Faking It with my Billionaire Grump

3. Tilly

3

Tilly

Jake disappears, and I’m left standing here, feeling a little shaken up. It did occur to me on the way home that I was going to bump into him sooner or later, but I didn’t think it was going to be the same day I arrived.

Nor can I say that I was ready for such animosity. Okay, maybe I should have expected it, considering the circumstances of my departure. I mean, we did have the fight of the century.

When I get to the register—after lingering longer than necessary to give Jake plenty of time to leave—Mrs. Windrow is giving me a look that tells me that she heard everything. Old she may be, but the woman misses nothing.

Don’t let the gray hair and elaborate cat eye glasses fool you. This woman is as sharp as a tack. I have no memory of her not running the store, though I think her husband helped when he was still alive.

Mrs. Windrow, or as Mom likes to call her, “the local news,” has this disarming skill of getting you to tell her whatever she wants to know. These days, she’d be called a master manipulator; the truth is, she’s just really good at getting people to open up. In fact, she has it down to a fine art. That, and she’s a bit nosy.

“Well, this is a surprise,” she says, her eyebrows raised as she rings up my groceries.

I notice she didn’t say “ nice surprise,” but I try not to overthink it.

“And how are you, Mrs. Windrow?” I ask.

“I’m great, dear. What about you? Are you here visiting your folks?”

“Yes. I only arrived this morning, and Mom already has me collecting her messages,” I say, watching every syllable that comes out of my mouth as I pack my paper bags.

“Only just got here. You mean today?”

“Uh-huh.” I nod.

“I’m sure your parents are thrilled to see you. Your mom is always telling me how much you love the city. I’ll bet you won’t be with us too long.”

That’s a hidden question, but I’m ready for it.

“Oh, who knows?” I shrug, tugging cash from my purse.

“So, not your normal couple of days, then?” Mrs. Windrow replies.

See what I mean?

It takes me another five minutes to avoid being the topic of conversation for everyone else coming into the store after me, and after making my escape, I head back to the truck.

It’s so easy to forget what it’s like living in a small town. Don’t get me wrong, New Yorkers are great people, but they’re all too busy with their own problems to have the time to ask you about yours.

It really is a city that never sleeps. I mean, ever. It was a steep learning curve, moving from a tiny place in the country where the loudest thing at night is the crickets to a place where honking horns, sirens, and delivery trucks never quit. Eventually, the noise does blend into the subliminal because they’re always there in the background.

Thankfully, the coast is clear, meaning Jake’s long gone, and with my bags loaded, I make my way back to the house.

After helping Mom pack the groceries away, I borrow Dad’s truck again and head over to see Mel. She knows I’m coming because I texted her to let her know. It might be a small town, but it still has modern technology.

“Oh, my gosh,” Mel cries, throwing her arm around me while Thomas, the newest addition to their family at only eight months old, sits comfortably on her hip. “It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve seen you.”

I smirk. “You sound like Mrs. Windrow.”

Mel is leading me into the house when she glances over her shoulder and lifts an eyebrow.

“Oh, yes,” I say, answering her unasked question. “I’ve already been covertly interrogated.”

“You know what that means?” Mel says, scooping a few random toys off the floor after gently lowering Thomas into the playpen.

“Yep,” I sigh, following her into the kitchen. “By tonight, the whole town will know of my arrival.”

Mel grins and grabs a jug out of the fridge. “Lemonade?”

“Sure.”

Once we’re back in the living room, she asks me how things are. Unlike my mother, Mel likes to do far less talking and much more listening. She’s a great friend; she always has been. Of course, we end up talking about my latest problem.

He’s five foot nine with blonde hair. He’s the CEO of his company and a pretty savvy businessman. He also happens to be my ex-boyfriend.

Bryan Reading was, once upon a time, my dream guy. In fact, I pursued him—can you believe it? But these last six months, our entire lives have been nothing but constant arguments and cold shoulders.

We were together for three years, and he was what I thought I wanted. That was until I realized that he doesn’t like a woman who progresses. I’ve already been promoted twice since we’ve been together, and that threatens him. Not that he’ll admit that, of course. But it’s the bottom line. A line that’s been indented into our relationship with red ink.

“I know you think I’m an idiot for coming back here,” I say after I’ve given her the general rundown. “But I just couldn’t stay. I mean, what was I supposed to do? It was his apartment.”

Which I now realize was likely another ploy for him to have even more control.

“I get it,” Mel says, twirling her finger in her dark blonde hair. “But I just think you’ve outgrown this place. If you’re staying, we’re going to look like hicks compared to what you’re used to.”

“Oh, come on.” I laugh. “I was born here, remember?”

