Bargaining with the Billionaire (Billionaire Bachelor Mountain Cove)

by Maria Hoagland

  Autumn ended up the same seat as the last time she’d been there. Up front and just off from the center, she was impossible to miss with her shining dark brown hair and wide eyes staring up at him. Partway into his first set, her posture started to soften and her expression grew less guarded. He caught her eye at the end of a joke, and when she didn’t look away, he took it as a victory. He threw her a wink, and she shut down immediately, turning her gaze toward the exit.

  Signal received.

  Somehow, he made it through his set. After a short intermission, Rocky brought a guitar case to the side of the stage. Kian signaled Brooke, and she nodded her approval.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I know it’s comedy night, but we have a rare opportunity for one of the best in today’s country music. Would it be all right if I called my new friend Brooke Holt to the stage?”

  Excited whoops and whistles almost obliterated the thunderous applause.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” He leaned down to give Brooke a hand up to the stage. When she was settled, he abdicated the microphone.

  “Hey, Eureka Springs!” Her casual charm pulled everyone in. “I’ve been checking out this beautiful town with my friend Autumn Molinero today—” Applause interrupted her, and Brooke nodded and smiled. “She’s new to town, and the most amazing jewelry designer.” She leaned forward toward the crowd. “I don’t know if you can see this far, but these earrings—” She flicked the one at her right earlobe and sent it swaying. “I just have to say—she’s an absolute artist.” Kian enthusiastically joined the applause, until Brooke started speaking again. “Eureka Springs has to be the country’s best-kept secret. A hidden gem.”

  While the audience clapped their agreement, she reached for the guitar Rocky was extending. “So I’m not much of a comedian, if you couldn’t tell, but what I can do is sing a little.” She sat down on the stool behind the mic, and started tuning. “Would you mind?” She lifted the instrument from her lap to show what she meant.

  Kian could have been jealous of the reaction she got, but he just smiled. This wasn’t a competition. Everyone was benefiting from this—he and Brooke with the cross-promotion, and the audience with this unexpected bonus. He just hoped they wouldn’t be disappointed when she went back to her seat and he finished his last set.

  Brooke started with an acoustic version of her latest number one hit, an upbeat song that made Kian want to grab a woman—well, Autumn—and do a little Texas two-step. When the last chord died off, she acknowledged their applause with a wave. “I like that one too.” She gave a humble laugh. “Especially since my husband helped me write it.” She winked at him in the front row. “Not bad for a divorce attorney.” The crowd loved her. “I don’t want to take too much time from Kian. Maybe he’ll be kind enough to invite me back for one of his Saturday nights.”

  The crowd’s cheering proved they were thrilled with the idea. Who wouldn’t be?

  “Besides,” she continued, “I’m honestly looking forward to the rest of his show. He’s great, isn’t he?”

  This time the crowd’s response was for him. Well, sort of. They loved everything Brooke said.

  “Speaking of my sweet husband, I think I’ll finish the night off with the song I wrote for him.” She strummed the first strains of “Bet on Us,” the debut song that had made her famous, and the audience fell silent.

  In the faint light of the audience, Kian saw couples holding hands and sharing meaningful looks as they cuddled. Others’ lips moved as they sang along. The adoring look on Isaac’s face, even though he had to have heard this song more times than he could count, sent a longing pang straight into Kian’s chest, and he moved his eyes to capture Autumn. He was only starting to feel that way about her, and if she gave him the slightest encouragement, he could fall fast and deep for her. Her gaze drifted to his and stayed there, a silent pleading on her face. Could she possibly feel the same way?

  He was still trying to figure that out when Brooke finished her song and thanked the audience. She promised to come back, and then graciously, effortlessly, returned the stage to Kian. Isaac reached out and helped his wife down from the dais. When she reached the ground, he planted a kiss on her lips in front of a crowd that practically swooned.

