A Taste For Trouble (The Maplewood Billionaires #1)

Chapter 1

ROSE

Ipaused outside Quincy’s Pie Shop with my hand on the door. A strange restlessness seized me at the thought of going in. Not because I had anything against Quincy or his pies. Nobody with functioning taste buds could resist his delicious double chocolate cream pie.

It was just that going in and ordering two slices of pie would set in motion the grand plans I had made for my evening. And now that those plans were close to fruition, I was plagued by second thoughts.

I straightened my spine and pushed the door open because this was not the time to have second thoughts.

“Hi, Quince. I’ll take one slice of double chocolate cream and one slice of pecan pie to go, please,” I said, before I could change my mind.

“Ooh! Hot date tonight?” murmured my best friend, Trevor McBride, as he hurried into the shop behind me. My other best friend, Mara Ellis, followed hot on his heels.

“Is this an ambush?” I asked them sceptically, because I found it very fishy that they’d turn up in the pie shop at the same time.

“I prefer to call it an intervention,” said Mara as she drooled over the display.

“How did you even find me?”

“Trevor tracked your phone by GPS,” she replied promptly, throwing him under the bus.

“That is so creepy,” I snapped.

“Hey, you’ve been AWOL on us for the past three days,” he snapped back.

“Ever since the article in the Whisper,” added Mara unhelpfully.

“And we were worried,” finished Trevor.

I scowled at them, but I didn’t pretend I didn’t know what they were talking about. That was the trouble with BFFs. They knew you far too well at times.

The Weekly Whisper was Maplewood’s trashiest tabloid, and one that I loved to read from cover to cover. That is, until very recently. Their standards had gone down the drain lately.

Maplewood’s most eligible billionaire dating supermodel!

Dominic Carlisle, the grumpy but hunky heir to the Carlisle fortune, was spotted having a cozy candlelight dinner with European supermodel Cece Blair at the Michelin-starred restaurant in the old Orangery.

The dishy Dominic looked absolutely smitten with the gorgeous Cece.

Do we hear wedding bells? Keep watching this space for updates!

“I’ve been busy. With my boyfriend,” I said pointedly.

They both pulled nasty faces when I mentioned Joe.

“Blech,” said Trevor. “Is he still around?”

“Yes,” I said firmly, hoisting my shopping bag higher over my shoulder.

Mara pulled it open and peeked at the contents.

“What do we have here? Ragu bolognese, bechamel sauce, pasta sheets…Rosie!” she gasped. “You’re making your mom’s ‘marry-me’ lasagna!”

“The one that made her Dad pop the question?” asked Trevor, his jaw dropping in shock. “You little tart!”

“Am not,” I exclaimed.

“Are too,” he accused. “You’re trying to get Joe to propose tonight. Hence, the lasagna and double chocolate cream pie! I’d marry you for that lasagna, and I’m not even into women.”

“Eww! No!” cried Mara, grabbing the bag off my shoulder. “I refuse to let you throw yourself away on that moron just because Dominic Carlisle went on a date with another woman.”

I looked around uneasily and realized we were attracting far too much attention from Quincy’s other customers. I didn’t want my plans to be broadcast in The Weekly Whisper.

“This has nothing to do with anybody else. I like Joe Cheney,” I hissed.

“Are you listening to yourself?” demanded Trevor. “Like is not good enough. You need to be head over heels in love with the man you want to marry.”

“Look, Joe is a perfectly nice guy,” I said, desperate to end this conversation before they made me change my mind.

“Is he, though?” asked Mara. “He sold Trevor that 1999 Honda Accord, which turned out to be a total lemon.”

“And he knew that fact because it was his own car,” added Trevor. “He’s a turd!”

“He’s a used car salesman,” I said weakly, knowing there wasn’t much I could say to defend Joe in that particular instance. “And he did agree to refund the money and find you a better car.”

“Only after you agreed to go out with him,” argued Mara.

“Well, isn’t that romantic?”

“You’re the romance writer. You tell me,” she challenged. “If you were writing this story, you’d totally cast him as the slimy villain.”

“Yes, well, life is not a romance novel. If it were, I’d be with the man I want, not reading about his fancy new girlfriend in the local scandal sheet,” I cried.

Her face softened as I cursed my wayward tongue.

“I knew this was about Dominic,” said Trevor, throwing his hands in the air.

“I just feel you can do so much better. Don’t settle for the first guy who asks you out, babe,” said Mara.

“Umm, I don’t see anyone else asking,” I replied bitterly.

“Are you sure Joe Cheney is the right guy, though?” she asked, scrunching her nose in distaste.

I knew what she meant. Joe was nice enough, but he wasn’t the ONE. He didn’t set my body on fire by just being in the same room. He didn’t give me tingles every time I met his eyes. But tingles were overrated, in my opinion. And extremely inconvenient.

“Joe is great, babe,” I said with false enthusiasm, and Mara gave a loud snort of disgust.

“That does it! We’re taking you home and locking you in your basement until you come to your senses,” said Trevor, shoving me towards the door. “You’re not safe to be let out on your own.”

“Stop it! I left my pies on the counter,” I yelped in protest.

“Good! Naughty girls bent on self-destruction don’t deserve pie,” he snapped.

“Hey, let’s not be hasty. Everyone deserves pie,” said Mara, running back to the counter to pick up my abandoned pies.

They hustled me out of the shop and were dragging me to Mara’s car when Trevor’s phone rang.

“Is that The Imperial March from Star Wars?” asked Mara with interest. “Darth Vader’s theme song?”

My heart almost leapt right out of my chest. There was only one person who deserved that ringtone. The grumpiest sonofabitch I had ever encountered. The ruthless billionaire who could wrangle financial deals blindfolded, but had the emotional range of a teaspoon. Trevor’s boss - Dominic Carlisle.

Who also happened to be my godmother’s son.

“Damn it! My boss has the worst timing ever,” groaned Trevor, reaching for his phone. “Yurp, my Lord? How can I serve you, even though I’m on my lunch break?”