Only a Date with a Billionaire (The Only Us Billionaire Romance Series Book 5)

by Ellie Hall

  Only a Date with a Billionaire

  Only Us a sweet billionaire romance series

  Bonus Book

  by

  Ellie Hall

  Only a Date with a Billionaire

  Copyright© 2019 Ellie Hall

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any informational storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author/publisher except where permitted by law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Sophie

  Chapter 2

  Teagh

  Chapter 3

  Sophie

  Chapter 4

  Teagh

  Chapter 5

  Sophie

  Chapter 6

  Teagh

  Chapter 7

  Sophie

  Chapter 8

  Teagh

  Chapter 9

  Sophie

  Chapter 10

  Teagh

  Chapter 11

  Sophie

  Chapter 12

  Teagh

  Chapter 13

  Sophie

  Chapter 14

  Teagh

  Chapter 15

  Sophie

  Epilogue

  Note to Reader

  Chapter 1

  Let's Connect

  More Books by Ellie Hall

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Sophie

  Call her crazy, but Sophie Johansson loved Mondays. It was her favorite day of the week, especially as she walked down Madison Avenue in Carnegie Hill, a Manhattan neighborhood just east of Central Park. The area was entirely new to her as was her week-old bakery baby Honey and Lavender.

  The outside air had just transitioned from the hot stickiness of summer to the cool, crisp of fall. The leaves had barely started to turn from green to the vibrant reds, oranges, and yellows of autumn in the northeast. But it was just before dawn so she’d have to wait for her return walk home to check their progress. She kept a baker’s schedule.

  During those wee hours, the streets were quiet in a way that was rare for the city. At least until a guy jogged by Sophie briskly as if he owned the sidewalk. A rock song blared from his earbuds.

  “Excuse me,” Sophie harrumphed.

  It must’ve been loud enough for him to hear despite his music because he turned and narrowed his eyes at her, but kept jogging. “Watch where you’re going,” he called over his shoulder.

  She quickened her pace to catch up with him. “Wait. What? Me, watch where I’m going? You’re the one who almost slammed into me, buster.” She was a polite, small town girl still finding her way in the city.

  In the dim gray light, she caught a glimpse of his expression—harsh, accusatory. She slowed.

  “You should’ve seen me coming.” He had an accent, but she couldn’t place it as he breathed deeply with exertion.

  She should’ve heard him coming too, but she was thinking about the baking menu for the day. Sophie huffed and cut a glare at his back as he turned the corner and disappeared.

  “Good riddance,” she said, but made a note to pay more attention when walking to work.

  The seasons were milder in her native North Carolina. Much like the seasonal change, Sophie welcomed the events unfurling in her life: new city, new career, new life.

  A broad smile lifted onto her cheeks, replacing her annoyance, as she slid the key into the lock of the space that she’d rented to pursue her dream of having a community gathering place with friendly faces and delicious home-baked sweets. She also had a few savories on the menu like quiche on Saturdays to takeaway for brunch and herbed scones with a hint of buttermilk—combining her southern roots with her mother’s heritage. Mostly though, she stuck to the classics: muffins, croissants, fruit-filled pastries, breads, tarts, cookies, and specials that rotated weekly.

  She breathed deeply. The scent of flour, butter, and sugar had already infused the cozy and inviting space that she’d recently restored to its early twentieth-century splendor. Thankfully, the contractors made quick work to rid the years’ worth of paint, grime, and tacky linoleum hiding the black and white checkered hexagon tile floor, the tin ceiling, and the period embellishments that really gave it character. Although, the workers’ swift pace may have had something to do with Sophie plying them with baked goods every day. She’d been finalizing the menu and doing a lot of testing so she gave the extras to them.

  Getting the bakery up and running had been a labor of love. She’d dreamed and journaled about it for years, planning every last detail. Only, she never expected it to become a reality and certainly not in New York City of all places. She’d visited once, during her senior year of high school when she was touring colleges and enjoying her freedom before being saddled with tuition debt. All those years ago, she didn’t foresee her broken heart or the piece of mail she’d received on the same day of the breakup that had changed her life forever.

  Donning a handmade apron with a bright cupcake print—one of many in her collection—Sophie already felt completely at home in the new kitchen.

  As she worked—mixing, kneading, rolling, and baking—the rhythm was almost meditative. The morning sky lightened to a faint purple just beyond the large front window with a prime view of the city scene as it came to life for the day. However, an altogether different sort of rhythm abruptly pounded from the adjoining wall next door, breaking the morning peace.

  She startled as a heavy rock song suddenly blared with a guitar solo from the wall Honey and Lavender shared with the business next door. It was the same song the jogger early that morning had been listening to. In fact, it could’ve been the boxer from next door on his way to the new gym who almost barged into her. The guy had some nerve.

