The Billionaire's Matchmaker(57)

2614 South Timberline Road

Suite 109

Fort Collins, CO 80525

Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

Edited by Shannon Godwin and Libby Murphy

Cover design by Libby Murphy

Ebook ISBN 978-1-62266-217-3

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition October 2013

The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Phantom of the Opera





Chapter One



“You could at least look guilty.”

Jenny Travolini scowled her best glare, the one that usually made even the wisest of high school asses think twice. Big brown eyes and a tongue-lolling grin looked back.

No remorse whatsoever.

“Let’s hope your owner has a bigger conscience.”

Fat chance, seeing how Nicholas Bonaparte left his dog in the care of strangers for nearly a year. Nine months since the mysterious “Mr. B.” dropped Charlie into the lap of her friend Gabby Wilson without a word. Until yesterday, when an email announced his return. What kind of man adopted a pet only to ignore its existence?

A man who didn’t care, that’s who. With that thought, Jenny’s annoyance with the Jack Russell softened. “You were just looking for love, weren’t you fella?” Who was she to lay blame for him trying to find comfort any way he could? After all, people in glass houses…

Squatting, she gave the dog a scratch behind the ears. “Unfortunately, now it’s time to face the consequences.”

Because, she thought ruefully, there were always consequences. Warm beds turned cold, promises made in the dark proved empty, in the harsh light of day. Charlie nudged her hand seeking more attention. The little pooch didn’t realize his good fortune. Forgetting his mistakes as quickly as he made them, a fresh start for him was a simple as taking a nap. No need to pull up stakes and reinvent himself in order to face his reflection every morning.

Just then the door opened, and she found herself staring at a man whose scowl could best hers.

“You’ve come back,” he said, looking down on her and Charlie. His unenthusiastic reception didn’t faze the dog, who greeted him like old friend, barking and tugging on his leash.

“And you,” he said, turning his attention to Jenny, “are not Ms. Wilson.”

Jenny pushed aside the upwelling of insecurity his tone provoked. Rising, she wiped her palms on the front of her khaki skirt before extending her hand. “I’m Jenny Travolini,” she replied. “I volunteered to watch Charlie while Gabby settled in after her honeymoon.” No need mentioning the two previous volunteers were also settling in following their weddings. Somehow she doubted the man cared about the chain of love and marriage that brought Charlie to her doorstep. “Is Mr. Bonaparte available? I’d like to speak with him.”

“Mr. Bonaparte is a very busy man. He doesn’t meet with anyone without an appointment.”

How much did she want to bet those appointments weren’t so easy to get? “I promise this will only take a few minutes.”

She didn’t think it possible, but the man’s scowl grew more humorless. “As I said, Mr. Bonaparte does not meet with unscheduled visitors. I’ll let him know you brought St. Clair Osgood Charles back.” He reached for the leash.

Jenny moved the leash out of his reach. She had a bad feeling that if she relinquished custody, she’d never get an appointment to see the man, and since Nicholas Bonaparte’s carelessness was going to cost her a small fortune—at least it was a fortune to her—she wasn’t backing down without trying. “I am a scheduled visitor, aren’t I? Mr. Bonaparte did ask me to bring Charlie back.” Okay, technically, he asked Gabby, and he didn’t specify a date and time, but surely her arrival wasn’t completely unexpected.

A few bark-filled beats passed. Long enough for the hair to start rising on the back of her neck. Still, she held her ground. She was, after all, a high school teacher. One, if her students were to be believed, capable of being a humorless bitch. Surely she could handle a Mexican standoff.

To her vast relief, the butler blinked first. “Very well, I’ll see if he can squeeze you in. You can wait in the foyer.” He punctuated the words with a sigh, as though to say she hadn’t won so much as he was doing her a favor.

Either way, Jenny was inside the Bonaparte mansion.

The “foyer” as the butler called it, was a space the size of Jenny’s living room. As she surveyed the room’s looming collection of marble sculptures and antiques, Jenny couldn’t help but think of winter. Even the air felt colder. Goose bumps trailed up her sweater-covered arms. Meanwhile, Charlie was desperate to get free. “Being home doesn’t mean you’re off the hook,” she said, as she unhooked his leash. “Someone still has to pay for your indiscretion.” She swore Charlie grinned at her right before digging at the thick maroon carpet, the room’s lone contribution to color.

Being surrounded by opulence made her feel self-conscious, so while Charlie waged his war on the carpet, she made her way to a large gilt mirror that hung on the sidewall. For the first time since moving to Chandler’s Cove, she regretted her newly adapted disinterest in her appearance. Back in Chicago she wouldn’t be caught dead without full makeup. Now, her straight blond hair hung lifelessly around her face and her makeup, if you could call the little concealer and blush she wore that, had long worn off.