The Angler, the Baker, and the Billionaire (Destination Billionaire Romance)

by Day, Amberlee

  “Three years ago.”

  “Right. What else do you see there?”

  “Looks like … is this projections?”

  “It is. Do you see that fifth item?”

  “The Sunshine Bakery.” Sophie nodded and studied the numbers while he talked.

  “These columns show your net income for the four years previous. This is the expected percent of decline from PJ’s; this is the actual decline.”

  Sophie looked up. “I don’t believe what I’m seeing.”

  “You studied business in college, Miss Molina. You understand what these numbers mean, and the numbers tell a story.”

  “I don’t …” This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Was he confusing her on purpose? “How do you know?”

  “The story goes like this,” Peter said. “A mother and daughter ran a successful bakery in San Francisco. They were a popular location, frequented by locals and tourists. While their services ranged from wedding cakes to cake pops, they were known for their sourdough bread, creative cupcake flavors, cookies, and gluten-free brownies and blondies.”

  “How did you …”

  “Then one day, the mother got sick. It was cancer. Cancer’s a demanding illness, and as the mother and daughter depended on each other for everything, that included driving to doctor’s appointments, chemo treatments, and being there on recovery days. The bakery employees couldn’t run things on their own and maintain the same service, and the business suffered. First their inventory reduced, then the open business hours were cut down. When the mother’s health went into a sharp decline, so did the business. Neither recovered.”

  At some point tears began to flow down Sophie’s cheeks, blurring the report in front of her. She hadn’t expected this. She thought Peter was going to look at the numbers and see his warehouse stores for the competition-killing monsters that they were. “But PJ’s—”

  “The Sunshine Bakery was already on shaky legs when PJ’s opened, Sophie.” Peter’s voice wasn’t unkind, but he was firm. “People don’t stop going to places like that when a PJ’s comes in. You don’t buy a standard PJ’s sheet cake when what you wanted was a three-tiered wedding cake. PJ’s is a bargain; the Sunshine Bakery was an experience.”

  Sophie stood up and walked as quickly as she could to move away from Peter Cohen’s words.

  “Sophie, wait—”

  But she was already in the entryway and stumbling out the front door.

  23

  Peter caught up to Sophie, pulling her under his arm to steady her before she fell headlong down the front stone steps.

  “I’m fine,” she croaked through her tears.

  “I’m just going to walk with you.” He had a tone of gentle authority that put an end to her protests.

  They did walk, and Sophie really didn’t pay attention to where. She suspected Peter was guiding her and found it easier to let him. In predictable Alaskan fashion, the weather had shifted in the short time they were inside, and the wind whipped the tree branches around them. They climbed up paths, up and down stairways, and ended in a covered pavilion on a gentle rise somewhere near the island’s wooded tip. The pavilion overlooked Sitka Sound and the islands farther out to the south.

  Peter guided her to a seat in the semi-protected shelter and sat close with his arm still protectively around her. She hadn’t realized until she sat down that she was shaking.

  Sophie let her eyes rest on the beautiful scenery—clouds had swept in, and the sky considerably darkened—while she tried to work through what Peter had told her. No, not just what Peter had told her, but what the numbers said. It was true, the business had suffered that year before PJ’s opened. She thought it was temporary. Then her mom’s illness stretched on and on, and things kept getting worse. Friends and people in the neighborhood fueled the blame she had already begun to place on PJ’s. She should have considered that PJ’s wasn’t to blame, but that was too hard. Because if PJ’s wasn’t to blame, the fault lay with her mother’s illness. And it was easier to hate PJ’s than her mother.

  No, not her mother, she reminded herself. Her mother’s cancer.

  Tears slid down her cheeks again. A handkerchief—an actual handkerchief, clean white cotton—appeared in front of her. She didn’t look at Peter, but took it from him and wiped the tears. “Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry, Sophie. I wish it was PJ’s fault. That might have been easier on you.”

  “It’s not, though, is it? I just … It was too hard to see. I couldn’t face it.”

