Too Sweet: A grumpy/sunshine, billionaire romance, page 1
Copyright © 2024 by Abby Knox
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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is coincidental.
Edited by Aquila Editing
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too sweet
A grumpy/sunshine, billionaire romance
little spoon
book one
Abby Knox
contents
Too Sweet
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
More by Abby Knox
About the Author
too sweet
Carter
I'm not a guy who lets his emotions guide his decisions. But one look at the ray of sunshine called Summer, and it takes every ounce of resolve not to haul her over my shoulder and carry her away toward the life she deserves. Summer's effect on me is as sweet and instant as a milkshake brain freeze. If she and her sister insist on pitching their fro yo business to my twin Cooper and me, they can save their breath. Making their dreams come true is a foregone conclusion.
Summer
I never thought I would have to flirt to make my business dreams come true. It goes against my principles. But if my sister Harmony and I don't get the funding we need, our goal of opening a gourmet frozen yogurt shop in our small town will never see the light of day. The billionaire brothers are our last chance. The outgoing Cooper seems on board, but the grumpy, brooding Carter comes with a hard shell that's tough to crack. But I'm certain he's sweet as sugar just under the surface, and I'm down to do whatever I have to do.
chapter
one
Carter
This business expo is humming with hopeful faces and bright ideas—and most of these ideas will send folks into bankruptcy in a hot minute.
A restaurant boasting a zero-carb menu? The stuff of nightmares.
A horror-movie-themed mini golf course? I love horror, but good luck with the licensing for that.
An app that uses AI to break up with people so you don’t have to have a real conversation? Success!—in making me hate humans even more than I already do.
“I don’t know why I let you talk me into these things,” I grumble.
My twin brother, Cooper, doesn’t hear me complaining. He’s too busy working the room.
One of the last things I wanted to do on a sunny Saturday morning was drive downtown, pay for parking, and sit behind a booth with my extroverted twin brother in a crowded ballroom.
Even lower on that list would be to give people false hope to achieve their cockamamie dreams. I don’t have the personality to let people down easy.
“Sitting behind the booth” is a bit of a misnomer for what we do. I’m the one sitting behind the booth trying not to make eye contact with anyone. Cooper is quickly becoming the “mayor” of Entrepreneurial Expo 2024.
Cooper is out there shaking hands and making introductions and generally being the perfectly mannered, perfectly coiffed pain in the ass that he is.
“And what would you rather be doing? Sitting at home and counting our inheritance, Scrooge McDuck?” Cooper asks without eye contact, scanning the crowd for—who knows? The most inspiring backstory?
He finally turns when he hears my not-so-subtle harrumph. My older-by-seven-minutes twin stares back at me, radiating confidence and coolness. He may look exactly like me to the untrained eye, but he couldn’t be more different. He’s approachable, gregarious, and ready for anything. I’m…not that.
I reply, “I’d much rather be at home, sitting by the pool with my laptop, setting up an actual budget for our investment firm before you go jumping into uncharted waters.”
He barks a laugh, pointing at me. “I knew it! You do love the new swimming pool.”
I sigh in resignation, which he can’t hear over the din.
When our great-aunt Gabriella passed away, she had no immediate heirs to her fortune. Unbeknownst to Cooper and me, Aunt Gabby had named us sole beneficiaries in her will. In light of our parents’ passing while we were still in college, such a generous inheritance seemed fitting to Aunt Gabby. We never expected a hand out from her — not this big of a handout, anyway.
As long as Cooper and I had known Aunt Gabby, she was always busy doing something, yet never spent a full day at the office. She was out there trying new things. Parasailing, BASE jumping, trying out for challenge reality shows, taking tap dance lessons.
Her funeral saw thousands of people lining up to mourn her passing as a result of a mountain climbing accident, but it turned into a celebration of her extraordinary life. She never married, had no children, but she took many young people under her wing that Cooper and I agreed on one thing: to carry on her legacy of being a friend and mentor to many, we would set up an investment firm to help budding entrepreneurs achieve their dreams.
When I started combing through her assets, I understood how she funded her lifestyle. She had partial ownership in a casino, a share in multiple professional sports teams, sat on the boards of several international broadcast networks, owned a dozen rental properties in the Hamptons, and invested in several luxury car dealerships. That list is only her most prestigious holdings. The woman collected commercial property in Vegas, New York, LA, and a dozen other major cities like some people collect stamps.
And now, all of these assets belong to Cooper and me.
The windfall arrived like a hurricane. One day we weren’t sure how we would finish paying off our student loans. The next day, we were billionaires.
