The Passionate One: A Billionaire Bride Pact Romance

by Lewis, Jeanette

  But none of that was reason enough to jump into a relationship with him.

  The truth was, she was holding out for her prince—the guy who would burst into her life and sweep her off her feet. She didn’t want love to come stealing in softly; she wanted it to land like a cannonball ... and she’d known Matt too long for that.

  The line was long, and by the time she’d paid for the drinks, Erin feared she’d pushed it too far. Mona did not take kindly to anyone who put her behind schedule. Erin darted back across the street, waving apologetically to a driver who had to stop and wait for her.

  Mona glanced over and saw her come in, but she was still arguing with Jacob. Erin plunked back down beside Jocelyn and Sasha and handed out the drinks. “Still?” she whispered.

  “Now he’s started complaining about how the changes are affecting his character, keeps saying it’s not him. Hasn’t he ever seen Beaches?” Jocelyn muttered. She pulled the lid off her black coffee and blew on it.

  “What?” Sasha asked.

  Jocelyn rolled her eyes. “Not you too. There’s a scene in Beaches where Bette Midler is complaining that her character wasn’t her. The director says something like— ”

  “Act like it,” Erin and Jocelyn said together.

  “Oh yeah, I think I remember it ... barely.” Sasha gave them a strange look. “What do you two do, eighties movie night marathons?”

  “Sounds like a fantastic idea,” Erin said. “Let’s do it! How about this weekend?”

  Jocelyn replaced her lid and took a sip. “How about we get through opening night first?” she suggested.

  “Oh, right.” Erin blushed. The biggest night of her career was in less than two weeks and she was plotting the return of acid-washed jeans and frosty blue eyeshadow.

  “I’m not asking you to make any major changes, Jacob,” Mona said loudly, her tone clearly indicating her patience was running as thin as her penciled eyebrows. “But when you signed your contract, we told you this was a work in progress and you should expect some fluidity.”

  “Fluidity is one thing; this is something else,” Jacob shot back. “The rewrites are going to change the way my character sees the entire second act. How am I supposed to fix that in two weeks?”

  Mona ground her teeth. “You’re an actor,” she grated. “So act like it.”

  “Bingo. So she has seen Beaches.” Jocelyn held up her cup, and Erin bumped it with her hot chocolate, making a dull, cardboardy thunk.

  “Three to one he quits,” Sasha whispered.

  “Not if we open in eight days and Mitchell is their only other choice,” Erin said confidently.

  “Well, if I were Mona, I’d have fired his whiney butt long before now,” Jocelyn replied.

  “I need a break.” Jacob threw down his script and stomped out of the room.

  “Betcha,” Sasha said, raising one eyebrow at them.

  **

  Chapter 15

  The studio was closed on Sundays, but Matt was there anyway, working on a new project. He’d been awake most of the night sketching the idea for a Christmas wreath—size, materials, and, most importantly, price. It would be in the style of Dale Chihuly, with dozens of green glass swirls joined to form a single wreath. He’d even planned a big red bow.

  Chihuly’s works sold for hundreds of thousands or even millions of dollars—a fortune. Matt didn’t kid himself; he was nowhere near that level. But even a fraction of a fortune would make a difference and would mean the studio’s survival.

  He’d completed half a dozen of the green swirls that would make up the wreath and had many more to go. He was pouring more green frit onto the table when his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Erin.

  “I’m outside,” she said when he answered. “Can I come in?”

  “Um, sure. Just a sec.” He glanced into the showroom. She stood by the glass front door; he hadn’t heard her knocking over the noise of the studio.

  “Sorry to bug you when you’re working,” she said when he’d opened the door for her. She wore blue-and-gray Aztec-printed leggings under a long black sweater and black boots. Her hair hung loose to the middle of her back.

  “No problem,” Matt said. “What’s up?”

  Erin bit her lip. “Things have been weird lately. I wanted to make sure things are okay, between us.”

