The Matchmaker's Billionaire (Billionaire Bachelor Mountain Cove Book 2)

by Maria Hoagland

With both of them breathing hard, she barely concealed her grin. Flicking her wrist, she looked at the bare skin above her glove as if reading a watch. “A minute fifty-five. You’ve got five seconds to pick your jaw up off the ground.” It had been longer than that overall, but probably about that since he’d actually started trying.

  She dropped to the mat next to him, sitting cross-legged and allowing her breath and heart rate to slow. “Thanks. I haven’t had the chance to do that in so long.” She leaned back, putting her weight on the gloves and sighing in pleasure. “I wasn’t sure I still had it.”

  Grant sat up next to her, appreciation in his eyes. “Yeah, I think it’s safe to say you do.” After a moment, he jumped up and grabbed two water bottles from a mini fridge. He walked back, sat down next to her again, and handed her a bottle. “Where did you learn to do that?”

  With a half shrug and a slight grin, she allowed happy memories to flood in. “My dad. This was our thing. I’m pretty sure working for the CIA made him paranoid, but he insisted it was just a way to spend good father-daughter time. Probably making sure I was able to defend myself.”

  “Mission accomplished, I’d say. That was impressive.” During the sparring match, the look on Grant’s face had gone from smirking to impressed, which made her ridiculously happy. “So . . . good at biking, brutal at sparring, what other secret talent is Emily Wood hiding?”

  Without thinking, her eyes flicked to the climbing wall. “I wouldn’t mind trying that.” She gave a half shrug. “But before you go making any judgments that I’m not the kind of woman who enjoys the chichi-er side of things as well, I watch Jane Austen movies and love a good dance.” She batted her eyelashes and then laughed. “Just keeping you on your toes, Grantham Robbins. You know a complex character is way more interesting than a flat one.”

  Grant looked at her so intently, she could see the green flecks in his nearly brown hazel eyes. After a moment, she couldn’t take the intensity and looked down at the green lid on her water bottle. She needed to find him a match, but maybe she didn’t want to. She turned the lid and took a swig of water.

  “So, what did you want to talk about?” Grant interrupted her reverie with his teasing tone. “I’m assuming you didn’t come by just to put me in my place.”

  She breathed out deeply, ready again to resume her role. “I think I got what I needed.” She put the lid back on her water bottle and stood. “Now I just need to get back out there and find your match.” No matter how much it felt like swimming in peanut butter to do so.

  9

  A week after the bike tour, Grant was finally ready to make a trek into downtown Eureka Springs. He rather liked his mountain retreat, and so far, even with Emily’s welcome interruptions, he’d gotten a lot of good work done here. Occasionally, however, he had to leave his cocoon of creativity; some things required stepping out and actually living his life. Today that included a different kind of research trip—or so he hoped.

  He had several lines of questioning running through his head, but it all hinged upon the approach. He ran through various ways to broach the subject with a person he only knew through someone else. Would he trust Grant enough to share his knowledge and experience?

  When he slowed down to pass The Cove’s main security booth, Elton Phillips raised a hand in his signature salute. Their conversation the week before leapt to mind. Grant waved and left Elton behind, but the question the security guard had asked poked at the back of his brain. What was Emily’s story? Would Grant change his answer now that he had a couple more interactions to add to a growing list?

  Grant couldn’t figure her out. He’d watched her in high school, had heard all the wrong things about her subsequent relationship with Dixon, and knew nothing of the past few years. Watching her flirt with Finn the other day had given him a peek into her current story. Since they’d gotten in touch again, he’d seen Elton’s interest in her, felt his own, and now saw it in Finn, and Grant would bet none of them would risk it if they felt it was a lost cause. It was possible she was a flirt, one of the reasons he needed to steer clear of any possible entanglements with her. Friendly, he could handle. More than that was dangerous. Better to focus on whatever matches she had for him. She was the relationship guru, after all, though he hoped Emily still wasn’t thinking Jaden was a good idea.