  “It wasn’t your mother’s fault, either. You know that, right?”

  “I do. It was the cancer.”

  She watched while a fishing boat motored past the island. An eagle seemed to be following the boat in wide circles. She wondered how it fought against the increasing wind. Several minutes passed before the bird was out of sight, and following it with her eyes relaxed her. She took a deep, calming breath, which was quickly followed by a yawn.

  “Are you tired?” Peter asked.

  “I am. I feel … exhausted.”

  “You probably want to go home early. I wonder, though, if I could keep you here a while longer? It feels like a big storm coming in, and I hate to have Doug out on choppy waters.”

  “Oh … Maybe if we left quickly?”

  But just like that, the clouds that had so suddenly rolled in burst, and rain dropped in sheets on the pavilion roof.

  Goodness! Maybe he does have a way to control the weather.

  For a few minutes, they just sat and watched the rain fall. If they ventured out, they’d be soaked in an instant.

  “Hello!” Doug came running off the path into the pavilion. He wore a dripping yellow raincoat and pants, and carried a large bag of rain gear with him. “Marisa said you headed up this way. Thought you might need these.”

  It wasn’t until Peter reached for the items that she realized he’d had his arms around her, warm and comforting, the whole time.

  Back at the house, Marisa met them at the door. Peter explained that Sophie needed a rest, and without question, Marisa helped her out of the wet raincoat and gently led her up the grand, curving staircase into one of the many bedrooms. She helped Sophie take off her shoes and tucked her in under a thick quilt.

  “You rest,” she said. “I’ll come get you before dinner.”

  Sophie succumbed to sleep quickly, slept deeply for an hour, and, except for swollen eyes, woke up refreshed. Marisa hadn’t come to get her yet, but Sophie straightened her dark ponytail, did her best to neaten her makeup, and went out on her own into the mansion.

  It was still raining outside. As she descended the staircase, she could see the downpour through the large windows above the front door. No one was in sight, and besides the rain, she couldn’t hear any noise. Maybe Marisa and Peter were in the office? She headed that direction, tiptoeing in case she was going somewhere she shouldn’t. The office door was open, but only an empty room greeted her.

  She tried to remember the downstairs layout from her tour. There was a dining room somewhere, and Marisa mentioned dinner. Would they be there?

  Sophie did remember there were some bedrooms downstairs, so she avoided closed doors. She found the small library and the supersized powder room. The sitting room was empty, but Sophie could hear voices just down the hall.

  “What does she likes to drink?” It was Marisa’s voice.

  “Diet soda, water … hot chocolate?” Peter. How would he know what she liked to drink?

  “With dinner?” Marisa asked.

  Sophie stepped into the room. “If you’re talking about me, I’d love a glass of water.”

  The table was set for two, with candles and fresh roses. Marisa and Peter froze at Sophie’s voice, but Marisa recovered quickly and poured water from a pitcher. “Here you are.” She approached Sophie with a kindly expression. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better.”

  “Did you sleep?” Peter asked.

  “I did. So deeply, I think
it’s lucky I didn’t sleep until morning.”

  “That would have been fine,” he said.

  “I have—”

  “Work, yes.” Peter’s charm kicked in, as did his dimple. “I hope you’re hungry. Claudia has something seafood-based cooking, I think.”

  Sophie became aware of a delicious medley of aromas coming from nearby. “I am hungry. Is there something I can do to help?”

  Peter looked at Marisa, who studied Sophie a moment. “If you’d like to help, you—and you—” She pointed to Peter. “Come with me. You can help carry things in from the kitchen.”

  Sophie relaxed. She was used to helping in the kitchen, be it at home or at Cathy’s or wherever she was, and being allowed to help in some way made her feel at ease. She had the impression that Marisa recognized that.

  Marisa led the way to the kitchen, where she introduced Sophie to Claudia, a middle-aged native woman, and her daughter, Stacie.

  “You’re Doug’s mother?” Sophie asked.

  “Yes. Mr. Cohen has been good to our family. He’s good to work for.”

