The Renegade Billionaire: A Small Town Romance (Happiness Ever After Book 1)

“Okay, so he rented out two more rooms, and then something at work kept his friend from coming for over a week?” Savvy leans forward. This girl loves gossip more than anyone I know.

It’s our monthly DDD meeting. The Darlings of Disastrous Dating normally meet at the Chugaloo, but we’re in the den at the inn because I have to keep an eye on Pops and Braxton.

Every time I leave, they start a new project I haven’t been able to get to.

So far, they’ve patched holes in walls, stripped the wallpaper in the kitchen, installed new hardware in the sink, and I don’t even want to know what they were doing in the attic when I came home this afternoon.

“Yes, and the rooms just sat empty for two stinking weeks.” Taking a sip of the wine Braxton bought, I suppress a moan. It’s so good. “Apparently his dad went to some of Braxton’s VIP people at his company and told them that Braxton ran out on all his obligations, leaving the company dangling. So Greyson’s had to take meetings with everyone from board members to investors cleaning up the mess.”

“Jesus, are there any good parents left in this world?” Savvy mutters.

“Obviously there are.” I drag my finger through a line of condensation on my glass. “But we do seem to collect friends with crappy childhoods.”

“Maybe we should have named our group the Crappy Childhood Coalition, the CCCs, instead of the DDDs.” Elle giggles.

“And he wouldn’t allow you to refund the unused days?” Clover sits crisscross in an oversized chair with a giant fluffy blanket around her—the poor thing is perpetually cold.

“No, he said he’s taking up the room for an office and wants the other one available for his friend whenever he does show up. Trust me, it’s been an argument every time I bring it up.”

“Huh,” Savvy says, tapping her chin. “You know, I looked him up again.”

“Sav,” I groan. “You know how much I hate cyberstalking. It’s an invasion of privacy. Remember—remember what it did to me?”

If I could avoid the internet for the rest of my life, I would. I hate giving my past any power at all, but deep down, I know it’s part of the reason I’m so conflict-averse and maybe why I’m still single.

The frown line between Savvy’s brows slowly disappears. “I wasn’t doing it like that, Mads. I promise.”

“What did you find?” Elle asks.

“Elle!” I scold. She’s usually on my side when it comes to these things, but lately, she’s all over the place. If I asked her, she’d blame pregnancy hormones for it.

She shrugs and sits in front of the old air conditioning unit. Pregnancy is making her run so hot that her husband, Cian, bought her a bunch of personal-sized fans that she always forgets in her car. “It might not be a bad idea to make sure he isn’t a serial killer.”

“He’s not a serial killer.”

All of my friends stare at me with blank expressions.

“He’s not, okay? He’s…nice.”

“They thought Ted Bundy was too,” Clover says before taking a sip of her wine. “This is really, really good.”

“I didn’t find anything to suggest he’s a Bundy in hiding.” Savvy pulls out her phone. “There’s a lot of pictures from college. Some random life updates about a job in marketing right out of college, but no company name, then a lot of him volunteering at a dog shelter. Nothing about his family, but there are a lot of pictures of that Greyson guy and a little boy. And by the way, Greyson has an even smaller social media footprint, and none of them show a last name anywhere. Have you even asked him the name of his company?”

“No,” I admit. “It seems like a sensitive subject, and I don’t want to pry. And so what if they don’t have social media? They’re probably trust fund kids who prefer to keep a low profile.” Though something about that excuse doesn’t sit right with me. Braxton isn’t like any trust fund kid I’ve ever heard of.

“Maybe,” Savvy mutters.

Clover sets her empty glass back on the coffee table. “We should go dancing.” Her cheeks are the shade of pink that only happens when she’s had one too many glasses of wine. And by one too many, I mean one glass. She’s our lightweight, and I love her dearly. It’s because of her I’ve been saved from making a fool of myself more than once.

“I don’t think…”

“Madison?” Braxton asks with a soft knock on the pocket doors closing off the den.

“Come in,” Clover says, jumping to her feet.

The door slowly slides open to reveal the crooked smile that makes my entire body run hot. Braxton Mitchell is too handsome, too kind, too…everything.

“Ah, hey?” he says shyly, waving uncomfortably in the air at my friends. “Pops said you ladies need a ride to the Firefly.”

“Yes,” Clover says as Savvy grumbles something about eavesdropping that has Braxton’s face turning all shades of red.

“We don’t really⁠—”

“If we’ve got a designated driver, we might as well take advantage. Plus, when’s the last time you let everything go and just danced for a little while?” Elle levels me with a mischievous smirk. “Brax, did you know Madi loves to dance? Especially at bonfire parties. The hometown sweetheart can shake her ass like no other.”

“Just shoot me now. Seriously, right now would be great.” Groaning, I drop my face into my hands. “I’m not the hometown sweetheart, I can’t even match myself, for crying out loud.”

