Marry Me Again: A Billionaire Second Chance Romance

by Nicole Snow

  “You're late all the time, and you won't say why. Is it really all work, or is there something else going on?” My eyes scan his, searching for dishonesty, however faint. I can't tell. “If it's not another woman...then what? Are you drinking too much? Wrapped up in something illegal?”

  For a second, he hesitates. But his eyes aren't lying. He smiles, letting out a lengthy sigh.

  “I wanted it to be a big surprise. I've been spending a lot of time down in Drayton Financial's marketing firm, Kara-bell. You won't accept any help from me with your business, I know. I get it. Hell, I respect it.” His fingers move through my hair again, softer than before.

  “Marketing? What are you talking –“

  “Since you won't let me give you the money you need to run proper ads for tourists, I was going to do it myself.” He holds a finger up with his free hand, and pushes it gently against my lips as soon as they open. “Don't say anything yet. I'm not building your business for you. I'm simply promoting my favorite coffeehouse. And since my family runs so much of the tourism here, it only makes sense the good people from out-of-town ought to have the best recommendation for their morning cup.”

  I'm melting. There's nothing in his voice that says he's full of it, even though a voice deep down inside is telling me it's too good to be true.

  Too convenient, perhaps. But the alternative to continuing to dig into him, insinuating he's full of it, is recognizing my own creeping cynicism. That's the last place I want to go.

  So, I don't say anything. I'm satisfied for now.

  He holds me gently, swaying in the middle of the kitchen, rocking me. I let him because I'd better get used to feeling the earth moving beneath my feet.

  Ryan's reappearance is proof the earthquakes aren't going to stop anytime soon. They're going to get worse, and someone is bound to collapse before it's over.

  It's an uneventful week. We go our separate ways, have our weekly session with Dr. Evans, and talk to his parents a few more times about food options for the wedding. I try my damnedest to get back to my normal life and forget I ever saw a ghost from my past.

  One morning, I'm at Grounded like usual. Working my tail off to make sure there's enough beans roasted for a media drop-in scheduled this afternoon. It's something to do with breakfast and coffee recommendations for the new Punch employees on the edge of town, and I'm eager to make a lovely first impression.

  I'm still in the back, barking orders to the half dozen kids I manage, plus one single mom picking up part-time hours. The second I hear the chime for the front door ring, I'm flying out to the register, a huge smile on my face, carrying two steaming sampler mugs of our best coffee to the man waiting there to greet me.

  “It's a pleasure, Ms. Lilydale.” His voice stops me dead in my tracks before I even see his face.

  It's Ryan. Standing there with the world's smuggest smile, extending a hand, surrounded by at least three men from the Harbor Gazette priming their cameras.

  “Welcome to Grounded.” My voice threatens to crack, but I won't let it. If he's here as some kind of sick joke to throw me off on a big day for my cafe, he's wrong. I'm not giving him the satisfaction.

  “Have to say, I think I'm already in love with this little place.” Of course, the bastard beams his ocean blue eyes into mine when he says the dreadful L-word. “Give me your best. Black, please. Before I leave, I'd like you to know I've dropped a check in your donation box for the cancer foundation you're advertising. It's wonderful to see business being charitable.”

  He motions to the big pink banner hanging up above our charity billboard.

  Charitable? Really? Is that what you call it when you left me behind to watch him suffer? When you weren't around for daddy's funeral, the whole fucking reason I'm hawking cancer research here in the first place?

  I'm so caught up on wondering how I can punch him in the face and get away with it, that I barely stop to wonder why he's here with all these cameras. He can't be Punch Corp's marketing rep...can he?

  No, I never saw Ryan working a corporate job. But we've lost a lot of years, become different people, and I can't rule out anything.

  There's nothing I know about the pompous ass in front of me except that I hate him. He looks at me while I order up his drink – a premium cup of steaming get-the-hell-out.

  “Can I have a look around?” I nod quickly, once, and he smiles. “Good. I think the press with me here today have a few questions of their own. This is your spotlight, Ms. Lilydale. The last thing I want to do is get in the way.”

