Gambling with the Billionaire: Gems of Love, #2

By Agnes Canestri

Brains vs. Heart: A Hilarious Showdown for Love's Crown                   

Meet Ryan, the mega-rich, cool-headed businessman who's always believed in keeping emotions on the back burner. That is, until he crosses paths with the vivacious and wonderfully unconventional Bianca at Sapphire, the hottest jazz spot in town. Suddenly, his meticulously calculated life starts to waver, and he realizes that there's more than just profit to be gained.

 

Bianca, the passionate manager of Sapphire, lives by the mantra of embracing emotions and cherishing her work. But when the formidable tycoon Ryan sets his sights on taking over her beloved jazz haven, Bianca concocts a daring scheme to safeguard what she holds dear. Amid delectable Italian cuisine and the golden melodies of jazz, they uncover a connection that threatens to rewrite the entire script of their lives.

 

Can Ryan and Bianca give their hearts a cheeky encore performance and discover a love that defies any predefined menu?

 

This sweet love adventure of Gambling with the Billionaire is a whirlwind of risks, sizzles, and spontaneous flair. It's a reminder that life orchestrates the most beautiful melodies when you find the perfect rhythm. Immerse yourself in this funky love story set to the swing of life!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Agnes Canestri
• Release date: Dec 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9783949202162

Book preview

Chapter One

(Bianca)

My fingers clamped onto the steering wheel of my Mini Cooper, a burst of determination surging within me. Today, of all days, being tardy to the restaurant was out of the question.

Should've hit the road sooner, but no, I had to mop up the chaos my cat left behind—my living room turned into a pillow-pocalypse, feathers everywhere! Sighing, I pressed the gas pedal, the cabriolet roaring like a banshee in pain. Guess I'd need a mechanic sooner or later. My vintage car had never howled like that before, despite its age.

Shifted gears and the growls softened. I slouched into my seat, a sigh of relief escaping my lips. Maybe it’s just a false alarm. It better be. Not the perfect time for car repair bills. Who knew how today's meeting would unfold?

Nah, let's kick those thoughts out. Stefano, my boss and the restaurant owner, had my back. He had to. I transformed his little trattoria into the swankiest jazz joint around. Surely the buyer would see my value, retain me, and recognize The Sapphire for the gem it was?

Anxiety squeezed my heart. But what if he didn't? The billionaire Ryan O’Connor didn't strike me as an artsy type. Nope, the whispers had it—profit over pleasure was his jam. And The Sapphire's bankroll hadn't hit jackpot territory, not yet anyway.

Shake off the speculative demons, I reminded myself. I flicked on the CD player, Que Sera Sera weaving its melodies. Songs, my sanctuary, just like the sea was for my brother. An old piece of advice he used to hand out. And maybe he was right. Without the right groove, I wouldn't stand a chance at impressing Mr. O’Connor.

Cruising down Reagan Street, the railway track materialized ahead, my heart plummeting. Oh, crud! The nine o'clock locomotive. Boom gates were inching down already. Blame it on my cat, for real. Maybe a shortcut through the rear entrance after the tracks cleared?

I pulled up to the crossing, popped my car roof, sunlight bathing my cheeks with a surprising warmth. I also pumped up the volume a tad.

Doris Day's sweet voice coaxed the tension from my neck, a grin cracking my lips. I shut my eyes, lost in the music.

Hey! Hee-eee-y, lady!

Wait, what? My spine snapped upright, eyelids flying open. Someone was calling me? A silver Tesla had glided next to me, as stealthy as a ninja. Whoa, these electric cars were sneaky. Nothing like my rusty ol' companion.

A guy in a grey suit, his face—strong eyebrows, nose—a dead ringer for Dean Martin. But perhaps I needed to stop sizing everyone up against my favorite crooners. It was getting ridiculous.

I eyed the Tesla's owner. Clearly not a Rocky Harbor native, probably lost and in need of directions. Reason enough for his wild semaphore dance.

Lowering the volume, I flashed a friendly smile. Need a hand?

His masculine jaw clenched, eyes narrowing.

Oh, mama, even without the retro connection, this dude was a head-turner. A full-on heartthrob.

Seriously? he muttered, rolling up his window.

My confusion escalated. Seriously…what? I gave him a 'please open your window' gesture.

The window rolled down again, his tone flat. What now?

What an oddball. Just thought you needed directions. You were waving like you're lost.

The man shook his head, his dark eyes icy. You already helped me.

Huh? His arrogance was off-putting. Did I miss something? I'm pretty sure you didn't ask for any help.

I was on a critical call, and your car's noise was killing it.

Noise? My eyes darted to the ignition. Engine off, radio at a low murmur. Wait... did he mean...?