  “Wasn’t she great? The amazing Brooke Holt!” Kian waited for the clapping to die down before starting again. “But apparently she didn’t get the memo—if she was going to play on my stage in my club during my show, the least she could do was trip as she left the stage or something.” That earned him the laugh he was hoping for. Brooke had primed this audience to love just about anything. “She completely ruined the mood.” More light laughter helped him relax into his show again.

  He worked through some of his new material, and this time when he caught Autumn’s gaze at the end of another sketch, she tagged her laughter with an easy grin. Perhaps she was finally lowering her guard. On the fly, he switched the order of his material and launched into a joke about psychic gnomes, and the rest of the set went better than he’d planned.

  It was close to midnight before the last of the audience had left Spokes, but Kian never felt more alive. He grabbed some water bottles from the fridge and set them on the table before he dropped into a chair at a bistro table with Autumn, Brooke, and Isaac. He handed a bottle to each and let out a cleansing sigh. He couldn’t believe he was sitting at a table in his club with Brooke Holt as if they were old pals. She and her husband sat next to each other, holding hands under the table, with twin expressions that said, What’s next?

  “I’m sorry—” he said as he handed Autumn her bottle. Her hand grazed his, and she pulled it back as if he’d burned her.

  She looked away quickly.

  Okay. Even though he’d been trying to, this wasn’t the place to make his apologies for the great jewelry mishap anyway. “—it’s so late,” he finished, as if that was what he was saying the whole time. “But thank you so much for coming—and for taking the stage.”

  He looked at Brooke. “And thanks for taking the time to greet each guest after the show.” That she had done that, shared a brief word with each person, had floored him. It helped, of course, that his club was small, but even still, that had taken a big chunk of her time tonight.

  Brooke waved it off with the lid of her open water bottle pinched between her fingers. “Part of the job. And honestly, a part that I love. I don’t get to see fans up close and personal very often.”

  “I’m sure you made a few new ones,” he said, but then he corrected himself. “Well, they were probably already fans, but you certainly made some super fans tonight.”

  Brooke Holt actually blushed. He couldn’t believe she was so unassuming.

  And she’d offered to come back. Now was his chance to secure his headliner. He didn’t want to ask too much, but nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

  “Do you remember the woman who asked you about songwriting, and you gave her a quick tip?” He eased into the idea that had struck him.

  “Hattie, I think it was?” Brooke said.

  Surprised, Kian nodded. “Good memory.”

  “And her boyfriend said he’d always wanted to learn how to write good jokes,” Isaac pointed out.

  Kian nodded, excited. “Their comments got me thinking. I don’t know if Autumn told you—” She glared at him from across the table, and he looked away, not letting her anger interrupt his train of thought. “You know how Eureka Springs holds festivals and other events pretty much every weekend? What if you and I—and anyone else you think we ought to invite—did a songwriting/sketch-writing seminar for up-and-coming musicians and comedians? We lead a couple of workshops, you perform one night, I do another, and then we end the seminar with an open mic for attendees.” His stomach clenched. While he was pretty excited about the idea, this was kind of a big ask. He raised his eyebrows, unable to voice the question.

  “Are you serious?” Brooke gripped her bottle so tight, the water level inside rose. “I love the idea! It would be
a scramble, and I’ll have to check with my agent and manager, of course, and . . .”

  She looked overwhelmed, and Kian worried she might back out. He hadn’t even thought about her agent and manager. There were more moving parts than he knew how to arrange, but maybe Emily would be of help.

  Isaac lifted a hand to rub Brooke’s back. “It sounds like something you’d really enjoy, sweetheart. Songwriting is your favorite part, and you always find time to answer fans’ questions.”

  Brooke seemed to consider the possibility. “You know, you’re right,” she said.

  The two of them shared a look. To give them privacy, Kian turned his gaze to the only other person in the room. Autumn squirmed uncomfortably, and Kian’s excitement over the project paled. As great as this opportunity was to brainstorm with a big star, all he wanted to do was take Autumn in his arms and apologize to her. Instead, she got up from the table and went to the shop window, arms crossed as she looked out into the night.

