The Billionaire's Gamble by Ava Miles Read Free Book Online

thirty minutes, I need to concentrate.”
    He needed to concentrate? Well, fine. Suddenly her new renter and contract painter seemed more like a pain in the butt than the charming artist who’d made her insides go beep-beep.
    The sun was setting in the west, cascading soft golden rays through the front windows, when she went to work. Evan muttered in the background, cursing a few times. Thank God she’d bought two rolls of painter’s tape. The way Evan was acting, he’d likely bite off her hand if she asked him for the one he was jimmying through the adding machine between typing things into his laptop.
    Halfway down just one wall, Margie wanted to curse herself. There was no way to make a straight line. It was a mystery to her why her contractor had not simply up and quit on her. She’d barely started, and she was ready to throw aside the painter’s tape and simply paint. What did it matter if she got a little paint on the baseboards or ceiling? If any of the customers wanted to make an issue of it, they could take their business elsewhere.
    “Aha!” she heard Evan cry out. “I’ve got you, you sweet little bitch.”
    “Don’t talk about me like that,” she said in a dry tone, knowing he was referring to the object in his hands.
    His head popped up, and he blinked. “I didn’t mean…”
    “I’m just kidding,” she said, trying not to laugh at the expression on his face. From now on, she’d have to remember he was sensitive—more so than she would have expected. Perhaps it suited his artistic temperament.
    “Step aside,” he said, jumping up from where he sat and running over to her. “Now, watch and be amazed.”
    She felt like a circus barker was trying to lure her into a tent of curiosities.
    Evan laid his contraption against the wall. She watched as the yellow liquid in the center of the level grew even, and then all of the sudden, the adding machine tape started to crank out tape. Evan ran it along the baseboards, readjusting as needed to make it level, but sure enough, he’d soon lined the whole baseboard with painter’s tape. And it was straight—a veritable miracle.
    “Did I say it would cut prep time in half?” he asked when he stood, puffing his chest out. “I’d say three-quarters more like. This machine could revolutionize the painting industry. Not just for professional painters, but for your home-improvement types.”
    Had she said big ideas? “Yes, I can see the modified adding machine at Lowe’s now. I’m glad it worked, and I’m sorry I doubted you. How about you use that thing to get us prepped?”
    She cast a glance toward the front windows. The sun was setting, which meant it was nearing nine o’clock. They might get lucky and paint a couple walls before they had to throw in the towel.
    “This thing has a name—or rather I just gave her one. I’m calling her the Paint Prep Mistress.”
    She scratched her head. Why were men always referring to objects as females? “Mistress, huh? Sounds like someone has a wild imagination.”
    When he didn’t respond, she looked over at him. He was staring at her with an electric intensity she found deeply arousing.
    “Imagination is the spice of life, and it’s something I’ve had to do without for a while.” He held his machine against his chest, almost the way a woman would hold a bouquet of flowers from a lover. “Don’t steal this moment from me.”
    Her chest grew tight. “I’m sorry.”
    He nodded. “Go on home. I’ll make up for the time I spent today on the Paint Prep Mistress. You look tuckered out.”
    Did she? Well, no wonder. Closing down her position at Don’t Soy With Me while preparing to launch Hot Cross Buns meant she was burning the candle at both ends. “I can stay.”
    “I’m a night owl,” he said, turning back to the wall and resuming his prep. “If I know anything about bakers, you’re one of those early riser types.”
    Baking would require her to be up early—well before dawn. “Yes, I am,