Law #1: Never Bet on Love: A Sweet Billionaire Love Story (Laws of Love) by Agnes Canestri (the beginning after the end novel read .TXT) 📗

purple, a male baritone startles me. Its playful but self-assured cadence makes the small hairs on my neck rise at once.

“If you aren’t a sight for sore eyes among these flowers.”

I jump up and whip around. When I see who interrupted me, a bewildered gasp leaves my lips, and my jaw almost lands on the ground.

What in Pete’s name is Nathan doing in Cathy’s shop?

Nathan stands a few feet away from me. One hand is hooked in the pocket of his black jeans while, with the other, he does a relaxed two-finger wave as our glances cross. His hot-boy gesture and his delightfully tousled hair make him look like the male protagonist from one of those romance books Abuelita swears she never reads but I know she hides in her nightstand.

The tall, dark, handsome stranger who appears and sweeps the heroine off her feet.

No, no, this is all wrong! Nobody is sweeping anything anywhere. Why do I have to conjure such rubbish? I kick myself inwardly about my roving mind.

“Nathan,” I say, hoping that moving my mouth will help to fire up some much needed neuronal connections. “Funny bumping into each other here. I’ve never seen you in Cathy’s shop before.”

Stating the obvious isn’t the best way to hide my embarrassment, but since nothing else comes into my deserted brain, I’ll just have to roll with it.

Nathan’s lips curl up. “That’s because I’ve never been here before.”

“Oh? Then what are you doing here? Need flowers? Cathy’s got some amazing ones.”

Stop, blabbering. Just stop.

“Nope.” His smile doesn’t waver. “I was looking for you.”

My eyes widen and my cheeks warm up so much that I feel like fanning myself with both hands. Dang it, his words have spoiled my chances of coming across as cool and composed. Surely enough, my voice comes out as a high-pitched squeak. “For me? Why?”

Nathan shrugs. “Because. I wanted to see you.”

Now that’s a cool way of saying something. His tone is so even and natural, as if he’s just stated that the grass is green. Even if his phrase should be embarrassing for him. After all, I was the one who shut the door on him last time we met. Still, it’s my pulse that picks up speed.

I fold my arms in front of my chest. “How did you know I was here? Don’t tell me you purchased a sapphire tiara or a ruby necklace and then used them as an excuse to track me down?”

Nathan chuckles and takes two steps forward. “No, not today. I went back to your house, actually.”

“You went back to my house, actually?” I’m all too aware of echoing him word for word like a moron. But I’m trying to figure out what I should think, and repeating his phrase grants me some time.

For now, I’m leaning toward the explanation that Nathan is an extremely stubborn womanizer who needs to succeed with whomever he decides. Him driving to my place should make me wonder whether he is a stalker. Instead, it sends an odd giddiness into my stomach.

“Yes. That’s what I said.” He grins. “I’d have called you to see if you were at home first, but you didn’t give me your phone number yet, so…”

A sudden idea occurs to me and I freeze.

Did Nathan bump into Abuelita? Oh, no.

“Who did you meet in my house?” I ask, my voice slightly trembling.

After his last visit, I told my grandmother he was just a man who got lost in our barrio and needed directions. Had it been up to me, I wouldn’t have mentioned him to her at all, but Juan decided to meddle, so I had no choice but to lie. I never thought Nathan would show up at my doorstep again to confute my story.

What did Abuelita think when Nathan’s fancy car rolled into our driveway?

Nathan’s answer brings me back to the present. “No one. Unfortunately, nobody was home.”

My shoulders relax.

Right, Abuela must have already left for Tia Maria’s. While Juan and Espie, for the first time in their lives, must have decided to respect my rule about not answering the door when they’re alone. Either that, or Juan’s stereo was on, and they didn’t hear the bell at all.

I nod distractedly. “I see. But then who told you that I’m at the florist?”

My mind goes through every possible suspect who could’ve informed Nathan about my whereabouts, but I can’t figure out who outed me.

“Ah, it was that elderly guy from the balcony across from your house. He must’ve recognized me from yesterday. He even asked my name.”

Señor Moreno. Ah, I should have known. “You told him who you are? Your real name?” I ask with a hint of resentment.

Nathan gives me a look as if I’ve just sprouted a horn. “Of course I did. He asked my name. Why? Is something wrong with him?”

“No, nothing.” I shrug. “It’s just…that old guy is worth a hundred Mexican ladies when it comes to his eagerness to gossip. He’ll make sure everyone in our street knows that you were there.”

Yes, it won’t be long before Señor Moreno sashays over to Abuelita, invites himself for tea, and spills the beans to my grandmother about who was looking for her granddaughter.

Nathan arches a brow. “Why would anyone care that I came looking for you?”

How can he even ask this question? Isn’t it clear enough? “You know, Nathan, getting a visit from one of AMEA’s owners isn’t a usual occurrence in my district. If you haven’t noticed, most people who live there are poor. Probably just the sight of your car will keep their fantasies occupied for weeks.”

Nathan narrows his eyes, his forehead furrowing. “Wait a minute, Eva. Are you saying that you were in such a hurry to send me away the other day because you felt embarrassed that a rich man came to see you?”

“No! Yes…I mean, partially, maybe.” A mocking glint invades his eyes, and I feel the need to explain myself further, though each word comes out more awkwardly than the