The Renegade Billionaire: A Small Town Romance (Happiness Ever After Book 1)

“That was fabulous,” Derek, my producer, says as I exit the small recording studio at the Chugaloo. “People are going to flip for this week’s podcast. Absolutely flip. Do you think you can prep six more by next week?”

Next week! Has he lost his mind? No. The answer is no, Derek. I can’t do that and fix the inn, and run the Chug, and keep Pops out of trouble, make sure the football team is on track with their grades, get the donations at the church sorted for Betty, and produce Clover and Savvy’s podcasts all by next week.

“Sure thing” is what I actually say.

“This is what I wanted. I wanted people to rely on me, and I wanted to be needed,” I mutter to myself as we walk down the hall.

When I was in high school, I started a podcast called The Matchmaker Manual, and it took off faster than I could keep up. It’s always been my little slice of happiness. I learned early on what love shouldn’t look like from my parents, and living with my grandparents showed me everything I’d been missing out on.

I became obsessed with finding true love for everyone in my orbit at a very early age. By the time I was in college, I had syndication offers.

Well, until it all came crashing down and I scrambled to modify every plan I had ever created for myself because what kind of matchmaker could I be if I can’t even find love myself?

But for the last couple of years, with encouragement from my friends, I’ve been building it back up. Somewhere along the way, I’d lost who I was, but matchmaking is in my soul—it’s in my blood.

Thankfully, my loyal listeners came back in droves. Last month I was offered a new syndication deal, but I’ve been dragging my feet on accepting it. After The Ones We Don’t Name left a bad taste in my mouth, I find it hard to trust anyone in a suit with an offer that sounds too good to be true.

Derek stops my stroll through memory lane with a hand on my forearm when we reach the main room.

“Thanks, Derek. Sorry I’m a little behind. We’ve got an unexpected guest at the Hideaway, so I’m shifting some stuff around this week.”

“Oh, don’t you worry. I’ve heard all about Mr. Braxton Mitchell. They’re calling him the hometown hottie.”

My mind freezes as though I’m stuck in the Matrix.

“They’re what? He’s not even from here. He’s just passing through.” Can Derek hear the fear in my tone?

“Well, Jasper was in the hardware store earlier,” Blissy says smugly. “He told Jesse who told Mrs. Cromley who told me that he saw Braxton with Pops, buying up all the things. That doesn’t sound like someone just passing through.”

Panic flares in my chest. What the heck did Pops buy? We can’t afford a hardware store run right now. We can barely even afford groceries for our guest.

“What do you mean? Pops isn’t supposed to leave the house until we get his depth perception figured out.”

Blissy shrugs but doesn’t bother hiding her grin.

“Oh my God. This is a disaster. Blissy, can you close up tonight? The high school kids will be done by seven. If not⁠—”

“Go, Madi. I’ve got you.”

I give the older woman a quick hug, causing the navy handkerchief she wears covering her hair to shift.

She quickly reties it while I give Derek a hug too.

“Thanks, you guys. I appreciate you.” As soon as the door shuts behind me, I scowl and nearly stomp my foot in frustration.

What the heck is Braxton thinking, taking Pops out? And why is Pops spending money he knows we don’t have?

Once I’m in my little VW Jetta, I blast the AC and take a deep breath. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation. I just have to go home to see what it is.

I pull my car into the driveway, and I’m pretty sure I’m hallucinating. Why is Pops’ old truck here?

He agreed to sell it. He knows driving isn’t safe with his condition.

“Against the hallway,” Pops yells, spurring me into motion.

Stepping out of the car, I come face-to-face with Braxton.

“What the heck is going on?” I ask.

Braxton’s gaze darts from me to Pops, and when he faces me again, he scratches the center of his chest and flashes the best puppy dog eyes the world has ever seen.

“Don’t puppy dog face me, Braxton Mitchell,” I say, poking him in the chest and immediately regretting the contact. Sparks shoot up my arm, and his gaze flames with amber fire that has me jumping back a step. “Taking Pops out is dangerous. He could have been seriously injured.”

“Bull hickey,” Pops mutters from his porch swing.

Spinning on my grandfather, I point my finger at him. “Don’t you start, old man. You and I had a deal, and I know you. Somehow you tricked Braxton into being your sidekick. And what the heck is your old truck doing here?” My voice loses some of its fire. “We talked about this, Pops.”

“Ah,” Braxton interrupts.

I suck in a deep breath and count to three before I turn to face him again.

