Million Dollar Date

by Susan Hatler

  Table of Contents

  Praise for Susan Hatler’s Work

  Titles by Susan Hatler

  Title Page

  Copyright

  MILLION DOLLAR DATE

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Titles by Susan Hatler

  “Susan Hatler has a knack for writing books that draw me in from the very first page!”

  — Books Are Sanity!!! on Love at First Date

  “Ms. Hatler has a way of writing witty dialogue that makes you laugh-out-loud throughout her stories.”

  — Night Owl Reviews on Truth or Date

  “Seriously you guys, you have to pick this one up if you are a romantic at heart. Deliciously sweet.”

  — Getting Your Read On Reviews on My Last Blind Date

  “An Unexpected Date is a wonderful and perfect release to a stressful or crazy day.”

  — Cafè of Dreams Book Reviews

  “If you enjoy a YA Romance jam packed with adventure and the unknown. I would recommend this fantastic read.”

  — Tifferz Book Reviewz

  Titles by Susan Hatler

  Do-Over Date Series

  Million Dollar Date

  The Double Date Disaster

  The Date Next Door

  Date to the Rescue

  Fashionably Date

  The Wedding Whisperer Series

  The Wedding Charm

  The Wedding Catch

  My Wedding Date

  The Wedding Bet

  Kissed by the Bay Series

  Every Little Kiss

  The Perfect Kiss

  Just One Kiss

  The Sweetest Kiss

  A Christmas Kiss

  All About That Kiss

  Forever in a Kiss

  A Kiss for Santa

  Christmas Mountain Clean Romance Series

  The Christmas Compromise

  ‘Twas the Kiss Before Christmas

  Better Date than Never Series

  Love at First Date

  Truth or Date

  My Last Blind Date

  Save the Date

  A Twist of Date

  License to Date

  Driven to Date

  Up to Date

  Déjà Date

  Date and Dash

  Treasured Dreams Series

  An Unexpected Date

  An Unexpected Kiss

  An Unexpected Love

  An Unexpected Proposal

  An Unexpected Wedding

  An Unexpected Joy

  An Unexpected Baby

  Young Adult Novels

  Shaken

  See Me

  The Crush Dilemma

  Million Dollar Date

  Copyright © 2019 by Susan Hatler

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  License Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  _________________________________________

  Cover Design by Elaina Lee

  www.forthemusedesign.com

  * To receive a FREE BOOK, click the following link now to sign up for Susan’s Newsletter: susanhatler.com/newsletter *

  MILLION DOLLAR DATE

  by

  Susan Hatler

  Dedication

  For Ann Rego & Tammy Ramsey & Cassandra Bloom,

  who go above and beyond for me.

  Chapter One

  I sped down the country road on my way back to downtown Sacramento with so many emotions rolling through me I couldn’t decide which one stood out the most. Despair? Hurt? Anger? Pain? Frustration? A deep and underlying rage against the injustice in the world? Each raw emotion bounced through me as if I were sampling them like flavors of ice cream. Only, you know, less enjoyable.

  And, how could I, Abigail Apple, settle on just one flavor of ice cream?

  When life dished out a smorgasbord of feelings, I felt them deep in every corner of my being. Not fun this evening. Definitely not fun. Since I couldn’t curl up into a ball while driving, I took my frustrations out on the accelerator of my car, pressing my foot harder against the pedal.

  I blinked through hot tears as the speedometer climbed. When you think with your heart, the way I do, you tend to feel emotions big time. I swiped under my eyes, sniffled and then glanced over at my dog, Banana, who stared at me from his spot in my purse on the passenger seat. The questions in those big brown eyes made me wonder whether I needed a kiss for comfort or a ferocious attack dog to protect my heart. The image of the latter option brought a smile to my face. Banana was a Chihuahua-Dachshund mix and couldn’t scare a butterfly.

  The day had been going beautifully until fifteen minutes ago. The sun was shining, which was par for the course in Sacramento—but still. I had a date scheduled for tonight with a guy I’d been exchanging flirtatious emails with ever since he reached out to the pet store I managed for information about dog adoption. Although I hadn’t seen him in person yet, I could tell from his kindness and humor that he’d have a sweet smile. And the best part of my day? Twenty minutes ago, I’d been playing with puppies. That’s right, puppies!

  “You’re going to be late for your big date if you don’t leave soon,” Reagan had said as she picked up a puppy that had been sunbathing by the water bowl beside the barn.

  I scratched the tummy of a puppy and watched Banana chasing another puppy through the softly swaying grass. “Eh, who needs a hug from a man when you have the kisses of eight puppies?” I asked, grinning at Reagan.

  She laughed. “Well, if you’re staying and ditching your date then I’ll grab the pooper scooper and you can get to work earning those kisses.”