  She yelped as she burned the edge of her hand on a hot tray of blueberry muffins fresh from the oven. A yelp escaped her lips, but even if she was open to customers for the day no one would’ve heard anyway because the music was so loud.

  Her best friend, Jennifer, would’ve banged on the wall and told the person to turn it down. But the wall was brick and banging would likely hurt worse than the minor burn. Plus Jennifer lived in London.

  Sophie kept an aloe plant on the shelf near the front window because she’d learned at an early age that kitchen burns were common and the plant had soothing properties. She broke off a length of the succulent and massaged the gel-like substance into her skin like an ointment.

  The week before, the construction next door was bad enough, but Sophie knew it was temporary. However, the boxing gym on the other side of the wall seemed like it would be permanent. She’d recently had a crew in her space fo
r weeks but had been as respectful of her new neighbors.

  As it came close to the opening hour and the music didn’t subside, she let out a huff, gathered up a box of warm pastries, and hurried over to see if she could persuade her new neighbor to keep the noise down with good old-fashioned southern hospitality.

  Sophie paused outside the steamy glass window of the boxing gym and peered inside. A burly man, wearing tape around his knuckles, glistened with sweat. A red speed bag hanging from a support on the ceiling swung rapidly as he punched it with precise motions, alternating right-left, right-left. For a moment, she felt like a cat, watching a toy being batted back and forth.

  Sophie swallowed hard.

  He looked more city of hard knocks and not welcoming of her sweet small-town charm. She’d seen the guy coming and going throughout the week before, barking into his cellphone and pacing past the bakery window. If he was the business owner, she was afraid he’d holler at her too even if she used her best manners and politely asked him to turn the music down.

  He stared down the red punching bag like he had a vendetta against it and only paused once to chug some water. His profile revealed a certain kind of rugged handsomeness that she forced herself to ignore. It was something about the cut of his jaw, his commanding lips, and the strength in his arms. And he was definitely the jogger from early that morning who rudely ran by her. He had a lot of nerve. Not only did he think he owned the sidewalk, but the city block too—without regard for his neighbors.

  She hurried back into the safety and warmth of her bakery and hoped he’d have the sense to be considerate of his neighbors and turn the blasting music off before she opened for the day. She could only imagine the residents in the apartment above and the business on the other side were as irritated as she was—likely someone bigger and stronger than her could get him to quiet down.

  After a flurry of early-bird customers, Jonathan arrived mid-morning for his shift. He was in his late twenties or early thirties so around Sophie’s age. A wispy attempt at a mustache shaded the space above his upper lip. His faded T-shirt said Save the Turtles...on the front, which she could support. Growing up near the coast in North Carolina, she loved the ocean, nature, and believed in preservation. But she didn’t understand the slogan on the back of the shirt though. It said ...from the mutant apocalypse.

  She paused, putting the slogan together. Save the Turtles...from the mutant apocalypse. What did that mean? Maybe it was a band—she was in New York City, after all.

  Jonathan was a bit shy and awkward, but that may have been what had prompted her to give him a chance even though he’d had little food service experience. She understood shy and awkward. Sort of. In fact, it was the criticism Hayden had made and brought to her attention after being a guest at yet another one of his family meals at the country club back in North Carolina. The people and the setting both made her question how or if she fit in. It often sent her into a quiet, contemplative state—making her seem shy. She was personable and friendly, making small talk when appropriate but didn’t go out of her way to mingle with the other future wives of the southern elite—and making her feel awkward. Her character was quieter and more reserved, yet being in the bakery had brought out a confident extroversion in her that she’d never before possessed and a newfound desire to chat with strangers. Well, she could chat except with the intimidating guy next door.

  “Morning, Sophie,” Jonathan said, stumping by to clock in for the day.

  “Good Morning,” she replied with a smile.

  “It’s Monday,” he said without looking up as if that explained the gloom in his tone.

  “A glorious opportunity to count our blessings and seize the day.” She spread her arms wide, but he didn’t notice.

  “Aren’t you an optimist,” he muttered.

  “An eternal optimist,” she corrected.

  There’d been a time, not too long ago, when her outlook on life had faltered, but she’d picked herself up and gotten on with things. She didn’t need a ring on her finger or love in her life to be happy. She had the bakery and that was enough.

  Jonathan grumbled something ominous about the state of the world, indicating the only solution was moving to mars and how the life of an artist meant a great deal of suffering. She laughed it off and refilled the sugar and honey holders at the tea bar.

  Soon, the bakery was humming with business and customers placing their orders, meeting for tea, and pausing their workday. It drowned out the distracting music from next door.

