The Billionaire's Gamble

~ Dare Valley Meets Paris Mini-Series ~

Volume One

Margie & Evan

© 2015 Ava Miles

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Self-made billionaire inventor and infamous bad boy Evan Michaels has lost the biggest gamble of his life in a poker game. For one month, he must live and work like a "normal" person in the small town of Dare Valley and give up his playboy ways. When Evan meets Margie Lancaster, his landlord and new boss, he's not so sure he can make it a month.

To all the women who baked bread and handed down their recipes.

And to my divine helpers, who helped me remember the power of love in bread.

When I started writing this mini-series, Paris' famous poker venue, Aviation Club de France, was still open. Unfortunately, a few months ago, it closed. Because of its lavish history, I decided not to change this venue to another one.

Paris, France

Evan Michaels was considering the biggest gamble of his life in the famous Aviation Club de France poker room.

Rising poker star Jane Wilcox had just thrown out an enticing and unconventional side bet. He didn’t have enough poker chips to stay in the game, but if he accepted Jane’s terms, he’d have a chance to play his ridiculous hand of trip kings and win the day. Still, while side bets were often brutal, this one was in a category of its own. Her words still hung in the air—“You have to lose your billionaire ways for a month and live in our small town, Dare Valley, Colorado, like a normal person.”

Was this the sign he’d been waiting for? For two years, Evan had been unable to invent anything new. His company’s growth had stagnated, and his business partner was concerned, to say the least. On a recent yachting trip to Greece, Evan had watched the sun rise over the Mediterranean and shouted out across the water that he wanted to invent again, that he wanted his creative fire returned to him. He’d seen a statue of the Greek goddess Artemis on an excursion into town the day before, and it had sparked something inside him.

Evan recognized the problem—his hubris had drained him of the very things that had made him special. He would do anything to regain what he’d lost, but this side bet? While he’d never been a “normal” person, he knew what it was to be poor.

And it totally sucked.

Rhett Butler Blaylock, Jane’s former boss and the only other player still in the game, was trying not to smirk at her suggestion. Evan had played against the World Series of Poker champion in Paris before. And won a few times. Being a billionaire at twenty-nine meant he had brains
and
luck.

Neither of those characteristics had ever impressed these two when their paths had crossed in the past. Point of fact, Evan had hit on Jane years ago, back when she was posing as Rhett’s poker babe, the mysterious Raven. What could he say? She’d been smoking hot in a poker babe kind of way. So when she had blinked at him flirtatiously one day at a casino bar, it had seemed only natural to slide his hand around her waist and suggest they go somewhere quiet to play a game of strip poker. She’d turned him down flat after telling him in an all-too-embarrassing fashion that she hadn’t been batting her eyelashes at him at all. There was something in her eye.

“And
you have to be celibate while you’re in our town,” Rhett added, confirming he knew about Evan’s misunderstanding with Jane. It probably didn’t hurt that Evan had a reputation as an international playboy—even if that reputation was an exaggeration. One incredible thing about being a young, handsome billionaire was how many gorgeous women liked to be seen with him. Still, most of what the tabloids reported about him was total codswallop.

“Celibate, huh?” he croaked, his poker face starting to slip. Just because he wasn’t a womanizer didn’t mean he didn’t like women. Even discussing a bet like this made him feel like he was giving away his man card.

He eyed the beautiful Parisian model who’d accompanied him to the tournament. She matched his height of six-three in her killer stilettos and was currently looking at him with a stunned expression on her face. Paris’ bad-boy billionaire, Evan Michaels, going celibate for a month? The lights might as well blink out systematically across Paris. She didn’t know his reputation was as fake as her blond hair.

Before amassing his fortune, he’d been a nerdy scientist with pimply skin, a lanky frame, and horrible curly hair. Celibacy had been par for the course. Of course, that secret would go to his grave. He’d been a recluse then, working for endless hours on school and the inventions that would make him his fortune.

“Celibate,”
Jane drolled as if tasting the sweetness of the word on her tongue. “Rhett, I like where you’re going with this.”

“If boy wonder wants a side bet because he can’t pony up the half a million dollars to make the raise,” the not-so-gentlemanly Southerner said, “it’s going to have to be a humdinger.”

