Excerpt Set 1:

Zach #1:
I’ve learned a lot of things from being a billionaire in my thirties, but so far, the most essential is that you can’t have thin skin. Everyone wants a piece of you and when you’re not giving them the time or attention they think they deserve, they set out to tear you down. Case in point, Yolanda Simms, the entertainment reporter for KBIZ and the most annoyingly fame-seeking woman it has ever been my displeasure to know.

Yolanda and I went out three times, which is a record for me as I barely have a minute for myself. Given my busy schedule, you might be wondering why I would spend my precious free time with such a person. When I first asked her out, I didn’t see her for who she truly was. I may have also had a hidden agenda. 

I’d recently been called out by a national tabloid for not putting my money where my mouth was. As in, they didn’t think I donated enough to charity. And while supposedly no press is bad press, I really don’t like people thinking of me the way I was being portrayed.

I figured if I wined and dined Yolanda—who had previously flirted with me outrageously every time she saw me—she might spread the word that I was a decent guy. Self-serving? Yes. But I’m not the villain the press would have you think I am, and I wanted a chance to prove it. 

Unfortunately, Yolanda got ahead of herself regarding our friendship and decided to announce on air that she and I were in an exclusive and committed relationship. As we had never so much as kissed, I took exception to her declaration. 

“Zachary!” my assistant Anabelle yells out. Before I can ask her what she wants, she says, “Your brother is on line three.”

I have five brothers, so I ask, “Which one?” 

Instead of answering, I overhear her tell someone else, “Mr. Hart has no comment on Ms. Simms’ allegations.” Great, another day fending off the aftermath of Yolanda’s interview on The View. She told Whoopi Goldberg I was an egomaniacal alpha-male.

I hesitantly reach over to the landline on my desk. “This is Zach.”

“Hey, big bro,” my younger twin says. In my mind’s eye, I see his lopsided grin, which, even though we’re fraternal twins, is remarkably like my own. MacElroy, aka Mac, is four minutes younger than me and has four times the personality. “It’s starting to look like you’re wading through a herd of cows in a rainy field.”

“What does that even mean, Mac?” My brother recently bought a sustainable farm in Oregon and his metaphors have taken on a rural sort of charm.

“Where there are cows there are cow pies. Need I explain that a rainy field full of heifers is full of wet …”

“Manure. Got it.” Gross.

“Why don’t you set the world straight and tell them the majority of your charitable donations are given anonymously?” he wants to know. The man definitely cuts to the chase.

“You do know the definition of anonymous, don’t you?” I condescendingly inquire.

“Yes, Zach. What I don’t know is why you don’t just come clean about what a good guy you are.”

“Because if I bragged about doing good deeds, they wouldn’t feel like good deeds,” I tell him for the hundredth time.

Shifting in my chair, I stare out of my home office window onto Wilshire Boulevard below. You’d think all the short skirts and tanned legs would be one of the benefits of living in Southern California. Yet no matter how good the view is, wealthy Beverly Hills women are not my type. They’re simply too high maintenance, not to mention too self-involved.

“I’m just saying…”

“Let it go, Mac.” Removing my feet from the edge of my giant mahogany desk, I ask, “Did you call for any other reason than to bust my butt about Yolanda? Because if not, I have work to do.”

“What are you buying today?” he wants to know. “Another office building? A high-rise? Malibu?” While I like to have a diversified financial portfolio, as a real estate developer, I am obviously partial to buying property.

“I’m giving a speech at Pepperdine,” I tell him. Tongue in cheek, I add, “I call it ‘One House, New House, Big House, You House.’”

“Ah yes, a nod to your childhood love of Dr. Seuss.” Releasing an exaggerated yawn, he asks, “Has anyone ever told you that you’re becoming kind of boring?”

“You tell me that at least twice a week,” I remind him. “Now, why are you calling?”

Instead of putting me out of my misery, he wants to know, “When was the last time you strapped on a pair of skates and played a game?” 