“It’s actually my truck. I bought it today from Terd⁠—”

I lurch forward, reach up on my tiptoes, and close my palm over his mouth, startling us both. My chest presses into his rib cage, and adrenaline rushes through my veins. It’s unnatural, to have these types of reactions to a stranger—it must be.

“Do. Not. Say. That. Name. Ever. Understand?”

He nods beneath my hand, and I release him. With some space between us, the unnerving sensation rattling through my bloodstream falls away.

“So, I bought it from the Turd. I didn’t know it was Po—” He stops mid-sentence and stares at me.

“What?” I may have just growled at him.

“Harry Turd said… Oh my God.” He turns to Pops. “You’re the grandfather who owned the truck. And that makes you—” His gaze drops to mine, and so many emotions swirl in his irises as he stares. “That makes you the one who got away,” he says so quietly I practically lean in to hear him.

“The one who got away?” I snarl. “Is that what he said?”

“Harry Turd is a pissant,” Pops grumbles.

“Harry…Harry Turd?” I don’t want to laugh, but hearing Pops call my lying, manipulative ex a Harry Turd cracks me wide open. It’s so childish, immature to the nth degree, but it also takes some of the vitriol I carry for my ex and turns it into something I can laugh about.

That hasn’t happened, ever. Not until Braxton Mitchell.

I’ve completely lost my mind. I’m doubled over with my hands on my knees, laughing so hard my stomach cramps. But then Braxton’s hand lands on my back, rubbing small, soothing circles.

It sobers me quickly enough that I stand upright to face him again, this time with tears of laughter spilling down my cheeks. I quickly brush them away.

“I don’t mean to pry⁠—”

“Then don’t,” I interrupt.

“I just mean…the Turd-o-nator is kind of…”

“Sleazy,” Pops fills in.

Braxton scratches at a spot on his chest. “Ah, yeah. That’s it.” He chuckles. “And he’s not very⁠—”

“Attractive. Guys lost his damn mind right along with his hair. Madi dodged a real bullet there.” Pops whistles to the sky as the swing carries him back and forth.

“Okay, Pops. That’s enough.” When I turn back to Braxton, he’s studying me—it twists me up like a Rubik’s cube. “My ex…he wasn’t always this way. He used to be⁠—”

“Sober,” Pops blurts.

I purse my lips and drop my gaze to the ground. “Alcohol has changed him.”

Braxton slides both hands into his front pockets just as Savvy’s car pulls up in front of the house. Good Lord, save me from this night.

“You bought Pops’ truck?” I’m desperate to change the subject.

“Yeah,” he says, pulling on his neck with one hand.

Closing my eyes, I nod three times.

“I’m going to make dinner now.” Lifting my lashes a fraction of an inch, I still get lost in the pull of him. “Ah, and I’ll apologize in advance for my friends. They’re more than friends, actually, they’re our family, and they feel the need to join us for dinner tonight to make sure you’re not a body-snatching murderer looking to make a skinsuit.”

“A skinsuit, huh?” He rubs his jaw with his thumb, and why is that the sexiest move ever? “I promise you, I’m not a skinsuit murderer.”

I shrug. “Isn’t that exactly what you’d say if you were?”

His dang crooked smile makes my limbs tingle. “I suppose it is.”

“Listen, it’s not me you have to convince. It’s them.” I hook a thumb in the direction of Savvy’s car just as she, Clover, and a very pregnant Elle step out.

“I’m going to need some wine,” I mutter, then make my escape to the house. “Pops, you and I are going to have a little chat about your shopping trip today, and then we’re going to go over, again, why it’s not safe for you to be out without someone helping you.”

He waves me off with a shooing motion while watching the girls as they march past Braxton. Clover makes an “I’m watching you” motion with her fingers to her eyes, and Pops hoots with laughter.

I’m never going to survive this night.

“Anything I can do to help?” Braxton asks, poking his head into the kitchen.

“Where are you from?” Savvy asks before I can open my mouth.

“West Coast,” he replies vaguely.

“What do you do?” Clover continues their line of questions.

“Ladies.” I attempt to interrupt, but Savvy speaks over me.

“How long are you staying?” she asks.

Braxton enters the kitchen, and the door swings shut behind him. I watch out of the corner of my eye as he sticks both hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels.

“I’m not sure yet. I’m kind of on a…sabbatical.”

“How can you ‘kind of be on a sabbatical’?” Clover asks, but she’s more curious than anything. She can’t keep the edge to her voice in the same way Savvy can—she wasn’t built for it.

“You can do what you want when you own the company.” I can feel Braxton watching me. It’s not a completely unwelcome sensation, just…different. “Madison, can I help with anything?”

