The Ghost, the Girl, and the Billionaire (Billionaire Bachelor Mountain Cove Book 10)
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The Ghost, the Girl, and the Billionaire
Billionaire Bachelor Mountain Cove Book 10
Erica Penrod
Contents
The Ghost, the Girl and the Billionaire
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Also by Erica Penrod
About the Author
The Ghost, the Girl and the Billionaire
Billionaire Bachelor Mountain Cove Romances
Unprepared for guests…
Haunted by her great aunt…
Monica is in no place to fall in love.
Levi is in town to work … not flirt.
But he can’t seem to help himself when it comes to the B&B owner. She’s cute and spunky and not afraid to get her hands dirty.
In short, she’s all wrong for him.
Since they’re sharing a house, it’s difficult to create space and establish boundaries. But if they don’t get a handle on the attraction building between them, Monica may lose the B&B and Levi could be forced out of the family business.
You’ll love this small town clean romance!
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This story is an irresistible contemporary romance about a not-so-humble cop who splits his raffle ticket with an unlucky waitress and the actor who falls in love with her.
(An It Could Happen to You retelling with a twist!)
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Chapter One
Most people were afraid of ghosts; Monica Fallentine was just annoyed with hers.
Ha ha, very funny, Aunt Gwen. She wiped over the words “clean me” written in dust across the dining room table. Monica’s intention to build a bed and breakfast out of her inheritance—which was more hole than house in Eureka Springs, Arkansas—and a newly acquired culinary degree was hard enough without the constant toying and teasing of her late great-aunt Gwen.
Knock, knock. Monica sighed as she wiped her brow. There weren’t enough hours in the day, nor was there enough money in her savings account since she’d arrived two months ago. She didn’t have time to stop working with her first guest due tomorrow.
Upon her arrival, Monica focused on the exterior of the home. A successful bed and breakfast would be impossible if she couldn’t get anyone through the front door. She’d managed to patch and paint one of the bedrooms upstairs, and the inspector had given her the go-ahead to open The Red Pearl. But the interior wasn’t 100% guest ready.
She reached for the original iron handle and swung open the door, where the concentrated scent of rose-petal perfume accosted her like a chemical agent in wartime. “Hey, Doris.” Monica smiled at her next-door neighbor.
“Now I know you’re busy.” Doris barged in with two lime-green oven mitts holding a glass pan covered in tinfoil. “But I promised Gwen I’d look after you, and girl, you’re way too skinny.”
Monica grinned to herself as she closed the door and followed Doris into the kitchen, stepping around buckets of tools and paint paraphernalia.
“You’re never going to catch a husband if you don’t put a little meat on those bones.”
She choked back her laughter. For all her failed relationships, Monica doubted the number on the scale had ever been a factor. “Thank you for thinking of me.”
“If you’re not ready to eat, just put this tuna casserole into the oven on warm.” Doris placed the dish on the stovetop and tucked the mitts in her apron pockets. “It’ll keep.”
“Okay, I will.” Monica smiled. Good manners trumped everything, or so her mother had taught. She hated tuna casserole, and a pan that size might last her a month, but she’d choke it down before she’d hurt Doris’s feelings. “Would you like to keep some for you and Alex?”
Doris shook her head. Her Barbie-blond hair held tight like a helmet. “No, I made one for us too.” Alex was Doris’s great-nephew, who, Monica deduced within a week of her arrival, was also part of her inheritance—or at least he was intended to be. She hadn’t taken possession of that … er, asset. Gwen and Doris must’ve concocted their schemes long before her great-aunt’s passing with all the pushing and prodding, frequent visits where Doris dragged Alex along, and blatant reminders of how many things the two “single kids” had in common.
“Should I send Alex over?” Doris surveyed the kitchen, with the sink full of dishes and the counter covered in paint supplies. “You look like you could use some help. Put him to work on the remodel, and that’ll give you some time to clean up.”
“No, thank you. I’ve got it.” Monica started clearing the dishes from the sink. “And I’m sure the last thing Alex wants to do is come home from work and help me.”
“Oh, he doesn’t mind.” She rested her hands on her robust hips. “He loves to come over here.”
Maybe Doris was right, and Alex did like to come over, but his one-word answers and the AirPods growing from his ears didn’t support his aunt’s claim. He’d ask what Monica needed help with, and he’d go to work. Without Alex’s expertise, there was no way the subway tile in the upstairs bathroom would’ve lined up, or stuck to the wall, for that matter. “I’ve really appreciated him.”
Doris beamed. Her smile cut into her ample cheeks, and deep creases corrugated in the corners of her eyes. “I’ll be sure to tell him.”
“Please do, but don’t bother him about coming over tonight.” Monica turned on the faucet. “I don’t want to make any more mess until I get this cleaned up.” She took the dish soap out from beneath the sink. “My first guest arrives tomorrow, and I don’t want to get a rotten review. I’ve got to make this place shine like a palace, even if it still looks like a hovel.”