  Peter briefly patted the woman on the shoulder. “You all treat me well, too, Claudia. Whenever I need help up here, you make yourself available.”

  She nodded, and handed them dishes of shrimp primavera, green salad, and fragrant rolls that Sophie thought looked to be perfectly baked. They carried them back to the dining room, and Sophie noticed again that the table was only set for two.

  “Aren’t you eating with us, Marisa?” she asked.

  Marisa checked her watch. “No, I’ll eat later. Steven’s expecting me to Skype him in three minutes. You two sit down and have a nice dinner.”

  She hurried out of the room in her signature quick but elegant walk, leaving Peter and Sophie alone. The room seemed unnaturally quiet for a moment, before Peter remembered his manners and pulled a chair out for Sophie.

  Does he seem nervous?

  Sophie sat down. “What about Claudia and her family? There’s plenty of food here.”

  “They have more in the kitchen,” he said. “They do eat with us, often. And Pete, too. Tonight, it’s just you and me. I’d like to get to know you better, Sophie.”

  There was definitely a nervousness to his voice, as if he hoped she wouldn’t mind spending one-on-one time with him. She thought of how compassionate he was in the pavilion, while her tears flowed and she came to terms with her mom’s cancer and its effect on the Sunshine Bakery. He had been truly kind. No, she didn’t mind getting to know him better.

  She only smiled and put her napkin on her lap. That seemed to relax him, and they served themselves the scrumptious dinner.

  “Claudia said you were very kind to her family? I noticed she had a wedding ring. Do you employ her husband, too?”

  The edges of Peter’s mouth turned down. “I did. Burt worked for me for several years. He was one of the charter boat captains, a good one. Unfortunately, he was using those fishing runs for drug running.”

  “That’s terrible. Was the charter company liable?”

  “We worried we would be. Roger was sick about it. He hadn’t suspected a thing. None of us did. In the end, only Burt was charged. That was … oh, two years ago, at least.”

  “And you gave his family employment?”

  “Burt’s serving five years in Seward. His wife works part time at a diner in town, so I give her enough hours to bring her up to full time. Doug and Stacie come out when needed. They’re good kids.”

  “I see why Claudia sings your praises,” she said. “You really have been good to their family.”

  “I feel badly that Burt got into trouble under my radar. I know it was his decisions that got him into trouble, but if I’d seen it earlier, I might have been able to make him stop and keep him out of jail.”

  “You mentioned Pete, the groundsman?”

  Peter gave her a searching look. “Have you met Pete?”

  “I saw him from a distance. Roger said he’s shy. He was in Vietnam?”

  “He was. He came back with debilitating PTSD and difficulty being indoors. He’s okay out here on the island. No one here to bother him. Out at the cabin, he can keep his windows open all winter if he wants, so he doesn’t feel cooped up.”

  “Wow. Where did you meet him?” Before he could answer, it suddenly dawned on her. “Pete, Peter … Is he a relative of yours?”

  “Pete’s my uncle. I’m named after him.”

  “I see.”

  Peter J. Cohen … integrity? Takes responsibility, even when the fault doesn’t lie with him? Her own father wasn’t such a good man as that, and her heart warmed toward Peter. If someone was going to be a billionaire, it was nice if he used his resources to help others. It appeared that Peter did.

  “It must be nice to have enough money to feel secure and just enjoy life.”

  “It is. I mean, it’s a big responsibility. Off the top of my head, I couldn’t even tell you how many people my companies employ.”

  “More companies than PJ’s?”

  “Well, yes.” Humility tinged his voice. “I can tell you about them sometime. The thing is, just like I don’t want to make a devastating impact when I bring a business into a community, I also have people whose livelihoods depends on the decisions my board and I make. I don’t take those things lightly.”

  “I can see that.”

  “There are a lot of opportunities to enjoy life, too,” he said, the dimple back.

  “You told me a little about your travels. I haven’t been anywhere, and I’d love to hear more.”