  He nodded. “I know. I’ve been pushing you too hard; I’m sorry.” They’d only done two activities from his “NOT Boring” spreadsheet. Moving too fast would only drive her away.

  “I have the play right now. I ... it’s not a good time to be starting anything new,” she said carefully.

  “I understand.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief, then looked through the window separating the showroom and the studio. “What are you making?”

  “A wreath.”

  “Can I see?”

  He led her into the studio and opened the lehr, the temperature-controlled kiln where pieces were set to cool. “I’ll wire these together to make the wreath,” he explained, pointing to the row of green swirls. “Hopefully it comes together the way I imagine it.”

  “It will,” Erin said quickly.

  Matt closed the lehr. “Well, it’s pretty easy once you get the hang of it. We make a lot harder stuff than ...” He trailed off, aware of how lame he must sound, as if he was searching for a compliment but refusing to accept it after she gave one. He busied himself with organizing his tools.

  “Can I do it?” Erin asked.

  “Do what? Make something?” He dropped a wooden block into the bucket of water. “Sure, if you want to.”

  She beamed and shrugged out of her coat, hanging it on a hook next to his while he dug around in a box for leather work gloves and an extra pair of safety glasses. The glasses were dusty and he rubbed them off on his shirttail before handing them to her.

  “Can I make one of those swirly things?” she asked as she slipped the glasses on.

  “That might be a bit too hard at first.” Matt thought back to his own beginning lessons with his father patiently showing him how to work with the glass—how to gather it, shape it, and turn it into something beautiful. “What about a flower?”

  “A flower?” Erin shot a glance toward the showroom. “Can you show me one?”

  “Uh ... we don’t have any we’ve made for sale,” Matt said. They’d had glass flowers in the showroom before and they usually ended up in the dumpster. A flower took about three minutes to make—not exactly the craftsmanship and quality most buyers were looking for.

  “Okay,” Erin said enthusiastically. “What do I do first?”

  “Pick a color.” Matt swept his hand toward the jars of frit, tiny chips that melted into the clear glass to give a piece its color. Lined up on shelves by the showroom window, the jars resembled a supply of sprinkles for a giant’s bakery.

  “Yellow,” Erin said immediately. “My favorite.”

  Matt knew that. He smiled and reached for the jar labeled saffron, unstopped the lid, and poured a thin line of yellow chips onto the metal table next to the furnace.

  “Stay back a little,” he warned as he reached for a blowing pipe.

  The heat from the furnace blasted their faces when he opened the door. Erin hovered near his elbow as he pulled a gather from the pool.

  “Sit there,” he said loudly over the furnace, jerking his head toward the bench.

  She did, and he brought the pipe over, the glass glowing on the end. “Roll it back and forth—” he demonstrated, “—and try to keep it from drooping.”

  Erin’s eyes narrowed in concentration and she caught the tip of her tongue between her teeth as she rolled the pipe along the arms of the bench. He hid his smile at the lopsided wad of glass forming on the end; she was actually doing pretty well for a beginner.

  When she’d rolled it a few more times, he took the glass to the furnace, heated it again, and rolled it in the yellow frit.

  Then it was back to the bench. “Pick up that paddle.” He pointed with h
is chin at the flat steel paddle lying on the seat next to her.

  He showed her how to press the paddle against the glass on the end of the pipe, to make a cone shape with a flat bottom.

  Then he gestured to a pair of long, thin pliers. “Pull where I show you,” he instructed, picking up his own pair.

  He made marks in the soft glass with his pliers and she followed behind him, grabbing the mark he’d made and pulling. The glass got harder and less malleable as it cooled and soon Erin had to use both hands. He couldn’t help grinning at the effort it took. He could have finished the whole thing in about thirty seconds, but it was more fun to watch her do it.

  He made a few more trips to the furnace to reheat the glass and had her do a few more rounds of pulling. Her excitement grew along with the flower.