  “Man, would you look at the time?” I popped to my feet, making a half-hearted attempt to remove some of the dog hair from my blue sundress, which I knew would be pointless. I needed to hurry home and change before my date, not pick up puppy litter. “Sorry, gotta go.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Reagan shook her head before shooing away the puppy that attempted to climb into the water bowl. Goofy pup.

  “I really am running tight on time otherwise I’d stay and help,” I said, and then called to Banana as Reagan walked me to my car. I gestured to the rolling hills, the groves of tall trees and the bright blue sky above the red barn. “You know how much I love it here. Your dog rescue is the most perfect place to ever exist.”

  Reagan lived in a small house on the property and ran the dog rescue, Rescue at the Barn, out of the barn, providing dogs with the best life possible until they were adopted. Our friendship began when I drove out to the barn one fateful day and found true love in the biggest eyes of the tiniest dog with the largest he
art. I got two for one with Banana and Reagan, which was the best deal of my life.

  Any spare moment I had between hanging with my girlfriends and managing the pet store, I drove south from the city to spend time at the dog rescue. I helped Reagan feed, clean, and play with the dogs. The volunteer work was a source of pure happiness in my life and it helped give the dogs the second chance they wouldn’t have without Reagan and her selfless work.

  So all of this made what Reagan said next very shocking. “Well, enjoy it here while you can, because it doesn’t look like the shelter will be around for much longer,” she said.

  My heart stopped and I paused beside my car.

  “What did you say?” I asked, sure I’d heard her incorrectly.

  She sighed and ran her fingers through her short red locks, lifting her head up to stare at the perfect dome of bright blue sky.

  “Reagan?” I asked, reaching out to touch her arm. “What’s going on?”

  Her gaze met mine and that’s when I noticed how sad she looked in her eyes, the sadness in the slump of her shoulders, and the sadness in the way she chewed her bottom lip. Uh-oh. This was not good.

  “It will probably be fine. I mean, it will have to be fine. Somehow . . .” She nodded toward my car. “You should get going or you’ll be late for your mystery hunky man. Try not to worry about me and just have a good time. I know you’ve been looking forward to this date.”

  Without thinking, I tossed my keys as far as I could hurl them into the tall grass lining the gravel road that led out of Reagan’s place.

  “Abigail!” she exclaimed.

  “Oops,” I said, feigning sheepishness. “I guess you might as well tell me what’s wrong while you help me find my keys.”

  Was it the smartest idea ever to throw the keys to my only means of transportation into a tangle of weeds and grass? Probably not. Was it a bit painful sifting through the thorns of the wildflowers dotted along the road? Most certainly. I knew if we ever found my keys and I somehow managed to make it to my date, he’d probably run away in a flash thinking I had the chicken pox or measles from all of the little pricks on my hands. In a nutshell, was my action a tad rash? No way. I was Abigail Apple: so it was a whole lot rash.

  But the gesture had worked.

  After Reagan finished lecturing me about ‘common sense’ and ‘practicality’ and ‘not being so stubborn,’ she finally revealed the bad news: Reagan’s landlord was not renewing her lease.

  For the average person with a lease that news would be a bummer. It would mean spending hours online looking for a new place, rolling the dice with new roommates, and blowing through a paycheck buying friends pizza and beer to lure them into helping you move all of your stuff. But for Reagan the news was a complete and total disaster.

  There weren’t any other rentals like this, so having to move meant that the dog rescue would likely shut down. It meant that the dogs she takes care of would have to go to the pound. It meant that this ray-of-sunshine dog shelter that was good and wonderful and kind was ending.

  No, I wasn’t being dramatic. The news was devastating.

  “How can your landlord do that to you?” I asked.

  She lifted her shoulder. “The land value out here is skyrocketing with all the recent development and my landlord needs to cash in. I can’t blame him. He’s been generous keeping my rent low for so long because he knew of the good I was doing here.”

  “You’re far too understanding,” I grumbled, parting some grass and finding nothing more than dirt and wildflowers. “We’re all on this earth together, which means your landlord has a responsibility to each of these dogs, too. For Hansel and Gretel and Tiny and Fido and Nemo and—”

  “Found them!” Reagan exclaimed, interrupting my speech and then dismissing my suggestion that we storm to the landlord’s house and demand justice. We headed back to my car and she kept the keys in her pocket, probably fearing I might hurl them again if she didn’t agree to one of my plans.

  I raised my finger high in the air. “We could bring the dogs to his lawn and refuse to leave until he renews your lease at the same price. It’s a brilliant plan. He’ll have to cave.”

  “No, Abigail. It won’t work. He has two kids going to college in the fall and needs to sell.”

  “Oh, fine, if you’re going to be all rational about it.” I blew out a breath, wracking my brain for another viable option. “We could find you an apartment in town with a rooftop terrace and then secretly keep the dogs up there . . .”

  “That won’t work, Abigail.”

  “We could rob a bank?” I asked, even though I knew that was a long shot. I didn’t own a cat burglar suit and an orange jumpsuit would not be a good look on me.

