In need of a sweet Hill Country story, one with Johnson City roots? We’ve got a sample chapter from Remi Carrington’s romance, Surprised by the Billionaire, to share.
Story by Remi Carrington
Editor’s note: Phrey Press has not only graciously provided the first chapter of Surprised by the Billionaire but also is making up to 1,000 copies of the book available free via Bookfunnel.com for a limited time.
Gemma rubbed her temples, mumbling to herself about Mr. Graves’ request. “Buy her a piece of art that captures a place I can take her. And make sure it’s family friendly.”
Austin liked—no—Austin loved giving his wife gifts. Lavishing would be a better word. Finding just the right surprise was sometimes a challenge.
Austin and Zoe were, hands down, Gemma’s favorite clients, and shopping for them was usually the best part of the job. But this request had Gemma stumped. Zoe wouldn’t want to travel somewhere far away, at least not for a while, so a local gallery was the best bet.
On the square in Johnson City, Gemma continued her hunt. She made it two steps inside the next gallery and spotted the perfect image, a cabin nestled in a field full of blue and yellow wildflowers. The photograph captured the last colorful rays of light near the end of the day. Gemma read the information card, hoping and praying the location was not someone’s private property. All it gave was a cabin name. She needed it to be a place Austin and Zoe could stay for a night or two.
Googling like a mad woman, Gemma found a link to the rental, a quaint getaway in Hye, Texas.
Zoe would love it. Austin would feel like he was roughing it.
Gemma purchased the piece and arranged to pick it up on her way out of town. With her main task completed, she strolled through galleries and other shops, resisting the urge to buy all the things.
She walked into a near-silent gallery, and a waiter offered her a cup of red wine. Gemma liked this gallery.
Sipping red wine and listening to a cellist play as art lovers contemplated massive canvases, Gemma nearly giggled. The room was like a scene from a movie, serious and contemplative. She’d managed to be in the upscale gallery ten minutes and hadn’t yet embarrassed herself. Did that win her a medal?
When her phone rang out a pop song, whispered grumbles preceded sideways glances. Gemma couldn’t get out of the gallery fast enough. She pushed open the door, and red wine sloshed in her face as she ran into someone.
Letting the door close so the art lovers could have their quiet, Gemma wiped the wine from her eyes and blinked. “I’m so sorry.” When the man came into focus, she wanted to cry.
The man’s crisp, well-fitted, white shirt had a large red spot on the front, a spot the exact color of her wine.
“Pardon.” Brown eyes exuding warmth and concern focused on her. Brow knitted, he touched her arm.
She reached for his buttons, her minding racing. Her heartbeat banging on her eardrums made it hard to think. “Maybe if we get this off and get some club soda—” Her brain kicked into gear, and she realized she was trying to strip a stranger of his clothing. “I’m so sorry. I won’t take your shirt off.” She stared at the stain on his shirt. “Oh my. I’ve ruined it.”
How could she make it right?
“Are you okay?” His words were bathed in the most delicious French-sounding accent.
She couldn’t let herself be distracted. Changing plans, she dug through her purse. “My wallet is in here somewhere. I’d like to pay for the cleaning . . . or the shirt.” She ended her rambling and looked up.
“The shirt is no matter. Are you okay?” He flashed a crooked smile.
He reached for her. Again. And Gemma stepped back, colliding with the stone wall behind her.
A look of alarm registered on his face, and he retracted his hand. “Very sorry. On your face, you have a bit of wine.”
“Oh.” She leaned forward, letting him brush droplets off her face.
Between his accent and the feel on his fingers on her skin, it amazed her she wasn’t face-first on the sidewalk. Her knees did feel a tad wobbly, a sign they were threatening to give out at any moment. She couldn’t blame them. The rest of her was slowly melting under the handsome stranger’s gaze.
She remembered her hunt for cash. “I have eighteen dollars. The cleaning may cost more than that. And it’s not nearly enough to replace the shirt.” After grabbing the first piece of paper she found in her purse, she scribbled down her number and handed it to him. “I’d like to cover any costs.”
“It is an old shirt.” He held out his hand. “I am Antoine.”
Before Gemma could shake hands, a woman, who looked like she’d just stepped off a catwalk, called to him from down the sidewalk. “Antoine, I found what I want. Come see.”
He turned and rattled off something in French, not that Gemma understood what he said. It sounded like French, at least.
She chose that moment to slip away. After a quick glance at his still-outstretched hand, she ran to the corner and cut around the building, continuing until she ran into the coffee shop. Once in the door, she headed to the ladies’ room. She’d acted like it was cloak and dagger, but he likely hadn’t even noticed she’d left. That was stupid. Of course he’d notice that she disappeared like a crazy person.
If she didn’t want to be found, giving him her number was the wrong thing to do.
After washing off the wine, Gemma tried to tame her wild curls. At the worst of times, they reflected her mood. Her current mood was scattered and stupid.
Shake it off. The man clearly wasn’t from around here. She’d likely never see him again. Unless he calls. That thought both rattled and excited her. Would he call? Why was she even thinking about that? The man was likely married to that woman—that stunningly beautiful woman.
Gemma walked out of the bathroom, contemplating what she’d say if Antoine called. She’d probably mumble nonsense before getting so nervous she had to hang up.
After getting a cup of coffee, she trudged to her car, reliving the awful moments over and over.
Fifteen minutes down the highway, she remembered the photograph for Zoe. A quick U-turn had Gemma headed back to Johnson City, back to the possibility of bumping into Antoine. Not only was his accent amazing, his name was amazing. Repeating it over and over, she enjoyed the way the word curled her tongue.
Then she remembered that woman and felt like a horrible person.
A parking place right in front of the gallery welcomed Gemma, and it took less than two minutes to run in and pick up the gift. But when she made it back to the car, her heart pounded like she’d sprinted across the town square. Twice.
Disappointment mixed with relief. She’d escaped without any more embarrassment, but she hadn’t gotten another glimpse. And oh, she’d wanted just one more look at that man.
Remi Carrington is the figment of Pamela Humphrey’s imagination. She loves romance and chocolate, enjoys disappearing into a delicious book, and considers people-watching a sport. Remi was born in the pages of Humphrey’s novel Just You and then grew into a nom de plume.
Don’t forget the limited time offer of a free book via Bookfunnel.com!
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