“Perhaps you just haven’t found the right partner.” Braxton’s tone drops to that dangerous level I’ve only heard directed at me, and it sets fire to the alcohol coursing through my system until I’m buzzing from head to toe. “But the dancing? Now that’s something I’d be happy to see.”

“Give us ten minutes to get dressed and we’ll meet you outside.” Savvy pulls me to standing and then drags me toward the stairs behind Elle, who waddles faster than I’ve seen her move in a while.

“You really don’t have to do this,” I tell him on my way by.

“Oh, Madison. I’m really looking forward to it. Trust me.” His gaze seems to drink me in, and I shiver.

“This is a mistake,” I hiss in Savvy’s ear.

“Why, because you’ll have fun? Because a very hot stranger is already giving you come-fuck-me eyes? Or because you know both of those things are true?”

Why don’t I just say no? It’s as though I’m allergic to that one little word, but I know I’m going dancing because I don’t want to disappoint my friends.

“Geez, Sav.” Clover slips into my room behind us. “You don’t have to put her on the spot. Let’s just go dancing and see what happens.” She hiccups, and it turns into a giggle fit that I adore.

Clover doesn’t laugh very often, and it always makes me sad—escaping a cult at fourteen and losing her best friend in the process broke her in ways I’m not sure she’ll ever recover from.

My friends raid my closet, not that anything I have will fit them. Elle has perfected the baby bump, and Cian made sure she had every outfit she would ever need. Savvy is tall and slender, where Clover and I are on the petite side.

Well, Clover’s too thin. The word frail has been used to describe her more than once. It’s as though all the weight she’s carried on her shoulders has taken her strength and she has nothing left for herself.

No matter how hard we try, we’ve never been able to get to the demons at her core. I fear there’s only one person who will ever be able to get through to her, and that’s her childhood friend, Valen. The one she sends letters to every week. And the one whose responses are seriously lacking.

“Put this on,” Savvy says, tossing me my favorite denim skirt with a pretty yellow flowy top.

In the corner, Clover is picking up my favorite sparkly cowgirl boots.

“I’m fine going in this.” I protest, pointing to my leggings and oversized T-shirt.

“No. Get dressed, and then we’ll do your hair.” Savvy’s using her do not mess with me tone, but I’ve had a full glass of wine and feel the rumble of my stubborn streak as it flares.

I’m about to ask what they’re going to wear when I realize that they’re all dressed as though the plan had been to hit up the Firefly all along.

“Am I the only one who missed the memo that we were going out tonight?” I lift my T-shirt over my head and replace it with the shirt Savvy threw at me.

“It’s Friday night,” Elle says with a shrug. “And it’s Cole Swindell night.”

“Plus, you’ve been wound so tight we’re afraid you’ll snap. Nothing settles your mind like dancing, so that’s what we’re doing.” Savvy makes one last sweep of my closet, and when she’s sure she’s picked the right outfit, she spins, lifts her sweatshirt over her head, and crosses her arms. She’s wearing a beautiful red tube top with cutoff shorts that make her legs look impossibly long.

Clover removes the blanket but tugs her cardigan close while buttoning it up to the top. Her skinny jeans stop at the ankles, and she’s wearing cute little tennis shoes. Elle sits on my bed, rubbing her belly through her tank top with one hand and waving a wrapper in the other.

“Where the heck did you find a Pop-Tart?” Her pregnancy is enough to make me hungry.

Elle smirks and holds up her bag. “Cian filled it up for me before I left.”

I’m pulling off my leggings when Clover grabs a front section of my hair and quickly twists it into a French braid that sits across the top of my head and disappears into the hair behind my ear. It’s her go-to style for me, and I love it.

Savvy squeezes my cheeks so hard my lips pucker, and she adds some gloss that I hate. I’ll have eaten it all off before we’re even to the Firefly, but if I know her, she’ll be chasing me down all night to reapply.

A quick coat of mascara and they’re ushering me out of my room, down the stairs, and out the front door. Pops is sitting on his porch swing, staring at Braxton.

“Don’t keep her out too late.” My grandfather chuckles.

“Pops, I’m a grown woman. I don’t need a keeper.”

He shrugs and looks up to the sky. He sits out here a lot when he’s missing my Grams.

“Are you okay, Pops?”

“Never been better, kiddo. Boy?” I have no idea why he doesn’t use Braxton’s name, but Braxton always answers.

“Yes, sir?”

“Don’t let that Harry Turd anywhere near our girl. You got it?”

“Our girl?” Savvy whispers while Clover and Elle pretend to swoon. Did Clover have more than one glass when I wasn’t looking?

“Pops, knock it off.” Turning to Braxton, I should be unnerved to find he’s already watching me—it’s become a stalkerish habit of his—but I can’t deny that I like the attention. “You really don’t have to do this. The high school runs a car service on a buddy system for locals on the weekends. It’s a way for the teenagers to make a little cash, and it keeps most people from drinking and driving.”