 

Ellie #1:
Kelly Hart, who’s been watching from behind the boards, steps over a break in the barrier and hurries to Brooklyn’s side. “You did a fantastic job, kiddo!” She brushes her hand over Brookie’s box braids. Lifting her phone, she announces, “I got it all on video. Your mom’s going to flip when she sees this.”

The little girl’s look of pride makes my heart clench. Like many of my students, Brooklyn doesn’t come from a well-to-do family and her lessons are being funded by Kelly and her husband Troy.  “You’re the best, Mrs. Hart!” 

Kelly shoots her a double thumbs up before pulling me off to the side. While Brooklyn takes off her skates, my boss says, “I have a favor to ask.” 

“Anything for you.” The Harts have singlehandedly kept me in work for the last year since my flower shop closed. They’ve been super flexible with my schedule too, which means the world to me as I’m my mom’s primary caregiver. 

Both my mom’s health and her income have dwindled significantly since my dad died. As such, I try to stay on top of the upkeep and maintenance at her house. I also make sure she has food in her cupboards and drive her to her various doctor’s appointments. Osteoarthritis is no joke and I’m afraid that one of these days, I’m going to have to liquidate her assets so I can afford to put her into an assisted living situation. That day appears to be coming much sooner than I would have ever thought.  

 Kelly interrupts my thoughts. “My brother-in-law is coming to town, and I was hoping he could stay in the cabin on your mom’s property.” My parents have a small cottage behind their house that they used to rent out during the summer months. Unfortunately, there have been no takers for five years. While Maple Creek is a fabulous vacation destination, these days most people want more excitement for their money. Therefore, they either stay at the Hawk River Lodge or the Regent Hotel.  

“Which brother-in-law?” I demand like I’m questioning her in an espionage case. I’d be fine with any of them except for Zachary. That arrogant man makes me mad just looking at him. All six foot two, wide shouldered, chiseled jaw, and grey-green eyes that resemble a mossy pond … Where was I going with this? 

Brushing a wisp of light brown hair aside, Kelly answers, “Zach. I know your mom wants a long-term renter, but I figure while she’s waiting, she might as well make a few bucks.” 

“Zachary Hart?” I spit like I’ve just taken a bite out of a rotten apple. My expression contorts into a look of pure disgust. My inability to control my facial features is the main reason I’m such a horrible poker player. Everyone knows what kind of hand I have just by looking at me.  

“You can’t possibly hate him so much you’d cut off your nose to spite your face.” She gives me one of her famous “talk your way out of that” looks. 

I ram my hands into my pockets and turn her logic back on her. “How can I hate him when I don’t even know him?” 

“I know you think Zach is a stuck-up playboy with too much money and too little compassion.” She knows this because I recently told her as much after watching an interview with Yolanda Simms.

“Well, isn’t he?” As far as I’m concerned, people like Troy’s stinky little stuck-up brat of a brother are the reason we have so many poor people in this country. Zach is a Mr. Moneybags always looking to build his own worth instead of helping others. How much money does one person need anyway?

Narrowing her eyes to half-mast, Kelly says, “He’s nothing like you think he is.” 

“That’s not what’s being said on the news.”

My boss’s spine straightens. “Yes, well, they’ve got it wrong. Why would you ever believe those yellow journalists over me?”

She’s got me there. Not only do I run errands for Kelly and Troy, but I’ve also taken on the job of their housecleaner, pet sitter, and I occasionally stay with their kids when they’re out of town. 

Kelly takes my silence for capitulation. “So, you’ll talk to your mom about renting him the cottage?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Brooklyn tie her shoes. “I guess so, but you should know the cabin is pretty basic. I’m sure Mr. Fancy Pants will hate it.”

“Zach isn’t fancy.” 

I don’t believe her for a minute and my left eyebrow arches accordingly. “How long will he be staying there?”

