The Billionaire's Bridal Bid by Emily McKay Page A

Claire brought him to that. Over and over again it seemed.
    Even worse, he hated the stung expression on herface. As if he’d slapped her. Or snatched a piece of candy away from a child. And worse, even still, was the way his breath caught in his chest while he waited for her to respond. “You left me for another guy. You rode off to New York on the back of Mitch’s motorcycle and never looked back. So don’t tell me how hurt you were when you saw pictures of me with Marianna.”
    “Marena,” she said blankly.
    “What?”
    She met his gaze, her eyes wide, but steady. “Her name was Marena.”
    Funny he couldn’t remember her name. Hell, he barely remembered her. But Mitch was a name seared into his memory. He’d never even met the guy, but his hatred for him still sat heavy on his chest like a cancerous tumor. He’d once refused to hire an innocent intern just because his name was Mitch.
    After all this time, he was still waiting to hear whatever sorry excuse she could cough up about Mitch. He deserved an answer.
    Before he got one, the doorbell rang.
    He turned to look at the front door, just visible through the doorway that lead from the kitchen to the dining room and the foyer beyond. Then he glanced at his watch. “It’s barely seven. Who the hell rings the doorbell before seven on a Sunday morning?”
    In the moment he was busy looking at his watch, she slipped right past him.
    “That’s the cab I called after I put the biscuits in the oven.”
    Only then did he notice the overnight bag that sat at the foot of the stairs. She snatched it into her hands on her way past. Before he could stop her, she was halfway out the front door.
    She paused just long enough to look over her shoulder at him. “Don’t worry about flying me back to Palo Verde. I can get home on my own.”
    And then she was gone.
    Only after she left did he notice the bite of biscuit she’d been toying with as she’d talked. She’d flattened it onto the counter, like a squashed bug. A casualty of her stewing emotions.
    Maybe she thought she was hiding her resentment because she hadn’t been facing him when she spoke. He may not have seen the betrayal on her face, but he certainly heard it in her voice.
    He crossed to the spot, pried it up with his thumb and dusted it into the sink. Ever since that morning at the diner, he’d wondered why she was so mad at him. She’d dumped him. What right did she have to be angry?
    Well, now he had at least part of the answer. She was mad about how quickly he’d moved on after she dumped him. But he still didn’t understand why.
    Their breakup had been brutal. In addition to extolling the virtues of Mitch and his motorcycle, Claire had listed his myriad flaws. He was too boring. Too smart. Too busy working to have fun. He wasn’t what she wanted and she was tired of pretending otherwise.
    But if any of that was true, why had she cared what he’d done afterward or who he’d dated? And why had she followed FMJ so obsessively in the news? And she must have followed it obsessively to know about the Raven.
    But why? And why lie about it now?
    Clearly, Claire thought their discussion this morning heralded the end of their relationship. He’d seen it in her eyes when she looked at him that last time. She’dbeen saying goodbye. But this time, he wasn’t letting her go.
    Besides, she’d stolen his favorite sweatshirt.

Seven
    “W here did he take you on your date?”
    She’d heard the question from friends and customers alike. From blue-haired, eighty-year-old women and giggly teenaged girls.
    The one person she didn’t expect to hear it from was Kyle, who sat at the counter eating the grilled cheese sandwich she made him every Wednesday after school. Wednesday was the one day during the week that both his parents worked late and he’d taken to hanging out at the diner. Steve and Shelby were gracious enough to act like she was doing them a favor by letting him sit there and do his homework, when