  “I’ll do it,” Brooke said, not noticing at first that Autumn had gotten up. “If we can work out the details.”

  Kian, on the other hand, couldn’t tear his gaze from Autumn. After too long, he realized he should have responded. “Thanks, Brooke. Seriously, I—”

  Brooke followed his gaze to where Autumn stood, practically hugging herself. “What did you do to her?” Brooke’s whisper cut him off.

  He gave a half-hearted shrug. “I made a big mistake.” He kept his tone low as well. His mouth was so dry, he almost couldn’t swallow. “I thought she would have told you.” The sick feeling in his stomach returned.

  Brooke shook her head. “I don’t think she did.” She glanced over at Autumn’s back as well.

  He blew out a breath. “I want to make it up to her, but I don’t know how to start.”

  “You start by having a conversation. Something’s been bugging her all day.” She gestured toward him. “She wouldn’t tell me—I guess because it was you? Whatever it was, if you want to man up and make it right, you should start by telling her everything.” She stood up from the table, her chair loud in the quiet room. “I’m exhausted.” Brooke resumed a normal volume. “Are you ready to head home, Autumn?”

  Autumn turned from the window. “I hope you don’t mind, but I need to put in a few hours of work tonight.” She wouldn’t even spare a look in Kian’s direction. “I called my driver to take you home. If you need anything—food, blankets, anything—the housekeeper can help.” Headlights stopped at the curb. “I think that’s him.”

  Without a goodbye of any sort, Autumn walked out the door. Following her, Brooke and Isaac offered silent waves to Kian. The sound of the door slamming echoed the feel of his heart deflating. That was it. He’d tried to apologize, and she’d turned him away. If Katrina was right that she needed time, Autumn hadn’t had enough yet.

  Once everyone was gone, he gathered the trash into one very heavy, stuffed-to-the-top garbage bag, ready to be tied off. He swept under chairs and mopped the floor before heading upstairs to write down the ideas for the song- and sketch-writing seminar before he lost all the details. He plopped into the office chair, glad to get off his tired feet for a moment, and grabbed his pen, busily jotting a bullet-point list in his notebook until he heard a bang on the other side of his wall.

  He stopped, holding the pen just above the page, and waited, straining to hear if Autumn cried out on the other side. Was she okay? Had she just dropped something? With as cramped as the room was, knocking something over would have been altogether too easy. When there was no other sound, he began writing again.

  There was another bang. This time, it sounded like something hit the wall between them. Things must not be going so well next door, and it was probably his fault. Time to man up and see if he could make things right.

  Not wanting to startle her by moving the wall with no warning, he stood and knocked on the wall. “Autumn?”

  19

  “Ugh!” Frustrated, Autumn hurled the can of wax-carving tools against the wall with a thud. At impact, the lid flew off and the tools bounced onto the floor with small pinging sounds. Hardly satisfying. She picked up her needle-nosed pliers and did the same thing, just so she could hear the heavy clunk. At least that was slightly better. “All that work,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

  She slumped into her stool and covered her eyes with the palms of her hands. She’d been successfully holding in her tears most of the day, but now that she was alone, she let them gush. All that work. More hours of work than most people logged in a typical week were gone in an instant, and for what? So that Kian could play a practical joke?

  She folded forward, leaning her head onto the worktable. What was she going to do? This was supposed to be her big piece. The one with her name that attendees would bid on. The one that would be in all the advertisements and media write-ups. She couldn’t blow this and expect to have her brand survive.

  A knock sounded on the wall of Kian’s office. “Autumn?” Even the wall didn’t muffle his remorse.

  She rubbed off any evidence of tears but remained silent. She wasn’t ready to talk to him. Of course he felt bad. She got that he hadn’t meant to cause problems, but the stark reality was that he had, and he couldn’t fix it, no matter how hard he tried. She held her breath, hoping that if he didn’t hear her, he’d go away.