They both knew he could cut them a check for that kind of money in a flash without blinking. But that’s what Evan loved about poker. No one cared that he had a fortune in reserves in one of Paris’ finest banks, BNP Paribas. Everyone played the cards they were dealt with the chips they had in front of them. But the Aviation Club, which had been founded in 1907 by Europe’s daring aviators of the day, was a place where rules were meant to be bent.

The poker room Evan had secured for their private use dripped with antique crystal chandeliers, carried the scent of cigars smoked in times past, and conveyed the vulgar flash of old money. Even better, it kept the paparazzi and other bystanders away. Evan focused better without people staring at him. Right now, the only people watching were the four players who had already busted out of the poker game and all the players’ significant others for the night.

These onlookers seemed thrown for a loop. Jane’s fiancé was giving Evan a puzzled glance, and even Rhett’s sweet-as-honey wife was openly staring at him. He could tell they were trying to figure out the subtext behind the side bet. He gave them a toothy smile—the one his money had turned from average to spectacular—as a show of pure bravado.

“Define normal,” he said to Jane, buying time. “Because, no offense, but Rhett’s not exactly what I would call a
normal
person.” The Southerner was larger than life, topping out at six foot six, and there were enough down-home colloquialisms in his playbook to send even the most cunning linguist running for a dictionary.

Jane traced her lower lip thoughtfully. “I define normal as you living on the first salary you ever drew… Oh, and you can’t spend your time idly—you’ll have to get a job.”

His first salary? He cringed, which only made the corner of Jane’s mouth tip up. His first job had been as a research assistant at Massachusetts Institute of Technology for the grand total of two thousand and three hundred dollars per month. This was so going to suck if he lost. But what if this was the price he needed to pay to regain his genius?

“For me, it means you’ll need to dress like everyone else,” Rhett said, gesturing to his gunmetal gray tailored suit from Dolce & Gabbana. “And go without your expensive aftershave and all the crap you put in your hair. I caught a whiff of you earlier, Evan, and while you smell as nice as a widow angling for another husband at Sunday church, you smell like money.”

If any man other than Rhett had said that, it might have made him uncomfortable.

“That’s Tom Ford’s Private Blend ‘Noir de Noir,’ you aftershave sniffer, you. Now stop. All your compliments might go to my head.”

Evan could ditch the aftershave, sure, but his hair products? They’d changed everything. His hair would resemble a tangled ball of yarn in a heartbeat if their small town had even an ounce of humidity, and while he could handle a lot of setbacks, this was one he’d rather avoid.
Hubris
, he heard echo distantly in his mind.

Right.

“Like your head isn’t already as big as a blimp,” Rhett bandied back. “Too bad your pockets aren’t as flush tonight. So what it’s going to be, Evan?”

“You don’t have to do it,
cherie,”
Chloe entreated, flicking her long blond hair over the shoulder of her strapless black gown. “Why would you want to be poor and celibate for a month? It’s so
bourgeois.
And where is this small town in Colorado anyway? It could not even begin to compare with Paris.”

No one needed to remind him of how priceless Paris was. He’d lost his virginity in the City of Lights at twenty-one. He’d decided to make it his home after that. If the gorgeous women weren’t enough of a selling point, there was the food and the art scene. Evan had traveled the world over on his private jet, and few cities could top Paris’ magic.

“Dare Valley has Paris beat hands-down in lots of categories, sugar,” Rhett said to Chloe with an exaggerated drawl. “But we don’t need to debate its merits. What we need to know is whether Evan has the chops to follow through on this little side bet. Personally, I don’t think he does. What do you think, Jane?”

The former poker babe played with the fringe on her red flapper-style dress. Dressed like that, she looked like she’d been plucked out of the 1920s, when the Aviation Club had risen to prominence. She fit in perfectly with the old-world décor of wood paneling, brass, and warm lighting.

“Personally I think he’s bored.” She fingered her chip protector, an old Roman coin with Diana, goddess of the hunt, stamped on the ancient metal.

Goosebumps rose along his skin. Wasn’t Diana Artemis in Greek mythology? Was that another sign?

“I think he’s learning one of life’s greatest truths,” Jane continued. “Money can’t buy happiness.”

Evan felt his poker face slip yet again. Money hadn’t been able to restore his inspiration. And truth be told, he
was
bored, not to mention tired of people using him for his money. Of course, he wasn’t one to talk. In the beginning, he’d used his money to get what he’d never had: possessions, women, respect.