  When they’d stretched the glass to the size of a dinner plate, Matt used a pair of long tongs to give it a slight funnel shape, then he upended the pipe, using the tongs and gravity to stretch the blossom and create the stem. A final twist, and it was finished. Matt carried the flower to a table and laid it gently on a pile of lambs wool, then used pinchers to cut the glass from the pipe.

  “Come here.” He gestured to Erin.

  She joined him quickly and he plucked a small torch from the table and handed it to her. “I’m gonna light it. Ready?”

  She nodded, her eyes wide.

  He turned on the gas and touched the striker to the tip of the torch. Flames shot out the end and he put his hand over Erin’s, directing the flame to the bottom of the flower. The glass melted like snow on a hot stove, sealing and smoothing the end of the stem.

  Matt turned off the torch and turned to Erin. “There you go.”

  “Wow! I can’t believe I made that.” She gave a little hop on her toes and clapped with excitement as she moved around the table, studying her flower from all sides. “When can I take it home?”

  “Tomorrow.” He slipped on a heavy duty oven mitt and laid the flower in the lehr next to his glass swirls.

  Erin stood at his shoulder, gazing proudly at her flower. “It’s so awesome! Now you do something.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She gestured toward the bench. “Make something. I want to see how it’s done for reals.”

  “That is how it’s done for reals,” he said.

  “No, I want to see how it’s done by a professional,” she countered. “Please?”

  At first he resisted; it felt like showing off. But he could never withstand her coaxing for long. “I’ll show you how to make a piece of the wreath,” he finally agreed.

  **

  Erin moved out of the way while Matt prepared his tools, then collected another gather and took it to the table. His movements were smooth and sure, fluid, like the glass. He rolled the glowing ball in the green frit he’d laid down, then brought the pipe to his mouth. A second later, a small bubble appeared in the glowing glass and Matt used tongs to pull and shape it into a swirl.

  Considering how long it had taken her to make a flower, Matt was lightning fast.

  “I can’t believe how quickly it starts to solidify,” she said as she studied the swirl, now resting on the lambs wood. It was about the size of her arm and rapidly cooling from glowing orange into the lime green of the frit.

  “Yep, you have to move pretty quickly,” Matt said with a smile.

  She tiptoed and kissed him quickly on the cheek. “Thank you, this was fun.”

  “You’re welcome.” He stepped away from her and began cleaning up. “Want to get some lunch?”

  “Yeah, but don’t you have more work to do?” Erin asked. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your day.”

  He stacked the pipes along the wall. “No, it’s fine. I was just messing around anyway.” He turned to her, and his blue eyes seemed to burn as they looked at each other across the room. “I’m glad you came.”

  Butterflies exploded in Erin’s stomach. The urge to go to him, weave her fingers though his hair, pull his head toward hers, was almost overpowering. Maybe ... what if she did?

  She shifted her weight, preparing to take a step toward him, just as the row of blowpipes slipped and fell to the concrete floor with a crash. They both jumped.

  “Sorry,” Matt said quickly. “Give me a few minutes to clean up. If you want to wait in the showroom, I’ll hurry.”

  “I could help,” Erin offered.

  “Nah.” Matt shook his head. “It’ll be faster to do it myself.”

  Erin nodded and went to wander among the pieces in the showroom. She had a whole new respect for Matt’s artistry now, but she was in too much turmoil to focus on the pieces for long.

  It was only an innocent kiss on the cheek! So why were her lips on fire, and why was her stomach so fluttery? Why was she imagining what could have happened if she’d taken that step toward him?

  “Where to for lunch?” Matt asked several minutes later. He’d washed up but apparently didn’t have a comb, and his sandy hair bore finger marks from where he’d unsuccessfully tried to smooth it. Her fingers itched to tousle it further.

  She bit the inside of her cheek and tried to think about food instead of about Matt’s hair. “How about Silver Moon?”

  The Silver Moon diner was a local hangout that served breakfast all day and must have employed Morgantown’s entire population of goth teenagers. Their server was a skinny girl with black lipstick and a skull tattoo under her ear.