Are you referring to my music as 'noise'? I queried, a sprinkle of disbelief seasoning my tone.

A twitch played on his lips. Indeed. I couldn't even hear my thoughts over the din.

My indignation swelled, nostrils flaring. Let's hope Mr. O’Connor was more appreciative of vintage flair. Well, perhaps your swanky Tesla's noise isolation needs an upgrade. My music's not that loud.

His jaw fell, the man appearing genuinely astonished.

Maybe I overreacted? Blame it on pre-meeting jitters; the song might've been a tad exuberant.

He raised an eyebrow. Be that as it may, mind turning it down?Important call here.

A jolt tightened my gut. My body had an irritating knack for reacting to jerks. A skill I lacked when it came to picking my own relationships though. Absolutely, enjoy your oh-so-crucial call. But you know what they say? A man who doesn't love music is just living half a life.

His brows knitted. Yep, he could give Dean a run for his money.

Did you just insult me? he asked, his voice dipped in incredulity.

Of course not. I merely suggested musical impairment might be part of your make. You know, an unenlightened soul with a severe case of tone-deafness.

He pointed to his chest. As luck would have it, I adore music. Just not your choice. I’m not a fan of oldies. And definitely not when I'm taking a business call.

Fine by me, I brushed off, signaling an end to the convo.

He shot a cocky smirk before sealing his window.

As if the cosmos were in on my plan, the siren blared and the intercity train thundered past, rattling everything in its wake.

I glanced over with a satisfied smirk.

The stranger's face twisted into a mix of anger and frustration, his hand pounding the steering wheel.

I let out a wicked chuckle.

Got you, Mr. Music-Hater.

Our eyes locked, his lips quirking into a half-grin.

Guess he wasn't a total killjoy. That's a win.

Shifting gears, the boom gates rose. Okay, time for me to hit my shortcut. I put my car into gear and rolled forward, turning onto a dirt road. Its condition was far from ideal, but it was the shortest route and I could save at least five minutes if my car cooperated. 

A glance in the rearview mirror revealed the silver Tesla heading for the highway. Good riddance! I was done with Mr. Smarty Suit and his snazzy wheels.

My mind refocused on the showdown I’d soon face while letting the smug guy and his fancy car drift into the background. Time to tackle that shark O’Connor and save my Sapphire.

Chapter Two

(Ryan)

Shaking my head, I guided my car onto the highway. That railway crossing ordeal? Probably the most bizarre pit stop I've ever had.

Couldn't help but smirk at the memory of the lady with the vintage ride. Sure, her taste in tunes might be suspect, but somehow, that fifties-vibe suited her. Maybe it was those dreamy, huge green eyes of hers.

And then, like clockwork, my phone chimed in. Gotta be Helga, eager to loop me in on the rest of that conference call.

Slipping on my headset, I tapped the reply button. Yeah, Helga?

Mr. O’Connor, you managed to beat the pesky train? My secretary’s voice buzzed through the line.

Pesky? That five-minute musical interruption was far from pesky, even if it meant I missed out on the grand finale of the Lewis case.

For a moment, that curly-haired stranger popped into my thoughts. That smile of hers...

Still on, Mr. O’Connor?

My fingers rubbed my temple, my GPS showing I was gonna be late for the meeting. Yeah, I missed my exit. Running late for The Sapphire.

Rustling paper, then Helga's voice returned. Need me to drop a heads-up call to the owner?

Nah, forget it. I'll get there before you can even dial. But tell me, how'd the negotiation play out?

All on target, Mr. O’Connor. Jeremy wrapped it up smoothly. Just as you predicted.

A relieved breath escaped me. Bringing Jeremy into the loop had paid off. That kid's got potential, even if he's fresh out of college. There's something about that youthful enthusiasm that experience just can't replace. Heck, that's how I built this empire, didn't I?

Great stuff. Maybe next time I'll let Jeremy loose on Rocky Harbor, I replied.

Silence on the line, followed by what sounded like a snort.

Helga?

Sorry, Mr. O'Connor. It's just a little hard to wrap my head around. You could've thrown this case to any of the seasoned managers, but here you are, doing it yourself. Not that it's a bad call, of course.

My brows quirked up. What was Helga getting at? I was only here because my regular meeting with Dad overlapped with this one. It's not like I had a special fondness for this restaurant. Helga, I'm not sure where you're going with this.

She cleared her throat, her voice taking on that knowing tone. It's just... well, it's your city, your roots, Mr. O’Connor. Bright Future's expansion so close to your old stomping ground.

My spine stiffened. Helga's off the mark. Nothing to do with nostalgia here.

Rocky Harbor's just another business decision. The Welles Brothers were bugging me for a suitable spot for their chain. That's all. My voice held a smidge too much emotion. Would Helga notice? She'd been my right hand for years.