And it could not have come at a better time. Since we graduated college—me with a degree in accounting and Cooper with a degree in disc golf—Aunt Gabby rented out one of her apartments to us at a reduced rate in exchange for upkeep and maintenance.
Accounting nerd that I am, I immediately set limits on our spending in exchange for managing our newfound wealth. I allowed each of us one major splurge.
Cooper chose to build the pool, which I said at the time was unwise and a money pit.
My splurge was to pay for my college buddies to hike the Appalachian Trail with me in style—all top-of-the-line equipment and all expenses paid. Cooper had scoffed at this idea as much as I’d scoffed at his pool idea. But I have to admit—coming home to a luxurious patio, pool house, and a custom saltwater pool after months of shitting in the woods and bathing in creeks was pretty sweet.
“Are you ever going to stop mocking me for changing my mind about the pool?” I ask.
“No. I rarely get that great of an idea.”
My twin brother exaggerates. Cooper often has great ideas. Nine times out of ten, I don’t regret it when he drags me out of the house. Today is the exception.
I consider pointing this out when an animated female voice calls out from the bustling crowd and has people moving out of the way with confused expressions. “Excuse me!”
The commanding voice comes from a short brunette dressed like a go-go dancer, barreling through the glut of people in power suits. Even more odd, she tugs behind her a giant ice chest.
The woman’s glittery midriff top and booty shorts suck the air out of my lungs. She’s the kind of woman I never talk to because why bother?
This one is funny, and I can’t take my eyes off her. I almost crack a smile while watching this tiny, fiery woman annoy and bewilder everyone around her.
“Make way, people!” she shouts, nearly running over an overly important-looking dude in an Armani suit. “Our supplies arrived late and traffic was a nightmare.”
A second woman, huffing and puffing, calls out next, “Summer, do you even know where we’re going?”
Summer. Of course her name is Summer. My least favorite season. It’s sweaty, clingy, and too much. Summer doesn’t look like any of those things. Although staring at her does sort of feel like staring at the sun during an eclipse. I know it means danger, but I can’t look away.
“I think it’s this way, Harmony!” Summer replies, winding her way through the crush of people.
Harmony, it turns out, is wearing a similar outfit but with black tights under the booty shorts and a long blazer covering up the gold bustier. She’s less sure of herself in heels as she trundles grocery bags weighed down with who knows what.
“Bottle girl, wait! I can’t run in these things!”
&nbs
Suddenly, Summer stops in her tracks.
Harmony bumps into her and shrieks, “What are you doing?”
The first one doesn’t answer her friend. She squints at me, eyes me up and down, and arches an approving eyebrow.
“Come see me at table ten,” she says. Summer pulls a business card out of the bra of her bustier, and hands it to me.
Her finger brushes against mine, warm and soft.
The inexplicable growl comes out of me as a grunt.
“Cat got your tongue?” Summer asks, tilting her head.
“Summer! Focus!”
“I’m networking,” she says to her friend, not taking her eyes off me. I don’t know where Cooper went, but I’m glad he’s not here to see me crash and burn at flirting.
“Interesting outfit,” I say, letting my eyes flit down to her bare, tanned midsection.
I don’t say, “I’d love to see less of it,” or something Cooper might say with just enough of a smile to charm people instead of getting him slapped with a lawsuit.
I try to smile but only manage a grimace.
Her smile fades. “Thanks…I think?”
“Summer!”
“Here, let me help you.” This comes from Cooper, who’s taken it upon himself to grab the loaded bags of supplies out of the other one’s arms.
“That’s not necessary,” mutters the woman he’s helping, but there’s no stopping Cooper.
Summer says, “I gotta go. See you around.” The cute shrug of her shoulder as she walks away has me hypnotized.
“Where are you ladies from?” Cooper asks, keeping pace with the one in the blazer and tights.
“No time for small talk,” I hear Summer say as they walk away. “We gotta set up fast. Cocktail hour is about to start, and after that, there won’t be any point in handing out free booze.”
Free booze? Does that have something to do with the “bottle girl” thing, or are they at the wrong event?
Almost immediately, the men begin lining up at booth Number 10, and the women haven’t finished setting up. Cooper moves around their table, helping unpack as if he knows what he’s doing.
Part of me is relieved he’s there, placing himself between the girls and the dudes lining up to stare at those women.
The looks on some of their faces set my teeth on edge. The women, and Cooper, are oblivious.
But I can’t abandon our booth. Can I?
Aw, to hell with it.
Before I know what’s come over me, I’m out of the booth and headed toward Table Number 10 in the corner.
I don’t know what I’ll say when I get there. I don’t have a plan, and that scares me. This is not how I behave. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I can’t let Summer out of my sight.
chapter
two
Summer
“I don’t know how I let you talk me into these things,” Harmony mutters as we set up our booth an hour later than when we were supposed to start.