  “Yeah, we’d be fabulous at bank robbery. You’re many wonderful things, but stealthy you are not. Plus, you know, the whole immoral aspect.” She turned to me when we arrived at my car. “Now, I’m going to give you your keys,” she said, but pulled back her hand when I reached for them. “Eh-eh-eh. Not so fast. First, you have to promise you won’t use them to drive to a bank to rob it. Do banks even keep much cash in the vault any more?”

  I rolled my eyes. “You know I’m not going to rob a bank.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I want to hear you promise.”

  “Fine, I promise,” I said, giving her a big hug while she insisted we’d find a (legal) way to save the dog rescue. I promised to brainstorm for a solution. Then I loaded Banana into the car, jumped into the driver’s seat and sped off before she could see me start to cry.

  I didn’t start speeding because I was covered in dog hair and dirt and needed to rush home to clean up for my blind date. No, I was speeding because I was upset and sad and angry and frustrated and so many other emotions that I finally decided I didn’t need to settle on just one. I’d just take all of this emotion out on my accelerator, which felt so good.

  The plan worked fine until red and blue lights flashed in my rearview mirror.

  “No! Ugh.” I pressed a palm to my forehead, realizing the cop wanted me to pull over. Me, who hadn’t had a ticket since I was sixteen and made a right turn on a red light (after stopping first) when apparently there was a small sign saying I wasn’t supposed to do that between four and six p.m. How was I supposed to know that dinky sign was there? I mean, could they have made it any smaller? Not likely.

  A siren blared from behind me in a high-pitched squeal, making me jump in my seat. Then a deep male voice rang out from a speaker instructing me to pull over. I rolled my eyes. “Have a little patience, dude. I just saw the lights so give me a second to pull over. Seriously ridiculous.”

  I pulled my car to the gravelly side of the road, turned off the ignition and then sagged against the back of my seat. I wanted to mope, but what good would that do me ticket-wise? That would be zippo. So, I forced myself to perk up as the police car pulled to a stop behind me. Then I switched into ‘I’m so sorry, Officer, please, pretty please don’t give me a ticket’ mode.

  As the police officer got out of his car, I wiped away the mascara tears until my hazel eyes were basically makeup-free and then dabbed on some pink lipstick. Hey, couldn’t hurt. I used my fingers as combs to smooth down my silky dark hair until I heard a knock on the passenger side window. Um, what was he doing way over there and not at my window? Okay. . .

  Rolling down the passenger window, I pushed away my gut wrenching heartache, my overwhelming sense of despair and the oppressive images of homeless puppies that threatened to bring fresh tears. I forced a sweet, beaming, don’t-give-me-a-ticket smile. “Good day, Officer.”

  “License and registration, ma’am,” the officer said.

  His lack of friendly threw me off my game. But I was Abigail Apple and my cheeriness was unstoppable. So, I leaned toward the passenger window, gazed up at the officer, opened my mouth and then promptly forgot the cutesy line I had prepared. Oh, wowzers. The cop was hot.

  This had to be the officer who had defined the saying about a man loo
king good in a uniform. He was tall with a broad chest and a fitted navy blue uniform that was pressed and pristine. His blue eyes rivaled the sky above and his dirty-blond hair was combed back, with not a single hair astray. Strong jaw, sharp nose, tanned skin.

  Yes, this police officer was handsome. Very handsome. The only way he’d look better was if he could crack even the tiniest smile in that iceberg stare he was giving me. I mean, really, dude. This was an A-plus smile I was giving him.

  “Again, license and registration please.” He held out his hand and I immediately reached out and put my hand in his.

  Tingles wafted up my arm and suddenly a movie scene played in my mind of this hot cop sweeping me out of my seat and driving me off into the sunset in his police car while REO Speedwagon’s Can’t Fight This Feeling wailed from the radio speakers. . .

  “License and registration, please,” he repeated, jerking me out of my daydream.

  I blinked and stared at my hand that lay awkwardly in his. Why wasn’t he squeezing my hand back? And then it hit me. Oh, no. This guy wasn’t fulfilling his role in my romantic comedy fantasy by giving me his hand. No, not at all. He just wanted me to hand him my information. And I didn’t mean my digits. Oh, embarrassment.

  My cheeks heated and I pulled my hand away. “Sorry, my mistake. You probably get that all the time,” I said, laughing a little too loudly.

  I stopped mid-giggle when I saw that the officer was not chuckling along with me. Not even a hint of a smile actually. Oh, so awkward. Not a good start to Operation Get Out of Ticket.

  “Look, Officer . . .?” I waited for him to give me his name, but instead he listed a string of numbers. My eyebrows came together. “Was that your phone number?”

  “My badge number, ma’am.”

  Okay, did he have to call me “ma’am”? I mean, really. I was only twenty-six years old and he didn’t look much older than me. My smile wavered. Get it together, Abigail. I drummed my fingers against the window ledge and squinted up at the officer. “Well, Mr. Um—”