  “It's Mrs. Drayton soon,” I snap, a sinister satisfaction lighting up my blood when I see jealous storms rolling through his eyes. “Just a friendly correction.”

  He turns, a fake diplomatic smile on his face, and starts strolling around my cafe like he's fascinated with everything I've built. I order coffees and donuts for the media people, letting them know I'm happy to sit down anytime for an interview.

  A tall journalist named Tom guides me over to the nearest table. He's shaking his head by the time we sit down with our coffee.

  “Before our interview, I just want to say, you're doing a hell of a job handling yourself in front of a celebrity, Ms. Lilydale.” I don't bother to correct him on the name because it won't get under his skin, like it will Ryan's. “Did you ever dream you'd have this little place getting so much attention?”

  It's my turn to shake my head. I'm not understanding.

  Celebrity? What the hell is he talking about?

  I look up, my eyes shifting over to Ryan, who's standing in the corner, staring up at the huge oil panting of old ships coming into Split Harbor, hauling ore and grain across the Great Lakes.

  “Who, him?” I nod toward the asshole in the suit who's come back to ruin my life after I worked so hard to undo his damage.

  Tom's cracks a grin. “Excuse me? Are you saying you've never heard of Tanner Brooks?”

  “Wait...you're telling me that's him? The Mr. Brooks?” My mouth hangs open a little.

  The reporter just laughs. “I'm blown away. You really didn't know? I may be a small town journalist, Ms. Lilydale, but I know bait. Nobody can be that ignorant. Listen, I'm not going to walk into whatever PR surprise trap you've set with him.”

  Holy shit.

  It finally makes sense. The reason a corporate Goliath magically decided to set up shop in our little town...it's to bring him home, closer to me.

  “There's no trap, Tom, let me assure you.” Ryan – or Tanner's – hand hits my shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “We've never met before this morning. All the contacts to set this up were through my chief of executive support, Becky Grahmer.”

  I look between the two of them. The old, balding reporter pushes up his glasses, his eyes suspicious.

  “Why don't we get on with talking about coffee, rather than badgering the poor woman over putting names to faces?” Ryan smiles, pausing for another long sip of rich black brew. “To get things rolling, I think this coffee is goddamned incredible – and you can quote me on that.”

  I stare up at him, my blood running hot. Every instinct I have wants me to shove his hand away, but I can't when I'm sitting in front of this reporter.

  He's actually trying to help me. Somehow, that makes him a bigger bastard than before.

  I can't let him know it. Better to keep my hostility in check, rather than give the local gossip mill something to really talk about.

  The tone shifts after that. Tom seems content to ask me about the boring stuff. Everything about the cafe's hours, it's goods, it's ability to serve the new arrivals quality coffee, which of course they're expecting since many of the managers are from the West Coast.

  Tanner the fake does more talking than I do. It unnerves me how easily he's got the reporter wrapped around his finger by the end.

  “So, Mr. Brooks, what can we expect next from you? Not the company, but the man who's in its beating heart.”

  He pauses a moment. Pulling out the chair next to me, he s
its down, and gives me a hard look before he answers. “I'm going to keep building the greatest automotive tech company this country's ever seen, no doubt about it. Then I'm asking for more.”

  “More?” I say it before reporter Tom, turning up my nose.

  “I've never been satisfied with half-assing anything, Ms. Lilydale.” He stresses my soon-to-be maiden name, ignoring my earlier request, which only sharpens the needles in my blood. “I know what the tabloids and the blogs say when they name drop me. They're always calling the latest girl I've brought to my big events the one. They're always wrong, but one day, that's going to change. I'm getting to the point where I want to settle down, have a family, and do what people are meant to, regardless of billion dollar empires to run.”

  “Very touching, sir.” Tom scribbles a few more notes, nodding along.

  I'm ready to get up, walk out back, and hope the cool air will put out the fires roiling my center. He isn't helping himself, talking about other women, or the grand old future he's planning for his arrogant self.