  “What are your plans for the rest of the day?” Matt asked when their food arrived. “You don’t have rehearsal, do you?”

  Erin shook her head. She was focusing on cutting her stack of Dutch Apple French toast, which was in real danger of tipping over. “No rehearsal on Sunday. What about you? Wanna see a movie?”

  Matt checked his watch. “Actually, I’d better get home and walk Roswell.”

  “Oh, right.” Erin winced. She hadn’t exactly forgotten Roswell, but she had left too much of his care to Matt. “I can take him today if you want.”

  “When is Mrs. Brinkerhoff coming home anyway?”

  “Um ...” Erin’s stomach dropped. “I don’t know; I forgot to ask.”

  “Wait, what?” Matt’s fork clattered onto his plate. “You offered to take care of someone’s dog—indefinitely?”

  “Yeeeah.” Erin felt her face grow hot.

  He stared at her in silence for a long moment, then broke into helpless laughter. “Only you.”

  “I’m sorry! She’s old and didn’t give me all the details and I forgot. I’ve been busy.”

  His laughter intensified. “So we know exactly what brand of specialized, and expensive, dog food Roswell eats; he likes the red chew toy but not the orange, prefers to sleep with his butt next to my head, and if left alone too long, he will pee all over the place. But we have no idea when his owner will be back?”

  Erin scowled. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

  Matt wiped away tears of laughter. “I’m not rubbing it in. I just ... I don’t know. Only you,” he said again.

  Her sense of shame was building. “Now you sound like my mother. Or like my whole family, actually.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They used to call it ‘pulling an Erin,’” she said, unable to keep the hint of bitterness from her voice. “Every time someone did something stupid or airheaded or made a mistake, they’d all holler ‘way to pull an Erin,’ or something like that. They still do, in fact.” Her voice caught on the words.

  His laughter stopped instantly, and he reached across the table for her hand. “I didn’t mean it that way. I’m sorry.”

  “I know.” Her fingers tightened around his as she used her napkin to catch the sudden tears in her eyes. “I’m overly sensitive about it, I guess.”

  “You’re not,” he said softly. “And you’re not an airhead. Anyone who can memorize two hours’ worth of lines, plus all the movement that goes with it, plus what everyone else is doing, not to mention create an entire character from thin air, is n
ot an airhead.”

  “Thanks.” She gave him a watery smile.

  He smiled back. “Let’s finish up here and go see if the mangy mutt left me any presents while I’ve been gone. Lucky for you, I have wood floors.”

  **

  Chapter 16

  Much to Matt’s surprise, Roswell had managed to restrain himself. He did his business in the parking strip in front of the building and then led them around the block, pausing to sniff at anything he found interesting.

  “He’s a pretty good dog,” Matt said. “In fact, I might miss him when he leaves. If he ever leaves, that is.” He gave Erin a light bump with his shoulder.

  “Maybe I found you a new best friend,” she said loftily.

  “I already have a best friend.” Matt reached for her hand. It was a risk, but he had to touch her. He was afraid she’d draw away, but she didn’t. As their fingers interlocked, it was as if something fell into place deep inside, the way it always did with Erin.

  They walked down the street hand in hand, letting Roswell guide them until they reached the park several blocks from their apartment building. Happy screams came from the playground as children ran among the slides and swings, enjoying the crisp, sunny afternoon. The leaves that had dropped from the hundreds of trees had not been raked yet.

  Erin’s eyes shone with excitement as they crunched through the thick, ankle-deep carpet of dead leaves. “I love that sound.” She broke off their hand-hold and bent to scoop up an armful of leaves.

  “There might be spiders in there,” Matt warned.

  “You’d better hope not,” she said gleefully as she hurled the armful toward him. Leaves showered around him while Roswell tugged on the leash, jumping and barking as he tried to catch one in his mouth.

  “It’s on,” he said, declaring war as he slid the loop in Roswell’s leash up his arm.