The Billionaire's Largesse, Part One (The Billionare's Largesse Book 1) Read Free

rolled up the sleeves of her sweater. Damn Spencer! She really wished for a moment she’d changed into the dress after all, so much more of her would be soaking up the rays just then. Perhaps she should go on holiday? That five thousand could surely cover the cost of both some plane tickets and the shop being closed for a couple of weeks.
    Her reverie was interrupted, as a balding, tubby little man in a suit stepped in front of her and cut off the sun’s rays. “Is this the Networthing launch?” he asked, brusquely.
    Mary immediately realised what he was asking, but she hadn’t set up her own shop just to have to carry on taking this kind of crap from jerks in suits. “I’m sure I have absolutely no idea,” she said. “The event isn’t scheduled to start for another thirty minutes.”
    The jerk tutted at her. “Yeah. Right.” Thick fingers with ragged bitten nails shoved a card in Mary’s face. “So I’m here to register.”
    “Register?”
    “Yes, here to register. Now where’s the networking drinks?”
    Mary looked the man straight in the eye, tore the card in half without reading it, and let the two pieces flutter away on the light breeze stirred up by the passing traffic. “You’re registered. I’ve not opened the orange squash yet, but I’m sure you can find a coffee over the road. See you in thirty minutes.”
    The jerk wandered off scowling. Mary smiled briefly, and tried to enjoy the sun again, but the moment was broken. Grumbling to herself a bit, she folded up the chair and headed inside to mix up the orange squash.
    She had to control her naughty streak, she told herself firmly. The fact that her bookshop was about to be full of arsehole executive types was annoying, but it was entirely her own fault for accepting the booking, and she was receiving a hundred times the usual rate.
    By the time she’d diluted the orange squash and poured it into a couple of dozen plastic cups, a few more guys in suits were milling around the shop’s entrance. Most of them in their thirties, a few older. From the curtain to the storeroom, she watched them. A few of them looked like jerks, sure, but there was something about the way most of them held themselves. Hands in pockets, nonchalant, confident. Even though they were clearly wondering whether they were in the right place, there was no sense of nervousness or confusion from any of them.
    And now she looked closer, well, she was no expert, but some of those suits looked damn expensive. She looked at the small group of men and noted how each suit had been cut individually to flatter its wearer. But very few of them were wearing ties. Open-necked shirts all over the place, with slim-fitting jackets buttoned presumably just for the look of the thing.
    “Quite a shower, aren’t they?” Mary jumped. Spencer had managed to sneak up on her for the second time in one day, he must have slipped into the shop while she’d been fixing the drinks.
    “Who are all these people? Are many of them from your company?” she asked.
    Spencer smiled. “They’d describe themselves as entrepreneurs, self-made men, hard-headed businessmen and lone wolves. Terribly important and influential, certainly.”
    Mary hadn’t missed the inflection in Spencer’s words. “And how would you describe them, Mr Matthews?”
    He leaned close then, and she closed her eyes as his lips grazed against her ear. “Lambs,” he whispered. Mary said nothing for a moment, savouring the subtle scent of his aftershave, feeling the heat radiating from his body.
    Then she turned, her lips barely an inch from his. “Who are you?”
    Spencer Matthews held her gaze, a warm smile creeping over his face. He opened his mouth, but the crowd of suits in the shop was getting louder. He took a step back, to Mary’s sudden disappointment. “No one special,” he said, and it almost sounded as though he was pleading.
    With that, he turned towards the crowd and strode down into the shop.
    “Thank you all for