  Christ, why am I jealous? I don't give a damn what Fake Tanner does with his time, or who he's with, as long as he stays the hell away from me.

  That's what I try to tell myself. Never mind that it's an obvious lie.

  “Thank you both very kindly for your time,” the reporter says, standing and grabbing his coffee. “I'll be sure this gets printed in our next issue. This place should be a lot more crowded soon, Ms. Lilydale. I'd better swing by a little early for my morning cup.”

  “We'll be ready,” I tell him, ignoring the way the bastard at my side decides to shift his knee into mine just then. “Thank you for the thorough interview today, Tom.”

  He's gone. The second I see the journalist open the door and step outside, Ryan's hand moves against my wrist. It's a gentle stroke, but it's also a movement that tells me he can grab me anytime if he chooses.

  If he does, I'm going to scream. I don't care how many people hear me. I'll tell them everything.

  “No thanks for me?” he asks, the same annoying smoothness in his voice as the kind that disarmed the reporter. Well, it won't work on me.

  “If you're smart, you'll pick yourself up and walk away now.” I snatch my hand away, glaring. He's bigger, stronger, older, and clearly a lot richer.

  One thing hasn't changed: his eyes are so familiar it hurts. They confuse me, and that's very, very dangerous.

  “Not like this. We can't say our goodbyes just yet, Kara-bou. I want to talk. Come out tonight, around nine, and meet me at the lighthouse. We'll go up it like old times, and catch up properly.”

  “I can get that out of your way if you're finished, Mr. Brooks?” Karen has the worst timing in the world.

  The seventeen year old kid chooses the very second I'm about to tell him to fuck off forever to stop by our table, collect our cups, and flashes her awkward smile.

  “Actually, I'd love a refill,” Ryan says, leaning back in his chair. Karen nods, grabs the fresh pot behind her, and returns a few seconds later to pour more in his cup.

  I'm about to explode. The bastard probably wants me to spill blood all over my business. Some kind of sick satisfaction because he obviously has the control to create something a thousand times bigger than my little shop will ever be.

  When she's gone, I turn to him, keeping my composure. “You're insane if you think we have anything left to talk about.”

  “Better to be insane than delusional. I'm afraid the second one's what you're flirting with if you keep ignoring me, Kara. You're going to make a terrible mistake with him. I want to stop it.”

  “You don't have to stop anything!” I catch my voice rising above a harsh whisper, and close my eyes, remembering to breathe. “You're not part of my life anymore, Ryan. I told you to butt the hell out.”

  “Kara, it's Tanner. Whenever we're in public like this –“

  “Oh, you're nervous, Mr. Caspian?” I lean toward him, using his real last name, until our faces are only inches apart. “Good. Now you know how you've made me feel since the second you showed up at my door yesterday.”

  “Wait,” he growls, going for my wrist.

  His fingers catch me, tug me backward. His touch keeps me sitting, even though I've pushed my chair out, screeching across the wooden floor. I hate having his skin on mine. There's too many memories every time we touch. Far too many I fought to kill, bury, and forget.

  But I'll never forget the first time we spent a night together. Naked, young, blissfully ignorant. He held my hand half the night, even when he was inside me. He pinned me down and didn't let go, nestling my fingers between his, feeling them twitch every time he caused me to come all over his cock.

  I've never had sex that good since. Reg's fetish has something to do with that, but it's also the spark that's missing.

  We had chemistry, and it makes me sick that it's lost forever. It's gone, G-O-N-E, because I'm not going to let this asshole seduce me a second time with those cold, beautiful blue eyes.

  I don't know what to do. Then the sick realization hits me that there's only one way to make him leave.

  “If I come out there tonight, my friends will know.” Telling him that I'm considering it makes me want to bite my tongue, but I need to get away from him. Now. “They're going to know exactly where I am, and who I'm with. I don't care what name I use. They're going to know it's you, and you're not getting away a second time if I don't check in when I should.”

