvest the crops this year. I'm sure we can get some help from the community, but we'll need to figure out an alternate plan for next year's planting."

  "I don't see why you don't just turn the store and the farm over to the Uncle Amos and let him figure out what to do, Grace," Hope said as she reentered the kitchen with the baby in her arms. The baby, Glory, was Hope's fourth child, and she'd made it clear that she was nowhere near done having children.

  "You know as well as I do that I'm not going to do that," I said as I flipped the finished pancake onto a waiting plate.

  "Not going to do what?" Verity asked as she walked into the kitchen rubbing her eyes. "Something smells really good, Grace."

  "Pancakes!" I said as I motioned toward the table. "You want to set it for breakfast?"

  Verity nodded and began pulling the plates from the cupboard as she repeated, "Not going to do what?"

  "Not going to turn over the store to Bishop Miller," I said as I put a second skillet on the stove and warmed it up before dropping the sausages in. The fat, brown links quickly began sizzling in the pan as I poured more batter into the first pan. "Did someone wake up Danny?"

  "Grace, you're just being stubborn," Hope said as she rocked Glory. "Jakob says that Bishop Miller is best equipped to take over the business. After all, he's family."

  "Just because he's Dat's brother doesn't make him automatically capable of running Dat's business," I said as I pushed the sausages around in the pan trying to remember how Mamm got them to brown on all sides without burning. I looked over and saw that the edges of the pancake were begging to turn too dark, so I quickly flipped it and realized I was a fraction of second too late. I muttered, "Darn it!"

  "Here, let me help you, Grace," Verity said as she took the tongs out of my hand and stood over the sausage pan. I shot her a grateful smile as I flipped the slightly burned pancake on top of the first one and poured another ring of batter into the pan.

  "We're just saying that you haven't been here for a long time and it might be better to turn the store over to someone who actually knows the community," Faith said in the prissy Sunday school voice that she knew I despised.

  "I grew up here," I said clenching my jaw. "I know the community."

  "Okay, well, maybe what we really mean is that people don't trust you, Grace," Faith said hitting her mark. I inhaled sharply and bit my lip to keep from saying the first words that entered my brain.

  "Be that as it may," I said as I exhaled slowly. "I'm still not turning the store or the farm over to anyone until I have a clear idea of what's going on here. Verity, Honor, and Danny are still at home and they need someone to look out for their interests."

  "Oh, and you're going to be the one to stay and do that?" Hope asked skeptically raising an eyebrow. "Won't your city friends and employer expect you back soon?"

  "I took a leave of absence," I said as I leaned a little too close to the stove and felt my wrist hit the edge of the hot pan. "Ouch! Dammit!"

  "Grace! Language!" Hope and Faith said in unison.

  "All right, that's enough!" I roared. "You two either need to stop talking about things you know nothing about or you need to leave. It's your choice, but I'm not going to have breakfast ruined by your nagging!"

  "No need to be so sour," Faith said as she stood up and wrapped the blanket around Glory before turning for the door. "We're just trying to help, Grace."

  "I know, I know," I said as I flipped another pancake onto the plate and poured again. Verity had finished browning the sausages and had covered the pan with a lid before moving it to the table. "Look, message received. Now will you let me figure things out my own way, please?"

  "Fine," Hope said as she gathered up her basket and followed Faith out the door. "If you need us, you know where to find us."

  The door slammed as my sisters exited. I looked at Verity and rolled my eyes.

  "Grace, you shouldn't be so harsh with them," she said as she smiled and shook her head. "They aren't as worldly as you are and they really are just trying to help."

  "I know they are, Verity," I said as I added another pancake to the stack. "But I don't think they have any clue as to what it takes to actually run a business, so their advice is just annoying. Plus, they're both so bossy!"

  "You must be talking about the Judgment Twins," Honor said as she walked into the kitchen with Danny close on her heels. They looked like bookends, small and thin with blue eyes and pale skin, but whereas Honor's hair was light like the rest of us girls, Danny's was dark and curly like Dat's had been. Looking at him was a painful reminder that he was the perfect mix of our parents.

  "Gracie!" Danny signed as Honor moved toward the table. "I'm hungry! What's for breakfast?"

  "Bullshit and attitudes, sounds like to me," Honor said.

  "Honor!" Verity scolded in a pseudo-shocked tone. "That's not nice. What if Danny picks that up and repeats it?"

  "Eh, let him," Honor shrugged as she tugged at her dress and then sighing in exasperation as she refastened the pins that held the front together muttering, "Stupid dress!"