“Yes, I do,” Mel replies. “But I also remember you getting out. Even if it was in a rather unorthodox fashion.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I say, sinking into the soft cushions of her sofa. “I thought a massive fight with my high school sweetheart was a great finale to four years together.”

Mel lifts the corner of her mouth. “He’s still here.”

“Of course he is. Something I discovered in the grocery store when I literally bumped into him. With my cart.”

“Nooo.” Mel’s all wide eyes and trying not to laugh.

“It was not my finest moment,” I continue.

“What did he say? What did you say?” Mel gasps.

“Oh, some quippy remark about my driving, just the usual Jake. He hasn’t changed at all.”

Mel gives me a look that tells me I’m dead wrong.

I shouldn’t really care. I don’t want to know. I already have too much on my plate. And yet, I can’t help myself.

“Go on. Tell me I’m wrong. I know you’re dying to,” I say, half interested and half resigned to the fact that my best friend is going to tell me whether I want to know or not.

She tilts her head and gives me a curious look. “Have you never noticed anything different about the town?

“You mean since the last time I was here?”

“I mean ever,” Mel says.

I shrug. To be honest, I haven’t really paid the place much attention. Like the delightful Mrs. Windrow mentioned earlier, I’m usually only here for a day or two, and most of that time I spend with Mom and Dad. But clearly, Mel is pushing me to come to some conclusion.

“I’ve got nothing,” I say, not really sure what she’s looking for.

“Then maybe you need to take another drive around it and look. I mean, take a good look, Tilly.”

“Why?”

“Because Jake Coulter is not the country boy you left behind. He inherited his father’s ranch, which we all knew was coming, but you remember Cal? His older brother?”

I nod, now leaning forward with interest.

“When he left, he went and made a fortune in real estate. Thing is, he taught Jake everything he knew. Jake took to it like a duck to water, and”—she pauses for dramatic effect—“are you ready to hear this?”

“Just get on with it,” I blurt, desperate to hear the evident bombshell she’s going to drop.

“Your ex-high school sweetheart is a billionaire, sweetie.”

A strange sensation washes over my entire body. I think it’s called shock, but the cold sweat and tingling feeling that follows are unnerving, to say the least. There are no words. My mouth has fallen open, like a dark entrance to a cave, and I can only gawk at Mel in astonishment.

Eventually, my mouth works again. “What?”

Mel smirks. “It’s the truth. He invested a lot of money into the town, and from what I hear, he has built quite the portfolio. He has land all over the place now. He rents it out. Or buys it for a steal and then sells it. He’s gotten really good at what he does.”

I fall back into the sofa and try to get my brain to work. At the moment, it’s a complete blank, like a white canvas sitting before an artist readying to paint. When the thoughts come, though, they’re not really anything I’d want to admit out loud. I’m ashamed to say that all I can think about is how well he’s done compared to me.

I was the one who left to make something of myself. While I was in the city, clawing my way up the corporate ladder, Jake hasn’t moved an inch and is a hundred times more successful. And then I think back to meeting him earlier, and I’m confused.

“But when I saw him in the store, he didn’t look any different.”

Mel nods. “Jake’s like that. He’s settled for the simple life.”

“I’d hardly call being a billionaire a simple life,” I reply sarcastically.

“Maybe not in the way you mean. But to us, he’s just the same old Jake. You could walk by him and never know what he’s worth. Even with all his money, he still works on the ranch. He’s just, well, Jake.”

“Wow.”

It’s all I have. I mean, how are you supposed to react to something like that? The last time I spoke to him—I mean, apart from the grocery store saga—was ten years ago. And when I say “spoke,” I mean yelled and screamed.

We’re two different people now. Clearly. But in my craziest dreams, I would never have imagined Jake would make it before me. Not that I’ve made it at all. Sure, I have some money in the bank, but a billion? No!

An hour later, after I’d managed to slide the conversation as far away from Jake Coulter as possible, I finally say goodbye to Mel and head back to the house. This goodbye was easier. Usually, our farewells are long and drawn out because I don’t know how long it will be until I see her again. But I’m not leaving town this time. A paradox of emotional contradictions.

After dinner, which is a repeat of lunch, I need an escape. I decide to take a bath before spending my first night in the barn, which sounds far worse than it is. The bath solves two problems—I need something warming, soothing, and relaxing, and it gives me some alone time.

Armed with a huge, fluffy towel, I’m about to take the first step on the stairs when there’s a knock on the door.

“I’ll get it,” Mom says.

Well, it is their house. It’s hardly going to be for me.

I’m halfway up the stairs when Mom calls out. “Tilly, there’s someone here to see you.”

What?

Frowning, I pad back down the stairs. Walking toward the front door, my stomach lurches as Mom opens it wider. There, on my parents’ front doorstep, stands Bryan, tailored suit and all.