“Madison,” he drawls as though he were born and raised in the South.

“What?” I snap. I don’t like how he makes me feel sometimes.

Liar, liar, Madi. You don’t want to like how he makes you feel.

Ugh, that girl who sits inside my head urging me into bad decisions is seriously the worst.

While I’ve been playing mental gymnastics with myself, Braxton’s inched closer and the girls have entered the truck. Clover and Savvy sit in the back, and Elle is in the passenger seat.

“Get in the truck, Madison.”

Why don’t I despise that commanding tone of his?

“Why?” My voice cracks as I crane my neck to meet his intense gaze.

He smiles down at me with his dimples on full display and his hair falling messily over his forehead.

“Because if I don’t take you to the Firefly, Pops is going to have me sanding floors.” He holds up his right hand, then turns it to show me the back. His knuckles are all cut up with scabs forming.

“What in the…?” I spin on Pops, but Braxton catches my elbow and turns me back to him as if we’re already on the dance floor. My palms sprawl flat against his chest, and I gasp.

“Don’t yell at Pops. I enjoy spending time with him, and he’s teaching me stuff I’d never learn anywhere else. But my knuckles are sore as fuck, so I’d much rather watch you and your friends and make sure you get home safely than do anything else on his list tonight.”

“W-why are you doing all this?” My voice is a shadow of itself. It’s fear. Fear that I might catch feelings for this man. Fear that Pops already has. Fear that my heart pitter-patters in a way it hasn’t since I was a teenager whenever he touches me.

His left hand presses into my back, keeping me tightly against him, and he uses the finger of his right hand to trace the headband braid. “This looks nice,” he says quietly.

Then his gaze falls to mine, and my mind screams at me to pull away. We have an audience, for crying out loud, yet I don’t move. I’m stuck in his sphere, and I’m pretty sure if I stopped lying to myself, I might even love it.

Braxton chuckles before stepping back, as though he just realized the peanut gallery is taking us in.

I take a deep, cleansing breath.

“I’m doing it because I’ve never felt needed before,” Braxton says. “And apparently, helping is my superpower. I promise he isn’t getting me to do anything I’m not willing to do. Especially tonight.”

Helping might be his superpower, but so is his ability to get me to lose myself.

He opens the door, takes my hand, and helps me up into the cab, waiting patiently until I slide over the bench seat with my legs straddling the gearshift.

It’s the same as it was when I was a kid, except instead of Pops driving and Grams in the passenger side, it’s an enigma of a man and my pregnant best friend.

His door shuts with a crack in the night, and I jump. Pops waves as Braxton reaches over my thigh and shifts into reverse.

Our eyes catch for a flash of a moment when his forearm rests on my knee, and when I don’t pull away, he relaxes into the position and follows Elle’s directions to the only bar in town.

God help me and the rumor mill that’s about to tear up my life—again.

The scent of stale beer and French fries is oddly comforting when Savvy, Clover, Elle, and I enter the Firefly as we always do—arm in arm. But this time, it’s our shadow that has all the attention focused our way.

Braxton’s body heat warms me from behind, and because I barely reach his shoulders, I know everyone sees him standing guard over me.

“You ready for this, big guy?” Savvy taunts over her shoulder.

“You’ll soon find that very little rattles me anymore, Savvy.” His words hit the top of my head, and I swear his scent engulfs me.

“That so?”

“Savvy,” I hiss. “Leave him alone.”

My eyes close when I feel his warm lips at my ear. “You don’t have to protect me, sweetheart. I’ve got this.”

He steps back, and I blink wide. Dang it. What is it about this man that makes me lose all control of my body?

“Well, let’s see how you do tonight.” Savvy points to the bar along the back wall that faces the dance floor. “Why don’t you go take a seat and get us a round of Southern Mules?”

Braxton’s hand skims my lower back. “That good with you?” I swear he whispers the words to me, but that can’t be true—the music is already at full volume. I nod in answer, and he removes his hand. I almost fall back as though it were his touch holding me up.

I stand there for a long moment, watching his retreating back, and when I break whatever spell he has me under, I find my friends staring at me with impish grins.

Just then, the door behind them opens. My heart plummets when Harry enters, head down and avoiding eye contact as he makes his way to the corner.

If only he would use the shame he’s feeling now to make a change for the better instead of washing it away with copious amounts of alcohol, as I’m sure he’s about to do.

If he’d get sober, he could be so much better than he allows himself to be. The version of him I loved all those years ago, the boy who carried my backpack, the athlete who waited for me after practice to tell me I was doing great.

Somewhere along his path, he lost himself, but it’s no longer my job to fix him. He’s made his mess, and only he can fix it, so I do what I’ve trained myself to do over the last year—I turn my back on him.