  "Good morning to you, too, Danny!" I laughed as Honor finished fussing with her pins and got Danny settled in his usual chair and reminded him to put a napkin in his lap. "I hope you're hungry this morning because I made a lot of pancakes that need to be eaten!"

  "I'll eat 'em all, Gracie!" Danny signed as Honor nudged him toward his seat at the table. He signed, “Can I say a blessing this morning?"

  "Of course you can," I nodded as I set the plate full of pancakes on the table and sat down. We all folded our hands and turned our eyes toward our brother as he signed the blessing.

  "Bless this food and bless the family who eats it," he signed. "And look after Mamm and Dat who are with you, Lord, in heaven. Amen."

  "Amen," we three replied. Danny nodded his head and reached for the plate of pancakes in front of him as the rest of us wiped our eyes. I added my own silent plea for help and guidance hoping that I'd make the right decisions for my younger siblings.

  Chapter Twelve

  Adam

  "Mr. Wallace, I've got breakfast on the table if you're hungry!" Mrs. Yoder called up the stairs at an hour that could only be described as unholy. The sun wasn't even up yet, why did she think I wanted to be?

  "Mmm hmm," I mumbled as I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.

  "Mr. Wallace!" she called again. "If you're going to try and catch Bishop Miller, you're going to have to get to the factory very early!"

  "Crap," I muttered as I reluctantly threw off the covers and swung my feet over the edge of the bed. I didn't want to get up, but Mrs. Yoder was right, so I got up, splashed some water on my face, and then got dressed before descending to the kitchen for breakfast.

  "This is what you're wearing to meet Bishop Miller?" Mrs. Yoder asked as she put plate full of eggs, bacon, potatoes, and toast in front of me.

  "Yes, why?" I said as I picked up my fork and prepared to dig in.

  "No, no, no," she said shaking her head disapprovingly as she looked at the fork in my hand. "We have the blessing first, Mr. Wallace, then we can talk about your clothes."

  Irritated, but trying to hide it, I put my fork down and bowed my head. I stared at the chipped edge of my breakfast plate and wondered how many more days I'd have to put up with this nosy interloper before I could pack up and head back to Chicago. I hadn't known this woman for twenty-four hours and she was already trying to boss me around. I'd have to nip this in the bud before it went too far.

  "Amen," Mrs. Yoder said, nodding at me to let me know it was okay to eat.

  "Amen," I echoed as I picked up my fork and began shoveling food into my mouth.

  "So, you meet with Bishop Miller this morning," Mrs. Yoder said as she spread a thin layer of blueberry preserves onto her toast. "You should wear plain clothing, not the fancy outfit you have on."

  "I'd hardly call this suit fancy," I replied as I looked down and considered the gray pinstripe pants and the white dress shirt I was wearing.

  You're not married, are you, Mr. Wallace?"

  "No, why?" I asked.

  "Unmarried Amish men shave," she said as she bit into her toast and chewed, saying nothing more. The look on her face told me that she was holding something back, or maybe it was just that she thought she knew better. I didn't know, but the fact that this small, old woman was judging things she obviously didn't understand irked me.

  "Well, I'm not Amish, am I?" I replied brusquely.

  "He knows you are coming to see him?" she asked and I shook my head. She set her toast down and made a tsk tsk noise as she shook her head. "This is not very polite, Mr. Wallace."

  "It's business, Mrs. Yoder," I replied before stuffing half of a slice of bacon into my mouth.

  "That may be the way you do business in the city, but this is not how we do it here," she scolded. "If you want to get things done in Corner Grove, you had better learn how to do business our way, Mr. Wallace."

  "Well, I haven't had trouble doing business with anyone before, Mrs. Yoder," I said, flashing her a fake smile that was intended to shut her up. "I find that the straightforward approach tends to work best with most businessmen."

  "Ah, well, you big city folk know best, don't you?" she said with a smile that I recognized as one that would normally be given to small children who didn't know any better. She picked up her toast and took a bite.

  We ate the rest of our meal in silence, and when we were done, I half-heartedly grabbed my plate and cup to take them out to the kitchen, but Mrs. Yoder waved me off and said, "Get over to the factory and see if Bishop Miller will see you this morning. It's still early. God bless you, Mr. Wallace."

  I nodded and headed out to the car reassuring myself that this was going to be a quick meeting and an easy sale, and that God was going have nothing to do with it.

  #

  Ten minutes later, I pulled up to Miller's Authentic Amish Furniture factory feeling more annoyed than when I'd left the breakfast table. Mrs. Yoder had gotten under my skin. She'd tried to be helpful, but her interference in my business had done nothing but irritate me.