I get it, sir. But maybe, just maybe, you're second-guessing it. This isn't just any town. It's where you grew up. And morphing a local spot into a cookie-cutter fast-food joint, especially when it's practically in your old man's backyard, that's a pretty big deal.

But hey, let's be real, it's a deal that comes with a hefty paycheck. Yeah, The Sapphire's gotta fade into the background. Weird name for an Italian place anyway. Something like At Gianni sounds way classier.

And as for getting it done in a jiffy? That's my strategy. My team's got smarts, but they're not seasoned enough for the kind of negotiations I was about to tackle.

And while we're on the topic, why does Helga have to play the conscience card? It's not like I was wearing my emotions on my sleeve here. This is strictly business, no strings attached.

Trust me, my dad is not reviewing restaurants, I retorted.

Helga made that noise people make when they're not loving the TV show then asked, Has Rocky Harbor seen some changes since your last visit?

The image of the woman at the railway crossing flashed through my mind. Yeah, it’s possible, I murmured. 

Sure, the town's got more to offer than I remember. But let's not mistake charm for a jackpot. This is about the bottom line, not heartstrings.

Besides, let’s not forget the hard lessons life's taught me: emotions don't pay the bills.

My GPS pinged two minutes till arrival.

Sounds like you're almost there, sir. Oh, and Miss Jenna called. She wants to know if you’ll grace her debut performance with your presence.

My secretary’s voice—icy, as always when Jenna's the topic. A shame, really. Helga's practically the closest thing to a mother since my own passed away.

What'd you tell Jenna?

What I do whenever you're away. That you'll try your best.

Good. I'll visit Dad this weekend, but Sunday, I'm heading back. Get a bouquet and some jewelry for Jenna. Big day for her.

Another suppressed snort. Sure thing, Mr. O’Connor. But she's on stage for, like, two minutes? Jewelry for that?

Yup, bracelet or a watch. She would expect that.

Uh-huh. I don’t doubt she would. Sarcasm dripped from Helga's voice like honey off a spoon.

So, Helga and my dad both think Jenna's a gold digger. Were they right? Was she with me for my wealth?

Nah, I didn't buy it. Jenna deserved the occasional spoil, and me supporting her career. That's what having a few extra zeros in your account was all about—making your loved ones smile.

Cutting it short, Helga. Almost there. Get things set for Sunday. I'll call when I've got the arrival nailed.

Roger that, sir. Knock 'em dead at the meeting. And give your father my regards.

And with that, the line went quiet.

Following my GPS's lead, I made the instructed turn, and there it was, The Sapphire, right in front of me.

Well, slap my sides and call me astonished, this joint looked better in person. The birch trees surrounding the place, the patio draped in grapevines, gave off cozy romance vibes.

I pictured the Welles Brothers' square-and-dull design. Oh, that's changing, no doubt. Not my headache though. Welles boys know what they're doing. Those guys knew how to rake in the foot traffic, and Stefano Celli, The Sapphire's owner, would be probably rubbing his hands with glee.

A confident grin spread across my face. Yes, this would be one of my leading arguments, for sure.

I pulled into the lot, and killed the engine.

As I stepped out of the Tesla and locked eyes with the car beside me, my jaw took a nosedive. What in the world…?

A red Mini Cooper.

Could it be? Same car? Seriously, how many retro convertibles rock that ripe-cherry hue?

I smoothed my suit and inhaled.

This meeting? About to get very interesting.

Chapter Three

(Bianca)

B ianca, do I need to repeat myself for the umpteenth time? The Sapphire needs this. I need this. Stefano's fingers rubbed his beard in frustration.

Oh, you mean Deborah needs this, right? I couldn't help the touch of bitterness that crept into my voice.

Let's be real, if it wasn't for Stefano's daughter throwing a fit, The Sapphire wouldn't even be up for grabs. Why did Deborah have to demand such a grand sacrifice from her poor old dad? Couldn't she see he was practically giving away his life's work just to indulge her latest whim?

Stefano's left eye twitched, his jaw clenched.

I shrugged it off. I'm sorry, Ste. I know it's your restaurant. I shouldn't question your decision.

A hint of softness returned to Stefano's face. No, Bianca. I get it. You've poured your heart and soul into this place, turned it into the gem it is now. I've said it before, and I'll say it again – you've done an amazing job. But you see, my family has to come first.

I still think Deborah's asking for too much. She's barely been married for a hot minute. Lots of newlyweds live in shoebox apartments. Why does she need a freaking ranch? She and Ronnie can't even keep a houseplant alive.

Stefano shook his head. "No, but they want to learn, and the grandchildren...