Crash. Monica looked down to see the bowl on the floor. She looked up at the ceiling and shook her head. “I guess Aunt Gwen’s more concerned about the way this place looks than I am.”
“Oh, just ignore her.” Doris smiled and swiped her hand through the air. “You’d think she’d have better things to do on the other side than hang around here all of the time.”
“You’d think.” The home oozed with her great-aunt’s presence, which Monica didn’t mind, but Aunt Gwen liked things done a certain way, and she reminded Monica with a flip of the light switch, dirty words written in dust, or the occasional falling object.
“I told her I had things covered.” Doris looked towards the heavens and scolded, “I’m quite capable of looking after her.”
I’m a grown woman and perfectly able to take care of myself.
Doris dropped her gaze and patted Monica’s arm. “Besides, Gwen wasn’t a perfect housekeeper either.”
Lines furrowed along Monica’s brow, but she bit her lip, knowing that Doris had good intentions. Even if those intentions reminded Monica of a sour pickle pie: short on the sugar and hard to swallow. “I’m sure she did her best.” Her great-aunt lived to be
eighty-three, and it was true that the small front room and kitchen were kept tidy, but the rest of the house was neglected. Monica didn’t know the last time any repairs or maintenance had been done, but she was certain the house hadn’t been updated for at least fifty years. The shag green carpet and sunflower-yellow countertops attested to that fact.
“And I’m sure you’ll do yours.” Doris smiled; specks of her carnation-pink lipstick stuck to her teeth. “I’d better let you go.”
Monica nodded as she exhaled. She focused on the positive points of having a next-door neighbor like Doris, like she was never truly alone and there was someone to dial 911 in case of an emergency, but that was all she could think of at the moment. “Thanks for the casserole.” Monica followed Doris to the door. “See you tomorrow.” Or later tonight.
Doris left, and Monica closed the door behind her. Monica braced herself against the solid surface and tried to focus on the list of things she had to accomplish tonight. She took the phone from her pocket. 5:17 p.m. She might be up till midnight, but she’d have this place in order for tomorrow’s check-in at noon.
Knock, knock. Monica jumped at the unexpected noise but held on to her phone. She slid the device back in her pocket. Doris must be back already. Probably forgot to mention Alex’s schedule for the next few days. She gripped the handle and opened the door.
He definitely wasn’t Doris.
Monica’s jaw dropped, and her pulse quickened. The ancient myths and antiquated legends had gotten it wrong. There weren’t twelve Olympian gods; the thirteenth was standing on her doorstep.
Chapter Two
Levi Hernandez didn’t consider himself a snob, just a man with impeccable taste and the means to accommodate his preferences. This moderate-sized house, even with its new windows (the stickers still in the corners) and freshly painted Hardie board siding, judging by the fumes still lingering in the air, was nothing like he’d envisioned when Bates, his personal assistant, mentioned the “quaint bed and breakfast tucked in the hills of the Ozarks.” Bates had also remarked on Eureka Springs’s lack of accommodations in June due to something about bike races and car shows. Apparently, reservations had to be secluded long in advance, and since Levi’s father had given him the Eureka Springs assignment only a month ago, Levi found himself on the doorstep of The Red Pearl.
However, the woman in front of him was an attraction, even in her tattered overalls and frayed-edge T-shirt. Bates had mentioned something about a single woman running the place.
“Can I help you?” She swallowed. Her hazel eyes, a combination of earthy tones, reminded him of his favorite painting back in his Texas office. Her gaze wandered from his newly cut hair to his Armani shoes.
Levi blinked as his brain extinguished the tiny flame of distraction. A momentary lapse from his agenda was all he ever allowed himself. His determination to prove himself—as a leader, a visionary, and someone who led a company based on merit and not because of who his father was—demanded his full attention. Women, like hobbies, were to be avoided unless deemed necessary to further business. “I’m Levi Hernandez, and I’ve got a reservation.”
The woman’s coppery complexion faded. A notch appeared between her charcoal-colored brows, and her eyes widened like she’d seen a ghost. “Uh …”
“This is The Red Pearl.” The GPS had recalculated with every turn of the windy roads, but Levi glanced at the crimson door and assumed he’d arrived at his intended destination.
“Uh, yes.” The woman straightened her back, glanced over his shoulder at his black Stingray Corvette, and gave him a shaky smile. “It is. I’m sorry, Mr. Hernandez, I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”
Her revelation only fed his doubts about his accommodations. If the woman was this incompetent with her bookkeeping, where else might she be lacking? Levi traveled the country with his job, but he’d never stayed somewhere so unsophisticated. Posh hotel rooms and suites were more his style, not this Victorian farmhouse on a hill. “I can assure you my reservation was for today.”
“No matter. You’re here now.” She exhaled, brushed a wandering strand of hair behind her ear, and offered her hand. “I’m Monica Fallentine, owner and operator of The Red Pearl.”
