Page 3 of Don’t Fall for the Billionaire

Chapter Three

ONE WEEK LATER

Charlotte

“What time is your appointment with the bank?” my cousin, Melissa, asked, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

“Three o'clock. I told my boss that I have a doctor's appointment and need to leave early.”

“I can't believe you're actually going to do this.” She smiled. “Your mom would be so proud.”

“Thanks. I can't believe it either. But it's now or never, right?”

Setting my coffee cup in the sink, I grabbed my purse and headed to work. When I approached the building, my brows furrowed when I saw a large white sign taped to the door.

Permanently closed.

“What the fuck,” I said, violently pulling the locked door.

Taking my phone from my pocket, I called my boss. It went straight to voicemail.

“Excuse me, ma'am. Do you work here?” A man approached me.

“I used to.” I pointed to the sign.

“Any idea where your boss is?” he asked.

“I have no idea. I just tried calling him, and it went straight to voicemail.”

He reached inside his pocket, pulled out a business card, and handed it to me.

“I'm Special Agent Ryes with the FBI. If he gets in contact with you, call us.”

“FBI?” My brows furrowed. “I don't understand.”

“We were informed that your boss was embezzling from the company. Obviously, someone tipped him off. We're trying to find him, so any help on your part would be greatly appreciated.”

“I'll let you know if I hear from him.” I placed the card inside my purse.

Now, what was I supposed to do? This could be a blessing in disguise, allowing me to focus solely on opening my pie shop. Pulling my phone from my purse, I called Melissa, but she didn't answer. So, I went back home and waited until it was time to leave for my bank appointment.

“Good afternoon, Miss Campbell.” Mr. Schmidt smiled and shook my hand. “Please, have a seat.”

“Thank you, Mr. Schmidt.”

I handed him the business plan I typed up three months ago.

“Have you found a space to rent yet?” he asked.

“Not yet. That will depend on the amount of the business loan.” I smiled.

“I see you work full-time at Henderson Finance as an executive secretary.”

“Well, not anymore. There was a sign on the door this morning saying the company was permanently closed.”

“Oh dear. That's terrible.” He turned to his computer and began typing away. “I pulled up your account and see you have a balance of a little under five thousand dollars.”

“I've been trying to save as much as I can.”

“Your idea is nice, Miss Campbell. I'm a pie lover myself. Unfortunately, we are unable to extend a business loan to you at this time. I'm sorry.”

“But why?” I could feel the stinging in my eyes.

“The fact that you are now unemployed makes a difference. Once you find another job, we can revisit your loan application. Have a good day.”

I lowered my head, slowly stood up from my chair, and gripped my purse strap as I walked out of his office.

Tears streamed down my face as I passed a bakery.

Stopping at the window, I glanced inside and saw a case of delicious-looking cupcakes.

Sweets were my jam and made everything better.

After buying two cupcakes, I headed to Central Park and sat on a bench, wallowing in self-pity.

First, Jeremy. Now, I'm unemployed, and all dreams of opening my pie shop flew out the window in a flash.

I removed one of the cupcakes from the box and slowly unwrapped it.

Taking a bite, I savored the moist cake and smooth icing.

But it wasn't making me feel better this time.

I couldn't get what Jeremy did out of my head, nor could I shake the fact that I was unemployed.

I pulled the second cupcake from the box, unwrapped it, and as I lifted it to my mouth, I screamed.

“UGH!” I threw the cupcake, and it landed on the pant leg of some poor guy. He stopped and stared at me.

“What the hell?” He threw out his arms.

I cupped my hand over my mouth in shock, my eyes wide with mortification. “Oh my God. I am so sorry.” I grabbed a napkin and handed it to him.

“Do you know how expensive this suit is? And now it's covered in frosting!” he shouted, brushing at the frosting smeared across his designer pants. “Who the hell just randomly throws cupcakes at people? What is wrong with you?”

“I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. It's just—” The tears fell as I cupped my face in my hands.

I felt the bench shift as he sat down next to me, attempting to get out the grease stain the pink buttercream frosting had left on his charcoal-gray pants.

Ashton

“Fuck. I just picked this suit up from the dry cleaners yesterday,” I said, staring into her teary blue eyes.

She was obviously upset about something, but I knew it had nothing to do with her ruining my expensive Armani suit.

“Whatever you're crying about, just stop. This suit costs about $50 to get cleaned. Do you have that on you right now?”

She opened her purse, took out her wallet, and removed a ten-dollar bill.

“This is all I have. I'll need to go to the ATM.”

“Do you have a piece of paper and a pen in that purse?” I pointed.

She reached inside, pulled out the bakery receipt and a pen, and handed them to me. I wrote down my address.

“This is my address. You can go to the ATM and bring the money to me after six o'clock. Actions have consequences.”

She grabbed the receipt from my hand, shoved it into her purse, and stood up.

“Got it.” She began to walk away, and I stopped her.

“Excuse me. I need something from you.”

“What do you mean?” She turned, her brows furrowing.

“Do you have a driver's license?”

“Yes.”

“Give it to me.”

“What? No way.”

“You'll get it back when you bring me my money.”

“You're crazy, mister!”

“I don't know you, and I can't trust you. That way, if you decide to skip out on the money you owe me, you won't get your driver's license back.”

“I need that to drive,” she said.

“Somehow, I don't think you drive very much in this city.” I held out my hand, palm facing up. “Go on. Hand it over.”

She inhaled a breath, grabbed her license, and handed it to me.

“Let this be a lesson—” I looked down at her license. “Charlotte Campbell.”

I stood and stared at her as she turned and walked away.

She stood five feet six inches, with long, brown hair and cascading, soft waves that framed her face.

Her eyes were a mesmerizing shade of blue, full of tears and sadness.

But I imagined they sparkled when she was happy.

Her figure didn't go unnoticed, and my mind went wild with ideas on how to explore her body.

My phone pinged. Pulling it from my pocket, I had a text from Olivia, the babysitter I hired to watch Eloise tonight.

Hi, Mr. Cross. I'm sorry to do this, but I won't be able to babysit tonight. I think I have the flu or something. I feel awful.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! I was really looking forward to going out.

No problem. I hope you feel better soon. Thanks for letting me know.