Instead of raising my head, I pretend to be focused on my pie crust and just shake my head.

“Good luck getting her to agree to help,” Savvy mutters.

I love the girl, but seriously, sometimes she is a giant pain. “No,” I say gently. “But thank you. Everything will be done in about ten minutes. If you want to tell Pops to get ready, that would be fine.”

“So, if you own the company, you can afford to take time off and stay here…indefinitely?” Savvy is so damn persistent.

“It wouldn’t be prudent of me to take off if I didn’t have my company and my finances under control, now would it?” He doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by my friends.

“Hmm,” Savvy hums.

“So, you could pay for a month’s stay in advance and still be comfortable?” Elle asks shyly, then stuffs a giant piece of chocolate into her mouth with an apologetic shrug.

“Elle,” I snap. I know where she’s going with this, and I don’t like it one bit.

Braxton seems to be taking us all in, as well as the kitchen and now the big boards of sheetrock laying against the back door.

“I’m happy to do that,” he finally says. “I’ll go settle up with Pops now.” The way his eyes crinkle at the corners makes me think he’s kind—a gentle soul maybe, but there’s an edge to him too that I haven’t figured out.

No one can give a command that makes my body melt the way he did and not have extra layers to him.

“You really don’t have to do that,” I blurt, but he’s already halfway out the door.

“No problem at all, Madison,” he says, waving over his shoulder.

“It’s Madi⁠—”

The door squeaks shut, cutting me off.

“Elle,” I say, spinning on my friend.

“Don’t ‘Elle’ her,” Savvy says, bumping me out of the way. “If you roll out this crust any more it’s going to be too thin to use. And you know if he pays up front, that would help a hell of a lot around here, and since you aren’t sure how long he’ll be staying, this gives you a little security that he won’t up and leave while stiffing you on the bill.”

“I don’t think he’s someone who would skip out on a bill, Sav.”

“You never know,” Elle says.

The doorbell rings, and we all stare at the closed door.

“Did you invite someone over?” Clover asks.

“No,” I say, then groan when I hear Pops welcoming someone in. “But I bet Pops did during his little escape into town this afternoon.”

Savvy laughs. “He must be so happy to have his social butterfly wings back now that he’s got Brax carting him all over town.”

Wiping my hands on my apron, I bite my tongue because it’s the situation I’m frustrated with, not my friends. It wouldn’t be fair of me to take it all out on them.

“Let’s go see what kind of mess Pops has made now.”

Clover is sitting closest to the door, so she pushes it open slowly—just enough for us to peer out into the hallway that opens up at the foyer.

“Pops wanted a party,” Clover whispers.

“Or an inquisition,” Savvy snickers.

Pops’ oldest friends, Moose and Chief, stand in the entryway, while Pops is behind the desk with Braxton.

Moose opens the front door, and Cian walks in with Shep and Beau Collins.

“What are they doing here?” I whisper above Elle’s head.

“No idea, but Cian’s going to be pissed I didn’t invite him myself.” Elle snickers.

Braxton must hear us because he turns just in time to see all our heads stacked in a row—my head on top of Elle’s, Clover’s on mine, and Savvy on top of Clover. Elle jumps back when she sees him smirking at us, and we tumble to the floor in a heap of tangled limbs that twist and turn, trying to keep our weight off Elle.

The four of us lie there in shock and only move when Braxton pokes his head inside again. When he sees us, I swear the light reflects off his bright white teeth.

“You spend a lot of time on the kitchen floor, Madison?” He enters and offers Elle a hand, since she’s the first one he reaches, and she’s super pregnant.

“Only since you arrived,” I grumble.

“Good to know.” He chuckles, then offers me and Clover a hand. He pulls us to standing with zero effort as Savvy stands on her own. “I just wanted you to know I was only around for the invite to Chief—is it true that he’s retired but refuses to give up his badge?” My friends laugh, and someone must say yes while I’m here trying to get my words to work. “Anyway, the other five, I’m not sure when they happened, but I’m happy to help if you haven’t made enough for dinner. I can order something or⁠—”

“Madi cooks for an army of fifty every time. She can’t help herself,” Savvy says, then waggles her brows at me.

“Mads?” Pops finally enters the kitchen, looking far too pleased with himself. “Oh, good. Girls, ya mind setting the table for me?”

“We’ve got it, Pops,” Clover says, patting his arm. “You’re in a lot of trouble.” She whispers, but it sounds as though it echoes in the open space.

Pops laughs, but otherwise ignores her. “We got any beer, Mads?”