  Catching up with Jaden had been interesting for the first half hour, but it dragged on when he got stuck with her the entire outing. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she saw there was more to Grant Robbins than books. Like many fans, Jaden had confessed a desire to write a novel. At first, he didn’t mind sharing a few tips, but after a few minutes, he bored of shop talk. He’d been dying to tear around a few corners and fly down the hill on his mountain bike, but he’d been trapped. Since Emily was with Finn, and Hattie moped with the tour guide in tow, Grant couldn’t leave Jaden to ride alone without being a jerk. And other than an interest in books, they had little in common.

  It was too much to hope that Emily had given up on finding him a date for the escape mansion launch. But today was his—no group dates, blind dates, birth dates, or figs and dates. He was going to do what he wanted, and that meant heading into Eureka Springs, where the only woman on his mind was Cruise Donnelly’s latest romantic interest.

  As a Saturday, and one with a big St. Patrick’s Day parade planned, the town was filled to bursting. He took the easy route and drove to the trolley station, parked his car, and purchased an all-day pass. Not that he’d take full advantage of all the tourist stops, but at least he wouldn’t have to fight over the limited parking spots or navigate the steep, narrow streets. This way, he’d get to see how much the town had changed in the ten years since he’d left.

  Grant joined the motley clump of riders who waited at the stop, ignoring the March mist with an excited chatter. When the trolley pulled up and the door opened, the driver turned, checking tickets.

  “Martin Merrick!” Grant jogged up the bus steps and proffered a hand. Martin changed the angle and wrapped his meaty fingers around Grant’s thumb in a bro clasp. “Good to see you, man.” Grant took the seat next to the driver and allowed Martin to finish his task before engaging him in conversation again. The short ride was over in a few minutes, just long enough for joking about the creative, mostly green outfits the majority of the bus riders wore.

  “It was nice to catch up.” Grant laid a hand on Martin’s shoulder before he disembarked. “Catch ya later.”

  Grant had chosen the bus stop at the top of Spring Street, where Main Street shops gave way to Eureka Springs’s historic residential district. He walked past the bookstore, unable to keep from peeking in. He’d go in later when he had more time. He needed to make it to the old Highbury Hotel before the streets got too crowded.

  At the hotel turned independent living center, Grant pushed open the original wood-and-glass door and walked in. The open room was separated into quadrants by purpose. To his left, a couple of nurses checked in at the reception desk, grabbing folders and clicking on computers. The back corner of the room was the library, the shelves way too sparse in Grant’s opinion. He could help out there. Leather couches and recliners arched around a large flat-screen TV in the back right corner. Between it and the final section to Grant’s immediate right was the biggest fireplace he’d ever seen. Double-sided, it was so big he could have walked straight through it if there wasn’t a fire crackling inside.

  On the street side of the fireplace, several residents occupied a scattering of small tables. Alongside a game of cards and another table with dominoes was something Grant hadn’t expected. A man with white hair held half a crayon, coloring between two girls who looked to be maybe six and eight years old.

  “Grandpa,” the younger said with exasperation in her tone, “Rapunzel’s dress is purple, not pink.” She pried open his fingers and exchanged the crayon. “The pink is for the flowers in her hair.” She pointed a stubby finger on the outline’s head, though it was too late for him to use pink now that she
’d changed the crayons. With mirth in his eyes, the man clenched his lips, shaking in effort to hold back a laugh.

  At first the trio had caught Grant’s eye because the scene was endearing, but as he studied the man, familiarity set in. Mr. Wood. Emily’s dad. The one he’d come down here to have a chat with.

  Behind them, a young woman played an old upright piano facing the wall. The music was so professional, he’d first taken it for a recording, and it slowed as she neared the end of the piece. With her back to the room, the pianist’s nearly black hair reflected the flickering flames as she swayed to the music.

  At the end of the song, a woman at the same table as Mr. Wood clapped so hard, the tips of Grant’s fingers tingled in sympathy. Grant and a few others in the room joined the applause.

  “Bravo, Jaden!” the woman who’d clapped hardest called out. “Well done!”

  At the name, Grant studied the stiff back of the pianist on her bench. She very well could be the same person he’d ridden with the week before. She didn’t turn around before she started playing another piece, a bright Scarlatti, so he couldn’t check, but he would make sure to say hello when she finished.