I’ve explained how this works a dozen times to my sister, but I remind myself that she needs extra patience. So I don’t respond to her complaining and instead think about how frazzled I am in the moment.
“Excuse me, I need to get around you.” It was nice of the cute guy’s brother—or twin, maybe—to haul some of our supplies through the expo hall for us, but now the lumbering dude is getting in the way. I’m unsure why he’s still hanging around, gaping at us. Or at Harmony, specifically.
Never mind that. I have cups to fill with frozen treats and sprinkles to…sprinkle. And the lineup in front of our booth is ten people deep.
We’re so far behind, but hopefully, once the masses taste our product, the rest of this event will be smooth sailing.
“Sorry, I’ll get out of your way.”
“Thanks for your help,” I say, shooting him a smile, wishing he was his brother, the one I flirted with earlier.
I shoot Harmony a look that reminds her to be polite and say thank you, but she’s barely making eye contact with anyone. Instead, her face is crimson, and she’s elbow-deep in the ice chest, helping me.
People are getting restless. I can’t focus on her being rude right now.
Scoop, sprinkle. Scoop, sprinkle. Ignore the comments. Smile and say hello and try to compensate for Harmony’s sour puss.
I’m so flustered about being late that I’m not paying attention to what I’m doing, and I end up accidentally mixing up the mojito flavor with the Paloma.
One potential investor, boasting a famous New York investment firm on his lanyard, tastes a sample and comments, “Interesting choice to mix grapefruit and mint.”
Right. He doesn’t find the flavor interesting at all. He means it’s terrible.
The man tosses the sample in the trash bin and leans in too close to me. “So, where are you girls from?”
“Oh,” Harmony pipes up. “It’s a small town not far from here called I’ll Kick Your Ass If You Call Me Girl Again. You’d hate it.”
I squeeze my eyes shut as the guy walks away, probably with an assload of cash the likes of which Harmony and I have never seen in our lives.
Sigh.
“Harmony, you can’t say stuff like that,” I scold my sister.
“Sorry, I’m just not impressed with the caliber of people here today.”
“Are you kidding me? The MacKenzie heirs have come out of the woodwork for this thing. Can you believe how adorable they are?”
“Meh.”
Harmony is still jaded from her last relationship, so she thinks all men are suspected of high crimes until proven otherwise. So, I let it go.
I’m so distracted by the rush of people waiting while I assemble samples of bourbon frozen yogurt with apple crumbles on top that I lose my balance in my stiletto heels and twist my left ankle.
“Ow!”
Harmony grabs my arm, preventing me from going down. “Are you okay?”
I shake it off as the pain jolts up my leg. “I’m fine.”
She sees me wince and gasps, “You can’t even put weight on it!”
“Yes I can,” I lie. “Ow, ow, ow.” I sit in the chair she shoves toward me, and I massage my ankle. “Or I will be able to put weight on it, just as soon as someone gets me an ibuprofen.”
Harmony shakes her head. “That’s a bad omen. I told you this was a bad idea.”
“Stop being such an Eeyore.”
I ignore pessimism most of the time. Harmony didn’t used to be like this. Ever since that loser ex-fiancé cheated on her two years ago, she lost all interest in going out and meeting people.
Well, I haven’t had an easy time of it either. I hold my chin high and smile through life because I like to stay positive. And if I’m going to be the one pulling this train to make our dreams of opening our own frozen yogurt shop come true, then I’ll do it.
To perk Harmony up enough to shower this morning, I bought her favorite shower steamer and corresponding scented candle.
She almost bailed when I showed her the outfits we’d be wearing, which I’d “borrowed” from the club where I work.
When she correctly pointed out these outfits were not business-like and made us look like a sex kitten pop duo, I explained the situation, just like I’m doing now. Again. For the tenth time.
“I’m not being an Eeyore. I’m being realistic. You can’t wear stilettos and hot pants to a business event. It’s tacky, and now it’s backfired,” Harmony says.
I fire back, smiling through the pain as I rub my ankle. “I told you. There’s one surefire way to attract the attention of a potential finance bro. Dress like a bottle girl and get them drunk,” I tell her.
“Did you read that in Forbes?” Harmony mutters, plopping samples of Triple Sec dreamsicle on the table.
“The worst that could happen is someone doesn’t like our product and isn’t interested,” I say, recovering enough to get back to work, scooping out a bowl of Absolut Peach cinnamon and topping it with a tablespoon of homemade cobbler. I hover over the ice chest as I stand on one foot, trying not to put weight on the other.
A masculine voice stands out from the crowd behind me. “I’m interested.”