  Peter didn’t need any more invitation than that. He described private tours of the Louvre, two weeks touring Malaysia as a sultan’s guest, parasailing from his yacht in Turks and Caicos, and weeks shadowing researchers in an attempt to help protect rainforests in the Amazon.

  “I’m doing all the talking,” he said. They’d finished eating, but settled back in their seats, their eyes fixed on each other as they talked.

  “I don’t mind. I love hearing about your world. It’s so different from mine.”

  “What would you do if you could go anywhere? What are your dreams, Sophie?”

  Self-conscious, she smiled back. “Anywhere? I don’t know. I’ve always been focused on practical goals. Getting bakery orders done on time; having enough to pay the taxes.”

  “But for fun? If you could go anywhere?”

  “That tour of the Louvre sounds fun,” she said. “I think Europe. Ireland, Scotland, Great Britain. The little islands in that area … what are they called? The Outer Hebrides, the Isle of Man, Guernsey and Jersey.”

  “And would you hit all the bakeries?” he asked.

  “Absolutely! That would be the best part. Cathy says that her bakery was painted pink because … someone told her there’s a bakery in Paris that’s pink.”

  Peter smiled at her like she touched something inside him. She couldn’t help but smile back, because he’d touched her, too. Sometimes Jamie had looked at her that way, though Jamie’s light, hazel eyes had twinkled mischievously, where Peter’s dark eyes grew velvety. Both made her feel warm and connected, which confused her. She wasn’t sure what her instincts were telling her. Jamie was in her thoughts, but she wished that somehow he could be more like Peter, more responsible, more open.

  “Jamie.” The name slipped from Peter’s mouth easily, sending adrenaline shooting through her.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Jamie was the one with the pink bakery idea.”

  “You know Jamie?” she asked.

  “Yes. Don’t you?”

  Sophie suddenly became very interested in the napkin she still had on her lap. She smoothed it out, then began folding it. “I thought I was getting to know Jamie,” she said softly. “He isn’t exactly someone you keep in one place, is he?”

  “Isn’t he? I don’t know. I do know Roger gives him work on the boats when he’s in town.”

  She almost wanted to ask him more about Jamie when Marisa came in balan
cing three small bowls. “Dessert!”

  “You’re joining us?” Peter sounded disappointed.

  “I am. Steven had to get up early, so we’re done talking for tonight.”

  She passed the bowls of fresh blackberries with homemade cream, and the three took bites at the same time.

  “That’s perfect,” Peter said. “What do you think, Sophie?”

  “Delicious,” she murmured. “You know, Peter, I keep thinking your voice sounds familiar, and I think I’ve figured out why.”

  Peter and Marisa both looked up at her with wide eyes, waiting to see what she would say.

  “You probably don’t even know who this is,” Sophie continued. “My mom and I loved to watch old movies. Gregory Peck was always one of our favorite actors. Do you know who he was?”

  The refined Marisa, who had just taken a bite of blackberries, looked like she was struggling to keep from spitting them out on the table. She held her napkin to her lips while she regained control.

  “You’re not the first to say so,” Peter said smoothly, his dimple making an appearance. “Not to change the subject, but what are you doing Tuesday night? And yes, I’d have you home by eight.”

  24

  What did one wear to an afternoon symphony? Peter had already seen her green formal. Sophie took a look at her bank account balance and grimaced. Her mother’s illness and the Sunshine Bakery closing had depleted her finances. Once the San Francisco house sold, she’d have a bit of money again, but not much. They’d had to take out a second mortgage to help with medical expenses.

  And for the moment, she was helping Cathy with only room and board as payment. No money coming in; so, no new dress. The only other dressy thing in her closet was the leaf-green and lemon dress she’d worn when she had dinner with Jamie. She left her hair long, with the loose dark curls more articulated than usual. Hopefully that would be dressy enough for the symphony.

  There was a knock on her door, and Sophie opened it to find Reva, her hair in small pigtails again that peeked out from an aqua-colored kerchief. Beneath the lodge apron, Reva wore a graphic T-shirt, which looked to Sophie to depict the Starship Enterprise.