  Still clapping, the woman turned to an older woman in a wheelchair next to her. “Now Jaden is going to play your favorite, Mother.” Her words were loud over the music, but the older woman hardly seemed to react.

  The last to stop clapping, the woman at the table, turned to Mr. Wood. “I told you my niece, Jaden Fairbanks, is the most talented musician, didn’t I, Mr. Wood? She was employed by a very prestigious preparatory school in the fine arts department as the music teacher, you know. She’s so good with little children, I’m surprised she’s not here coloring with your granddaughters. She will be if you let her, I’m sure, but as the new activities director, I suppose she is just doing her job right now. I knew she would be the perfect fit for this job. Highbury Independent Living would have missed out if they hadn’t hired her.”

  Grant hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, hadn’t realized he hovered over their conversation until Mr. Wood lifted questioning fuzzy-caterpillar eyebrows.

  “Hello, Mr. Wood.” Grant stuck out his hand for the gentleman to shake but the other man shook his crayon as he began to speak.

  “I know you, don’t I? But don’t tell me—” He raised the crayon to his lips for a moment as he tried to place him. “You were a friend of Emily’s or Isabella’s?”

  Grant had already deduced that these were Isabella’s daughters, and at their mother’s name, the girls looked up to inspect him. “Grant Robbins, sir. I graduated with Emily.”

  “Ah, yes. Robbins. I remember your family. How are they?”

  With his accepting welcome, Grant claimed the chair on the other side of the younger girl. She opened his fingers and fitted a light-blue crayon into his left hand. “You do the sky. It is daytime, so no stars and no lanterns.” She wrinkled her nose, and when that apparently didn’t bring the desired results, she used her hand to push her glasses up. “And no rain either. Not like that.” She pointed out the big picture window to the street, where it was so overcast no one would say the sky was blue. “I’m Oli,” she enunciated slowly and clearly.

  “Oli,” Grant repeated. “I like it. Very grown-up.”

  Her grin swelled.

  “Her real name is Olivia,” the older girl corrected. “I’m Meg.”

  “Both beautiful names.” With the girls placated, Grant considered the task in front of him. He could switch the crayon to his dominant hand, but decided he liked the challenge—of the girl and of training his other hand. It was something Cruise Donnelly would do—no, would have done a long time ago.

  “Did you move back to Eureka Springs—” Mr. Wood was asking when he interrupted himself. “Ah, my beautiful daughters. Aren’t they lovely, Mr. Robbins?”

  At first, Grant thought Mr. Wood was talking about Oli and Meg, but those were his granddaughters, not his daughters. Grant’s insides flipped with the realization that Emily was there, most likely staring at him coloring with her niece. His heartbeat took off at a sprint, and he prepared himself to greet her.

  When he looked up, he expected to see two blond sisters, but Emily’s locks had mysteriously turned shamrock green in a crazy mass of curls. And yet she was the one with the look of surprise on her face. He couldn’t blame her. He hadn’t meant to run into her today—it had just been a good day to pick Mr. Wood’s brain.

  “Hi, Grant.” Her smile was like the sunshine breaking through the clouds, but all too soon, she turned it on the women seated at the table with her father. “Miss Bates. How are you today? I was walking past the Fudge Shoppe and couldn’t resist. I hope you like their mint brownies as much as I do.” She set a white baker’s box in front of her on the table. “And these are for you, Mrs. Bates.” Emily handed a small bouquet of green carnations and white daisies. “Top o’ the mornin’ to ya.”

  Isabella, in her sensible green cardigan and white jeans, laid a light hand on the crown of Meg’s head and let it slip down to her shoulder. “Are you ready to go to the parade, girls?”

  “Yes!” Both girls jumped from their chairs, and Oli ran to Emily’s side.

  “I like your skirt, Aunt Emily.” Oli played with a fold of the fabric that poofed out. The white stuff underneath looked scratchy and stiff. “You look like a fairy princess.”

  “A leprechaun,” Meg corrected. “I like the tights.” The green and white stripes were a bold choice that showed off Emily’s highly toned calves.