Levi looked down at the paint beneath her fingernails and spotted across her skin, but he shook her hand anyway.
“I’ll apologize ahead of time for what you’re about to walk into, but I promise your room is clean and ready.” Monica backed up and gestured for him to pass. “As you can see, The Red Pearl is still a work in progress.”
That was an understatement. Levi stood in the small entryway and stared at the disarray around him. His neck began to itch, and his tie felt like a noose. Surely Bates could’ve done better than this. The wood floor beneath his feet appeared original but needed to be refinished, and the eggshell wallpaper, torn and curling in places, begged to be replaced. The room to his left was a sitting area. Outdated furniture sat like the elderly in an old folks’ home, but it wasn’t cluttered like the hallway in front of him. Heavy-framed portraits of women in antebellum-styled dresses, some with dogs or children on their laps, covered the walls.
“I inherited the place from my great-aunt.” Monica closed the door.
“Why did you advertise the room? Clearly you’re not ready for guests.” From a business standpoint, that was a mistake.
Monica put her hands on her hips. “My savings account has about run dry.” She looked down as she scuffed her shoe on the floor.
His face heated at her candid statement.
“Everything cost more than I budgeted for, but I want to do things right.” Her head lifted, and she met his gaze. “This house is worth saving. Just look at the hardwood floors and original moldings. Can you imagine the stories they could tell?”
“I’d rather not.” Levi cleared his throat as he checked out the intricate details in the woodwork framing the doorway. “But you have a point.” He crossed his arms and imagined what the wood would look like with a fresh coat of stain. “My profession involves ‘restoring,’ if you will, out-of-date hospitals and bringing them into the twenty-first century.”
“Oh, so you’re the guy that Dr. Evans has been freaking out over.”
“Dr. Evans?” Names filtered through Levi’s mind. “Oh yes, you mean the doctor who will be retiring.”
“Yes.” Monica chuckled. “I haven’t lived here long, but even I know about the hostile takeover and Dr. Evans getting kicked to the curb.”
Levi’s chin jutted back. “I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed.” He took pride in his work, and never once had there been any hostility on his part. “We approached Dr. Evans about purchasing Eureka Springs Healthcare, and he accepted, claiming he was eager for retirement.”
“Eager wasn’t the word they tossed around the Sweet Shoppe when I was in there last week.”
Small towns and gossip. He should’ve expected this by now. “I’m not sure what you heard, but I’ve read the contracts and that’s all I need to know.”
Monica studied his face. “Okay. Would you like to see your room?”
“Yes.” Levi sighed. He’d shoot a text to Bates and have him keep looking for a more suitable place to stay.
“Follow me.” Monica turned around. Her hair, piled in a bun on her head, revealed a beautiful neckline. Levi’s mind went blank as his gaze fell to her form-fitted T-shirt beneath the overalls. She walked, and his feet managed to trail behind her. Monica’s shoulders and arms appeared strong and toned, while her shape curved in all the right places. Overalls weren’t something Levi ever considered as attractive clothing until he watched the gentle sway of Monica’s hips.
Crash. Levi’s shoe caught on something, and he fell forward.
Monica spun around and caught him in her arms. His weight propelled them both, but she managed to retain her footing. “Easy there.” She held him by the arms and gently pushed him back until they were face to face. Her hands still clung to his biceps; his skin warmed beneath her t
ouch as her sweet vanilla scent filled his head.
“Sorry.” Levi intended to move away, but her eyes held him. He observed the pink in her cheeks and the slight bump along the middle of her slender nose. His breath caught as he looked down and took in her full lips. Something stirred within him, a longing he’d never experienced before.
“You’re okay?” The corners of her mouth lifted in a slight smile. “I’m sorry. I planned to have this all cleared away by the time you arrived tomorrow.”
Levi nodded, still very aware of the beautiful woman holding on to him. As if sensing his thoughts, Monica dropped her hands, and his knees weakened. He corrected himself and stood tall, straightening his tie. “You’ll need to be more careful in the future.” Levi glanced down at the paint can on the floor. “You wouldn’t want a lawsuit.”
The light in her eyes, the connection he’d been so drawn to, faded, and for a moment, he was sorry. The long-dormant heart in his chest thumped harder, beads of moisture dotted his forehead, and his mouth went dry. His body panicked, and Levi tried to reason with his brain. He didn’t need to be sorry. She was the one who’d carelessly left dangerous obstacles in the hallway.
“No, I wouldn’t want that.” Monica eyed him cautiously, and Levi knew she wasn’t just referring to litigation.
Regret pricked him, and the emotion spread through his veins like a toxin. Levi reached into his pocket and felt for his phone. He’d make that call to Bates, sooner rather than later. The Red Pearl wasn’t the right place for him; his attraction to the pretty proprietor was all wrong.