 

Excerpt Set 2:

Ellie #2:
Of course, Zachary Hart showed up early. The man is clearly so self-absorbed he thinks the world’s population is here for no other reason than to serve him. I turn toward my class and announce, “Everyone on the ice. Practice your revolutions until I come back.” Then I skate toward the opening in the boards where Troy is standing next to his brother. 

“Hey, Ellie,” Troy greets. “How’s it going? The kids look like they’re having a blast.”

“Thanks to you and Kelly,” I tell him. “These girls wouldn’t be skating without you.”

Troy passes off the compliment in that aw-shucks self-deprecating manner of his. “Sure they would. They’d just have to wait until the ponds froze up in the winter.” He reaches an arm out toward his brother. “Zach came a day early. I hope that won’t be a problem.” Before I can answer, he adds, “Zach, this is Ellie Butler.”

I shift my attention in the billionaire’s direction, with every intention of giving him a piece of my mind.  But as soon as our eyes meet, my throat constricts, making coherent verbal communication impossible—on my part anyway. 

Zach is way hotter than he looks in the tabloids and on TV. He also possesses a magnetic aura that’s drawing me in—like I inexplicably want to jump into his arms. How is that even possible since I fervently loathe him?

Mr. Smug extends his hand to shake mine. “I wanted to get here ahead of the press.”

My eyes drop to the offered hand and bounce back to stare at his—dang it—handsome face. Keeping both of my arms at my sides, I tell him, “The cottage won’t be ready until tomorrow.” 

“I was worried it wouldn’t,” Troy says. “But that’s no problem. Zach can stay with us for the night. The boys can’t wait to see him.”

Zach has other ideas. “I don’t mind if it isn’t perfect.” He continues, “I’m going to need a quiet place to work, and my nephews are anything but quiet.”

“Then you should stay at the lodge,” I tell him, unwilling to budge on his occupation date.

“That won’t work for me.”

“Why?” I demand incredulously. Does this guy really think the entire world is at his beck and call?

“Because the team arrives tomorrow, and the press will be on site. I don’t want to be anywhere near them until I’m ready.” 

I unconsciously look at his fingernails and wonder if he gets manicures. Sure enough, there are no cuticles, and his nails look shiny and buffed. 

“Afraid they’ll make you look bad?” My sarcasm is heavy. 

Zach’s shoulders square off like he’s turned to stone. “Excuse me?” He’s clearly not used to anyone standing up to him. 

“The cottage will be ready tomorrow after three,” I tell him firmly. “The key will be waiting for you in the office.” I glance at Troy to make sure I haven’t made him angry, but he looks nothing short of amused. 

“I need to stay there tonight,” Zach says more firmly than he should for a man with no control over the situation. 

“Good luck with that.” I know I’m taking things too far, but I can’t seem to stop myself.

Richie Rich runs a hand through his hair like he’s going to rip it out. “Ellie, is it?” He knows darn well that’s my name, so I don’t respond. “What is it going to take for me to get into your mother’s cottage right now?”

 

Zach #2:
I don’t expect everyone to like me, but Ellie Butler has taken things to a new level. She has the disposition of a startled rattlesnake. In a bid to engage her in safe conversation, I ask, “Have you worked at the rink for long?” 

She steps down into the parking lot before answering. “No.” 

I try again. “Were you a professional skater at one time?” Come on, lady, give me something.

Ellie scoffs loudly. “Hardly.”

“Why hardly? You seemed pretty good out there to me.” Her elegantly graceful lines made it impossible for me to look away. 

She stops walking, causing me to nearly run her over. Stepping back to widen the space between us, she demands, “How many professional figure skaters do you know who are five ten?”

I shrug my shoulders.  “None. But I don’t know any professional figure skaters.”

“Maria Sotskova was five eight and that was considered shocking.”

“And she is …”

Ellie rolls her eyes before demanding, “Do you know anything about ice sports?”

“I was a winger on my college hockey team,” I tell her. “I was top pick for the draft my senior year before a knee injury benched me for good.”