  “We’re going to be in the kaboo band,” Oli informed Grant. Leaving her aunt’s side, she walked over and took the crayon from his hand and placed it in the box. “We’ll have to color later.”

  Although amused by her precociousness, Grant had no idea what she meant and looked to Emily for translation.

  “The kazoo free-form band,” she explained. “We’re going to be in the parade. Which reminds me.” Emily yanked at a strap over her shoulder and opened her bag, her eyes on Oli. “I have something for you.” She pulled out two child-sized green bowler hats with red curls attached. She set one on each girl’s head and fluffed the fake hair so it covered their natural blond. “For you—” She pulled a couple of Mardi Gras–type beads and presented them to her sister. After Isabella donned the necklaces, Emily groped around in her bag until she pulled out her phone. “Mind taking a pic?” She held it out to Grant.

  Grant stood and reached out for the phone.

  “Not that I mind.” Emily stepped closer, whispering the questions as she pressed the phone into his palm. “But what are you doing here?” It was a pleasant, hopeful question, and his heartbeat quickened again. He breathed in her scent of coconut and pineapple and only wanted more.

  “Reconnaissance,” he whispered back, aiming for her ear. A lock of her hair brushed across his cheek. “I’m banking on your father being an untapped fountain of information.”

  She stepped back with a smile, content with his explanation.

  After directing them into position, he snapped a few photos, making sure to take at least one with Grandpa in it as well. Emily and Izzy approved the photos, and the foursome prepared to leave.

  “Dad, are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” Emily asked. “I can grab your jacket from your room.” It was a balmy March day, unseasonably warm for this early in the spring despite the overcast drizzle.

  Mr. Wood shook his head before he answered. “I wish you wouldn’t take the girls outside, my dear.” Mr. Wood turned worried eyes on his daughters. “It’s damp out there, and Dr. Perry told me to take care not to chill. You don’t want the girls to catch a cold. They would be miserable and miss too much school.”

  In tandem, the girls shot horrified looks at their mother, worried that she might be influenced by his plea.

  “It’s not as cold as it looks, Dad.” Isabella placed a comforting hand on each girl. “The fresh air will do them good.”

  With the slightest flick of her wrist, Emily glanced at he
r watch, obviously pressed for time. She probably had chamber responsibilities she needed to get to. If nothing else, she obviously wanted the conversation to be settled.

  “If Mr. Wood doesn’t mind the company,” Grant said, “I thought I might try to catch the parade from the balcony.” Grant thumbed upstairs. “We would have an excellent view of the parade, and I can help your grandpa find you.” Grant pointed to each of the girls. “If it gets too cold or starts to sprinkle, we can come back inside and watch from here.” With its huge picture windows, the table did have a decent view of the street, but as the time for the parade came closer, four or five layers of people watching from the sidewalk might obstruct the view.

  “Sounds like a plan,” Emily said, but her expression also said thank you.

  As soon as the girls left, Grant and Mr. Wood took the elevator to the second floor.

  “Did Emily ask you to come by?”

  Grant wasn’t surprised Mr. Wood had been trying to figure out the nature of Grant’s visit. “Actually, no.”

  Mr. Wood nodded, his mouth pulling down into a frown. “I didn’t think so. She looked surprised.”

  “I was hoping to pick your brain a little.” Outside the balcony, Grant grabbed a folded towel off a rack by the French doors to wipe off two chairs. “You used to work for the CIA, didn’t you?”

  Mr. Wood gave Grant a sideways look but didn’t say a word.

  Grant kicked himself for not finessing that more. He changed tack. “Did Emily tell you about sparring with me the other day?” Grant had been floored by Emily’s talent and tenacity. They’d had fun. “You must have taken her to the gym when she was younger, because I wouldn’t want to meet her in a dark alley.” He faked a shudder.

  Mr. Wood laughed. “Glad to hear it.” He shifted in his chair, getting physically comfortable, and Grant took that as a sign that he was gaining the man’s trust as well. “She was young when we started. I don’t even remember when for sure—maybe Meg’s age? I told her it was so we could spend time together—and it was great for that—but more to the point, it was my duty. As her father, I had to give her the tools to protect herself, especially if my job had the potential to put her in harm’s way.”