  “Autumn? Are you okay?” The man had contrition down, but now his obvious concern for her was hard to deny.

  “Yes.” She’d meant for her response to come out hard, even angry, but it ended up sounding resigned.

  She’d gone back and forth all day on really being able to hold a grudge. His jokes had never been malicious, and she’d encouraged this whole Mafalda thing. She could have stopped it a while ago, but how could she have known it would go this far? And yet, he hadn’t meant it to go that far either—she could tell.

  “May I come through?” His voice was softer, imploring.

  Through? What was he talking about? “Um . . . Okay.” She looked to the solid wood door to the outside stairs, but his voice was coming through the wall.

  There was a scraping, and then one section of the wall receded into the other, leaving an opening a little wider than a regular door but from the floor all the way to the ceiling.

  “How did you do that?” she demanded. She’d inspected the wall dozens of times and even checked his, but with the way the trim was attached, she’d completely missed this.

  “Magnets.”

  “How did you know that was there? I looked for something, and I never could find it.” She hated feeling like she’d missed something.

  “My grandpa showed me. The building has been in the family for decades. Family lore has it that my office was where Al Capone held Thursday poker nights when he was in town. In case the cops came looking for him, he needed a couple of quick exits—including something that didn’t look like one when the police came in.”

  Interesting. She wanted to know more and to see the wall in action, but she’d check out the mechanics later, when she wasn’t so upset with him. For now, she stood back, arms crossed and waiting as he stepped through from his office into her workshop. “What do you want, Kian?”

  He scrubbed a hand over his short blond hair. His other hand held some papers. “I feel awful.”

  “Good,” she said, taking a hard line. “You should.”

  “Can I ask what happened?” He looked thoroughly confused, and Autumn had to step back at the thought.

  She glared at him. “Did you really not see when you knocked over a tray? Didn’t you hear the crash?”

  A flicker of uncertainty flashed across his features, but he said nothing.

  She folded her arms and stared him down. “When you turned down the temperature, the cold turned my waxes brittle. That’s why, when you knocked the tray off the shelf and the waxes hit the floor, they smashed into smithereens.” She pointed at the linoleum. “Do you see those blue fragments?” Shards were everywhere, like glitter af
ter Christmas.

  He nodded.

  “Some of them are so small, they’ll be here for the next generation.”

  He looked a little green around the edges. “Are these the originals?” She’d explained some of the process to him over the past couple of weeks, and he must have retained some of it.

  “No.” She shook her head. “The originals are intact, but—” She pulled the original wax models from a tray under the worktable. “See all this filigree? Each stroke is hand carved. It literally took me a week. I could shoot new waxes, but cleaning them up, perfecting them for casting?” She couldn’t think about it. “I don’t have the time.” The tears threatened again. “I don’t have time to do it all again, and that was supposed to be my piece for the silent auction—my pride and joy, my very best work.”

  “I’m so sorry.” His Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow. “Can we talk?”

  She wasn’t sure she was ready to give in.

  “Please. I didn’t—” He cut himself off, and she rather liked that he didn’t follow that up with any kind of excuse. “I have something for you,” he said, “but I need to explain.”

  The sadness in his eyes convinced her to drop it. He hadn’t ruined the project on purpose. “Upstairs?” She gestured to the floor above, where a small loveseat was angled in a corner. It was the most comfortable space available.

  He nodded, and she led the way up the stairs.

  “You know you cost me—” She was going to say everything, but that wasn’t quite true. In fact, he’d been the one who’d given her the idea for the 1920s art deco style jewelry to begin with.

  Their footsteps echoed on the old wooden stairs. “I know I did.”

  She felt him reach for her, hooking her pinky hesitantly with his forefinger. A tingle of relief and excitement surged through her, chased away with another shot of anger. He loosened the grip, his finger sliding from hers, and she reacted, panicked. Not wanting him to let go, she curled her finger into his. As hurt as she was, she needed to forgive him. It had been an innocent mistake. If only she knew how to fix it . . .