  The front parking spaces were still empty so I eased the Mustang into the one closest to the door and sat surveying the building. It covered the equivalent of two city blocks and resembled an enormous, gray barn with a wide, sloping roof and a bay on the far end that could open wide enough to accommodate an eighteen-wheeler.

  On the opposite end, I could see the show room through the floor to ceiling plate glass windows and movement inside. I got out of the car, took a deep breath, and headed inside.

  "Are you here to pick up an order?" the man behind the front desk asked as he looked up from something positioned just below the chest-high counter. He had a solemn, clean-shaven face and bushy eyebrows that he raised questioningly as he waited for my response.

  "No, I'm here to see Mr. Miller," I said as I scanned the counter looking for any indication of the man's first name. "The owner?"

  "Ah, I see," the man nodded. "Did you have an appointment with him this morning?"

  "No, I heard he operates on a first come first serve basis, so I took my chances," I said smiling nervously as I tried to create a commonality between the man and I. "My father operates the same way, so I thought I'd try my luck with Mr. Miller."

  "I see," he nodded without smiling back. "I'll go back and check his office to see if he's in yet."

  "You don't know if he's come through the front door?" I asked looking back at the empty parking lot.

  "We park our buggies out back," the man said as he stood up to his full height and dwarfed me in the process. "I'll be right back, Mr..."

  "Wallace," I said quickly reaching for my business card, but the man turned and walked away before I could add, “I'm Adam Wallace."

  When it became obvious that the man wasn't quickly coming back, I walked around the showroom and read the descriptions of the various types of furniture. There were rough-hewn pieces that looked like they belonged in log cabins in the wilderness mixed in with items that were so smoothly finished that it was nearly impossible to tell how all the pieces had been connected. At the bottom of each card attached to the furniture was the phrase, "Ask about our custom made pieces," and it made me wonder who the hell would come all the way to Corner Grove and order custom-made Amish furniture.

  "Mr. Wallace?" the young man said as he returned from the back of the store. "Mr. Miller will meet with you in the conference room now."

  "Oh, so he's in, is he?" I said wondering what had taken them so long to discuss.

  "Yes, he's been in since before sunup," the man replied as he led me to the conference room. "He was working in the shop."

  "I see," I nodded as he gestured to the open door. I walked in and found myself standing in front of a large, oak table surrounded by twelve, sturdy chairs. The room was made up of white walls, but resembled more of a farmhouse kitchen than a corporate conference room. There was a scuffed chalkboard hanging on the far wall that looked like it had been recently cleaned. Underneath it was a long oak sideboard in th
e same style as the table that held a pitcher of water and some simple drinking glasses. I wasn't sure if I should take a seat or remain standing, so I stood waiting for Miller to make his entrance thinking about how different this room was from the one in my father's office.

  My father had all the latest technology installed so that his minions could present their ideas in Technicolor on large video screens using laser pointers and tablets. Everything in his world was shiny and new, and when it no longer suited his purposes, he promptly disposed of it. Bishop Miller's conference room gave me hope that my message might have a chance.

  "Mr. Wallace, you wished to see me?" Bishop Miller said as he walked toward me with his hand outstretched. I took it and shook firmly as I nodded. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and his traditional, Amish beard reached the middle of his chest. He wore the somber, black pants, white shirt, and suspenders that I'd seen the men around Corner Grove wearing, but he had removed the wide-brimmed, black hat and the dark jacket that I'd already grown accustomed to seeing. He motioned to a chair, "Please have a seat."

  I pulled out a heavy oak chair and sat down as the Bishop slowly walked around the table, never once taking his eyes off me. There was something unnerving about his silence, but I shook it off and prepared myself to pitch the proposal.

  "Mr. Wallace, what is it that you want?" Bishop Miller asked once he'd sat down across the table from me.

  "I want to give you a chance to invest in a dynamic new technology that will offer you freedom from the generators and wood-burning energy that you've been accustomed to," I began.

  "No Mr. Wallace," he interrupted. "Don't try to sell me anything. Just tell me why you came to Corner Grove and what you want from our community."

  "I don't understand," I said as I looked down at the turbine specs in front of me and then back up at Miller.

  "I don't have a lot of time, nor do I care to pick through the carefully constructed sales pitch you're about to give me," he said as he held my gaze. His bushy eyebrows twitched slightly as he stopped speaking and stared at me. "Tell me what you can do for me and why I should entertain the idea of doing whatever it is you want me to do."