“I wasn’t expecting a full house, Pops. We don’t really have the…” I cut myself off when I remember that Braxton’s hovering nearby.

“I can run to the store. What kind do you want, Pops?” He’s always so stinking accommodating.

There must be something wrong with him.

“No—”

“Anything from Briar Patch Brewing is good. It’s local, ya know,” Pops says so proudly you’d think he owned the dang brewery.

“You need anything else, Madison?” The way Braxton’s voice dips when he says my name makes my stomach turn over. He genuinely wants to help, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. It would be easier if all he wanted was to get in my panties.

My chest thumps wildly at the thought, but my shoulders slump as I give in to another mess created by my grandfather. “No. I appreciate you asking though.”

“Sauvignon Blanc is her favorite, you know, if you’re feeling generous.” Savvy’s not so helpful.

I love how Braxton’s lips twitch at the corners. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll be back.” Instead of leaving, he walks over to the refrigerator where I have a notepad and pen hanging, and my jaw falls slack as he scribbles something down. When he looks up, his gaze pins me to my spot. “My number,” he says. Why is he so smiley all the time? “In case you think of anything while I’m out.”

“Smooth, real smooth.” Pops chuckles.

“Pops, please,” I plead. “Just stop. Braxton, if you give me a minute, I’ll give you some cash for the beer.”

If I can find some.

“My treat,” he says as he walks out the door, and I immediately spin on my grandfather.

“Pops. What are you thinking? You know we can’t afford all this stuff.” I point to the sheetrock. “And I need a warning before you invite the town over. We can’t afford to be the local pub right now either. Why did you invite the Collins brothers, your poker pals, and Cian over for dinner?”

Instead of answering, he pulls me in for a hug. We stand there for a long moment, enough that my racing heart slows, and the anger or anxiety that was tightening my muscles relaxes. Then he kisses the side of my head before releasing me.

As he’s walking back out to his friends, he drops the next bomb on me. “We’re all right, Mads. That boy just paid for a six-month stay. In full.”

The girls and I all spin to face each other. I can see Savvy working the numbers in her head, while Clover is most likely evaluating the emotional toll it will take on me having him in my space for—for six months. Elle has found a bag of cookies and sits at the island, downing two at a time while crumbs land on her belly.

“That’s…thirty-one thousand dollars, Madi. Thirty-one thousand.” Savvy’s voice rises along with my blood pressure.

“Thirty-six even,” Pops corrects. “He insisted on two hundred a night because we’re including meals.” When the kitchen door snaps shut behind him, I return my shocked and bewildered gaze to my girls.

“Something is definitely wrong with him,” Savvy mutters.

“You could put a down payment on a condo or something for that amount. Well, almost.” Clover sounds as confused as I am.

“Who pays thirty-six thousand dollars to stay in a run-down inn in the middle of nowhere, Georgia?” I ask.

“Someone with a lot of secrets, that’s who.” I can almost see Clover’s mind twisting this into a new thriller novel in her mind.

“Well, if he’s got them, we’ll find them,” Elle vows through a mouthful of chocolate chips. Where the hell did those come from?

“Let’s Google him.” Savvy’s already pulling out her phone.

“Sav, you know how I feel about that.” I groan. When you’ve been the victim of cyberbullying, you try your hardest not to engage in any kind of snooping or clickbait.

But when my friends hover around Elle, staring at Savvy’s phone, I watch their expressions go from suspicious and curious to confused and back to suspicious.

“There’s not much about him online,” Savvy says with her face turned down into a frown. “He doesn’t even really have a current social media presence. It’s all from high school and college. Who doesn’t have social media these days?” she mutters. Her frown deepens the more she scrolls.

“I’m sure there’s an explanation,” Elle says cheerily. “There’s no such thing as secrets in Happiness. He’ll find that out one way or another. Come on, Mads. Let’s finish this up. The sooner we serve it, the sooner the night will end.”

“Maybe.” Clover is wearing her thinking expression, with her brows furrowed and her bottom lip pinched between her thumb and forefinger. “What?” she asks when she finds us staring at her. “Brax is getting beer and wine, and Pops hasn’t had a guy’s night in months. This could be a long night.”

I groan because she’s one hundred percent correct. “Please pour me a glass of Sunny’s.” It’s the cheapest wine in town, and I don’t even care about the headache it’ll bring me tomorrow. Anything to get me through the next couple of hours.

But even as I place the pies in the oven, my mind is screaming thirty-six thousand dollars.

Who can afford to do that?

And why is he spending it here?