  He smiles, softening his grip. “I'm not a murderer, Kara. I would never, ever hurt you. That's everything I'm trying to prevent.”

  “I don't know that. I don't know you anymore. I'm not interested in whatever it is you want, Tanner.” Ugh, that name sounds so strange on my lips. “I'm agreeing to meet with you tonight because I want you to go away. Ten minutes. That's all I'm giving you, and then we're done meeting forever. If there's anything else you want with Grounded and Punch Corp, you can send one of your thousand employees to do your bidding.”

  “There's only three hundred between here and Seattle. I run a lean machine, babe, and I'm proud of it.”

  No more. The chair screeches again as I stand up, whipping my head around to see if anyone is paying attention to us. Thankfully, my employees are too busy, ringing up a few new drive through orders, and cleaning up the tables in the back for the lunch hour rush.

  I look at him one more time, making my voice like ice. “Stop calling me babe. No darling, no baby, no boo, no Kara-bou.”

  Slowly, he gets up after me, picking up his coffee cup. He takes a long pull, giving me more than enough time to drink in the huge, powerful, infuriatingly handsome edges he's hiding underneath his five thousand dollar suit. “I'll see you tonight.”

  I'm not impressed by his wealth. I have that with Reg, and I'm not doing too badly on my own with the earnings from this place. His body, on the other hand...

  The jackass never responds to my only condition, not to call me those names. I should run after him, snatch the cup from his hand, and throw it in his face. Then I should tell him there won't be any meeting tonight, and I'm going to file a restraining order if he gets in my face again.

  No, I don't care if he pulls his business from mine – I don't fucking need it to make this place a success.

  I don't do any of those things. I stand there, staring out the window at the ghost who's decided to haunt me after a five year absence.

  Why can't I just let go? Why can't I give him the same respect he gave me – none?

  My stomach sinks, watching him through the window. I know what's going to happen tonight. He'll try to ruin another engagement after he demolished my first chance at happiness because he took himself out of the equation.

  I'm a fool for letting him back in. But I'll be a bigger fool if I ignore his claims about Reg.

  My heart can't take another betrayal. If he's going to give me the truth, with proof to back it up, I have to listen.

  I'll deal with the devil himself if it saves me from another
heartbreak. And as far as I'm concerned, Ryan is close enough to Lucifer thanks to the strange, intoxicating power he has over me after all these years.

  Later, I'm sitting with Reg and Amy, our wedding planner. We've been going over our floral arrangements again. Now, it's time to talk about chefs and caterers.

  He wants fine wines, champagne, pate and oysters, plus a list of fancy duck entrees I need to draw on my rusty French to pronounce. It doesn't help much, considering the fact that I've barely sampled any of these things.

  Fancy cuisine doesn't appeal to me anyway. I want barbecue, something that will go over well with my guests. I'm telling him Eddie's will bring us the best from several towns over, and there'll be more than enough to go around so no one will go home hungry, picking at their million dollar bird food.

  “Kara, I'm not dismissing your suggestion, but it's very unusual. The food you're suggesting would be out of step with the overall atmosphere we're working to create.” Amy flashes her huge grin. She's roughly my age, and still in braces.

  I despise meeting with her. Her family's close to Reg's, part of the same class, and almost as stuck up. She always shoots down more than half of what I want, siding with him.

  “It's my wedding,” I remind them both.

  “Ours,” he corrects, stabbing his pointer finger down on the list of recommended caterers in front of him. “Look, Kara, we can do barbecue for practically anything else. The people we're trying to impress, they're not going to be satisfied with ribs and baked beans. They want something on par with the best in Minneapolis, Detroit, or Chicago.”

  “Of course. It's only impressing your relatives and jackass business associates that matters. I should've known.”

  Amy holds her hands up defensively. Her and Reg share a look, and I'm left feeling like the odd bitch out for the millionth time. I want to stand up, sweep the papers off the table, and tell them the whole fucking thing is on hold until we fix our relationship.

  But his parents are paying for the entire thing, and they want answers. We already have a date, and unfortunately, it's coming fast.