“Let’s go, ladies.” Clover shimmies to a Cole Swindell song, completely oblivious to the internal war happening in my chest for a boy I once loved and the man I can no longer stand.

Savvy grabs my hand, which sets off a chain reaction as I grab ahold of Clover who grabs onto Elle, and we slide through the crowd to take up a spot in the center of the dance floor as all the patrons separate into four lines.

As soon as my boots hit the dance floor, my shoulders unwind and I get lost in the music—in the dances I’ve known for as long as I can remember.

With my arms swaying above me, my body falls in step with the music, and I let myself go. My worries get pushed out of my mind as I sway and twist and stomp and twirl.

At some point, I catch Braxton sandwiched between Clover and Elle at the bar. Elle sits in front of Cian, who has his giant arms wrapped around her middle, happiness swirling around them like a giant aura of love.

Braxton’s gaze follows my every move.

That knowledge turns a key deep in my chest that I thought I’d thrown away, and I move with a confidence I’ve been missing. It’s as if I’m dancing just for him, and something about that allows me to break free from the chains that have been holding me prisoner in my own life.

I trip over my feet, thankful when the woman next to me holds out an arm to keep me steady so I don’t fall on my face.

There’s something about Braxton Mitchell that opens me up, and I don’t know how I feel about that.

Dance, Madi, just dance. Deep thoughts on half a bottle of wine are never a good idea, so I dance.

The next time I make eye contact with him, Savvy is dancing in her chair next to Clover. They’re laughing and chatting, but Braxton’s oblivious to it all because his gaze is directed at me. Has he been staring at me this entire time? At least ten songs have played since the last time I looked his way.

He’s wearing a lazy smile on his face, but his expression is so intense, so heated, I swear I can feel the burn along my exposed skin.

This time when the song changes, I don’t look away. My body moves as if it’s laced with the song, but now I show him that I’m dancing for him, getting lost in how he reacts to me. It’s addicting. And it’s why I know the instant something’s wrong.

His face falls into hard lines, and his jaw clenches as he stands so suddenly, he nearly knocks Clover off her stool.

Then I feel the body behind me. The scent of old-man cologne makes me gag as my history threatens to invade the one night of freedom I’ve had in ages.

“Baby, you know what your moves do to me.” Harry’s wet, raspy words cause an involuntary shudder. Gone is the ashamed shell of a man who walked in here, and in his place is a man controlled by his demons.

I blink away tears that form from the reminder of his betrayal any time he gets this close, but I’m frozen to the spot, stuck in a memory that never fully releases me. Then Braxton is parting the sea of people and coming for me faster than a runaway train.

He reaches me just as Harry places a hand on my hip. Braxton’s gaze narrows with a possessiveness I’ve never experienced before. Has anyone ever looked at me the way he does?

“Harry,” he says as a curse. “Thanks for the truck.”

Before Harry can respond, Braxton’s arm slides around my back and he drags my body flush with his.

“May I have this dance?” he whispers against my neck, and my knees buckle, but I don’t fall—I have a feeling he’d never allow me to either.

“Hey,” Harry slurs. “Get your fucking hands off my girl.”

Braxton’s body stiffens beneath my fingers.

“It’s okay,” I whisper. “Just ignore him.”

“Is this how it is, Mads?” Harry slurs. “What are you going to do when he gets bored of this place, huh?”

I turn my head to glare at him, but all I can muster is sadness—sadness that I wasted so many years on this jerk. I hate that he can still make me freeze up and revert to that nineteen-year-old girl who hid from her life because of him, his choices, and the people he brought to my doorstep. He reaches for me, but Braxton is faster and moves me out of his reach.

“No, Harry, you’re not doing this to her tonight,” Braxton growls. With his hand cradling the back of my head, he holds my face to his chest while he angles his body away from my ex.

His heartbeat is strong and fast. I can’t see his expression, but I know he’s glaring at Harry. In my periphery, I see Savvy holding a beer bottle as though it’s a weapon at Harry’s side, and my entire body tenses.

My stomach waffles, swishing around all the alcohol, and I feel sick. I need to get out of here before Harry causes another scene.

Then Braxton’s palm slides down to my cheek and he tilts my face up, up, up until my gaze meets his. “Savvy has it handled. Whatever that jackass did to you, it’s in the past. He can’t hurt you now unless you allow him to. Stay here, with me, in this dance. That’s all that matters right now.”

When Braxton Mitchell stares at me this way, the rest of the world falls away, and I have no doubt I’m heading toward a heartbreak I may never recover from. Because as much as Harry hurt me, I never felt as safe with him as I do with this near stranger.

And I don’t think there’s enough Kevlar in the world to safeguard my heart—not when it starts beating after such a long hibernation the second I’m held in Braxton’s strong arms as though I matter.