  As the day progressed and the displays of baked goods dwindled, the music from the boxing gym finally softened and then went silent. Sophie could hear herself think again.

  She’d created a strong business plan and had come up with systems and structures for everything from the production side of things to the service end. She worked long hours, bringing her bakery baby to life.

  Thanks to her paternal grandmother, she’d unexpectedly come into a substantial amount of money, which she’d invested into Honey and Lavender.

  Even so, the responsibility of running the place rested solely on her shoulders. And gladly. She enjoyed the finer points of business operation as much as baking, trying new recipes, and sinking her teeth into the classics that came out consistently delish each and every time.

  Figuring out the financials, tracking supplies and surplus, optimizing scheduling, and determining pricing structures was an opportunity to learn and grow that was thrilling. The prospect of being a stay-at-home wife and attending luncheons with other wives of prominent businessman, like Hayden had expected her to do, did not provide any excitement. Not that there was anything wrong with that lifestyle; she just didn’t think it was for her.

  No, now that she was hundreds of miles away and ten months removed, she knew it wasn’t the future she’d wanted. Still, the abrupt loss of her four-year relationship caused an ache in her heart that just wouldn’t quit.

  However, it seemed like Keisha, the gal she’d hired to cover for her in the late afternoon so she could tackle the many tasks of being a new business owner, had done just that. Quit. Sophie double-checked the schedule and sure enough, Keisha was supposed to be in at two.

  “Jonathan, I didn’t miss a call or text, did I?” She looked all over the back room for her phone. She had never quite gotten used to keeping the thing in the pocket of her apron because when she leaned over the stainless-steel tables in the back to roll out dough or wash dishes it pressed uncomfortably against her belly, making her afraid she would break it. As such, she often misplaced it.

  Jonathan slapped his palm against his forehead. “I’m sorry. I forgot. I was talking to a customer about the benefits of AI—”

  Sophie’s head tilted in question.

  “You know, artificial intelligence. We’re on the brink of mechanizing everything...”

  She shook her head, knowing what the acronym stood for. Hayden had invested in the technology and he and his friends had debated it over long dinners that she was expected to host and smile prettily all the while. A sigh escaped in reaction to both the thought of her ex-fiancé and employee.

  “I meant what did you forget to tell me?” she clarified.

  “Oh, that. Keisha texted a while ago. She had food poisoning over the weekend and needs another day to recover.”

  “She texted my phone?”

  “Yeah, it’s around here somewhere.” He pawed among the receipts, bags, and other items near the register area and produced the device in its bright pink case covered in shiny bling. “This is yours, right?”

  She took it from him and saw that Keisha had texted and her mother had called three times. If it were anyone else, she’d worry it was an emergency, but Lewellen Johansson was the one waiting for the crisis—for her only daughter’s quest to make it in the big city to fail. However, Sophie was determined to avoid returning home with her tail between her legs at all costs.

  Before she listened to the message, Sophie made a mental note to talk to her employ
ees about giving her more advance notice if they knew they were sick and couldn’t make it in for their shift. It was important for them to give her messages of that nature right away. Furthermore, she didn’t like the idea of Jonathan or anyone else reading her personal messages.

  There were still wrinkles to iron out in the running of Honey and Lavender, but before she could address the latter with Jonathan, the music at the boxing gym next door started up again. He started tapping his foot to the beat as he leaned against the counter.

  The pace had slowed in the bakery so without Keisha there it wasn’t too much trouble for Sophie to hop between the front and back as needed until closing. She decided to bring home the book work she’d planned to do after she was done baking and cleaning up for the night. Jonathan would need her when the evening rush started because multitasking wasn’t his strong suit.

  She tilted her head back against the thick pale-yellow and lavender stripes painted on the wall opposite the brick one, sighing. All in a day’s work.

  She was well aware, with thanks to her mother for the many warnings and her own common sense, that not every day would be caramel and apple pie, though the cupcakes she’d baked earlier sure were good.

  Sophie flinched when one aggressive song changed to another from beyond the wall.

  “Not a fan of hard rock?” Jonathan asked, cutting into her thoughts and attempt at a moment of peace.

  She wrinkled her nose. “Not in this context.” She loved music of all sorts, especially Christian music, where she praised His Name and Good Works. The kind she could sing with a chorus of other voices, hearing them soar to the ceiling of the church, echo off the stained glass, and harmonize with a shared love of her Savior. At any given moment she had a song stuck in her head, an ever-present reminder of her faith.

  “I’m in a band. Mostly experimental. Nothing like this.” Jonathan tipped his head back slightly in an attempt at nonchalant cool.