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

but this is my place.”
    He swiveled on his haunches. “Do you not trust me after today?”
    She glared at him. “No, I just think you’re more of a perfectionist than I am, and I’m going to stay.”
    “You don’t have to. I have this.”
    They were arguing like an old married couple, and they’d only known each other for less than forty-eight hours. “I’m staying.”
    “Fine. Don’t touch my paint tray.”
    She eyed the one he’d covered with plastic wrap. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
    They worked in silence after that. Sure enough, Evan had the whole restaurant prepped in no time. Margie took care of stirring the paint—a luscious periwinkle blue for the walls that would contrast beautifully with the teal she’d chosen for the baseboards. She poured it into her paint tray. He could keep his.
    Why was she always attracted to temperamental artistic types?
     
    ***
     
    Evan was trying to preserve the euphoria he’d been feeling most of the day after the Paint Prep Mistress’ prototype had formed in his mind. Sure, he’d had to make do with less-than-high-tech equipment, but he’d made it work. When he’d told Margie not to steal this moment from him, he’d meant it.
    The signs that had led him to Dare Valley had delivered. A spark of his creative fire had returned.
    The part of him that had always been innately curious about life, about how things ticked, about how things could tick if he invented something, was back. Before he’d lost himself through his hubris, it had been his whole purpose for living. He’d craved the euphoria—the highs and lows of the invention process. Today had been an abbreviated version of the excitement, the frustration, and finally the victory. He now understood that this ability to create and discover was worth more than his billions.
    He couldn’t wait to tell Chase about his progress.
    Margie was using a roller on the walls to cover them in a sharp periwinkle. The color was at once bold and welcoming—a perfect representation of Margie.
    “I meant to tell you that I like the color,” he commented, setting his prize invention down on the counter so no one would accidentally step on it.
    “I’m glad,” she responded, looking cute in the white paint smock she’d donned.
    Since Evan wasn’t planning on keeping his off-the-rack clothes once he returned to Paris, he didn’t care if he got paint on them.
    He carefully unwrapped the paint tray he’d prepared earlier. After giving the paint a stir, he moved his roller through it until it was evenly covered. Then he followed her lead and started to paint. “You know. The experts say we’re missing a few steps.”
    He caught her eye roll when she looked over at him. “Really?”
    “Really. First we’re supposed to use primer on the walls. Then paint with the color. Both times, we’re supposed to paint about a two to four inch barrier above the baseboard and below the ceiling before moving on to the rest.” Of course, some modern paint brands already contained primer, but he expected she couldn’t afford the higher-end product.
    “That sounds excessive to me. First, we only need to do an extra coat of the paint to cover the wall. And second, the paint tape is supposed to keep us from getting anything on the baseboards or ceiling.” She rolled toward the ceiling as if to prove him wrong.
    He could see it coming a mile away, but he forced himself to bite back a warning. She was going too fast. Sure enough, the roller nudged the ceiling and made a stain.
    She turned and glared at him. “Don’t. Say. A. Word.”
    He made a motion of zipping his lips. The perfectionist part of him wanted to paint the place the expert way, but he figured she’d only growl at him if he tried. So, she was a woman who liked to cut corners—totally the opposite of him. Then he noticed how pale her face was from fatigue. He well remembered how exhausted he’d been when he was starting out. Maybe she was cutting corners because she