Page 2 of Falling for the Billionaire Best Man

“Do you always run through parks like a maniac at four thirty in the morning?” I snapped as he took my hand and pulled me up. His grip was firm, oversized, and warm.

I brushed dirt and leaves off my leggings. Everything felt normal. Not broken. Although my pride was a little bruised.

He raised his eyebrow even more, his lips quirking into a smirk. “Do you always walk through parks without watching where you’re going?”

Who did he think he was?

“You’re the one who ran into me,” I pointed out.

“And you’re the one who didn’t move,” he shot back, his tone infuriatingly calm. “Maybe you should pay more attention to your surroundings. You were on the running path. I was running. You were strolling. There are signs everywhere.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but the words caught in my throat. There was something about the way he looked at me—like he was daring me to argue, like he enjoyed the challenge. It unnerved me, but it also sparked something deep inside, a flicker of defiance.

And irritation. I was personally affronted.

“Maybe you should learn some manners,” I snapped. “A simple ‘I’m sorry’ would’ve sufficed. That’s what most people do when they run over someone.”

His smirk deepened and his arched eyebrow settled back into place, which made me feel like he wasn’t taking me seriously at all.

What a turd. An annoyingly good-looking and abrasive turd.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, though his tone suggested he had no intention of doing so. “Next time, watch where you’re going.”

With that, he turned and jogged away, leaving me there to pick leaves and broken twigs out of my hair. I watched him disappear into the darkness, his figure growing smaller and smaller until he was gone. I didn’t like him. Not one bit. I didn’t know him, and I didn’t care to. He was a little early for the season when all the other wealthy assholes showed up and acted like the world revolved around them.

I shook my head, trying to clear the encounter from my mind, and continued on my way. By the time I reached the bakery, the sun was just beginning to rise, casting a soft golden glow over the water. I fumbled with my keys, my hands still trembling slightly from the literal run-in. I managed to unlock the door.

That was when I noticed it—a piece of paper taped to the glass, fluttering in the breeze.

I tore it off, my stomach sinking as I recognized the logo at the top: Carington and Associates. I didn’t even bother reading the rest. I crumpled it up and tossed it into the trash bin by the door. They could send all the letters they wanted. I wasn’t going anywhere. They were going to have to build around me. I stepped inside, the familiar scent of sugar and vanilla wrapping around me like a warm hug. This was my sanctuary, my safe haven. No one was going to take it from me.

I tied my apron and got to work, losing myself in the rhythm of measuring flour and sugar. The sound of the mixer filled the quiet kitchen. I pulled the dough that had been rising and dropped it on the table to start kneading. Yes, my mixer could do it, but there was something therapeutic about kneading it by hand. It was part of my morning ritual.

With the rolls left to rise, I moved back to the mixer to pull the cookie dough. I was elbow-deep in it when my phone buzzed on the counter. I wiped my hands on a towel and picked it up, smiling when I saw Eliza’s name on the screen.

“Good morning,” I said, trying to sound cheerful despite the lingering irritation from my encounter in the park.

“Dorie!” My sister’s voice was bright and bubbly, as always. “How’s my favorite baker?”

“Busy,” I said, laughing. “You know how it is this time of year.”

“I do,” she said. “And I’m so excited for the wedding! Cullen’s been talking nonstop about the groom’s cake. He’s convinced you’re going to outdo yourself.”

“I’ll do my best,” I said, though the mention of the groom’s cake made my stomach twist. I loved baking for weddings, but this one felt different. Maybe it was because it was Eliza’s wedding, or maybe it was because of the pressure to make everything perfect. Either way, I was determined to make it the best cake I’d ever created.

Duh, that’s where the pressure is coming from. I was my own worst critic. Although my twin sister could be critical at times.

“Oh, and speaking of the cake,” Eliza said, her tone shifting slightly. “K is in town. He’s going to stop by the bakery today to help you with the flavors for Cullen’s cake.”

“K?” I repeated.

“Yeah, you know, Kaisen,” Eliza said, as if it were painfully obvious. “He’s Cullen’s best man, remember? He’s got a very sophisticated palate, and Cullen trusts him to pick something amazing.”

Sophisticated palate? I rolled my eyes so hard I thought she might hear it through the phone. “Fine. Okay. I’ll be here all morning. I’ll make sure everything’s ready for your culinary expert.”

“Perfect,” Eliza said, missing my sarcasm or ignoring it. “I’ve got to run, but I’ll talk to you later, okay? Love you!”

“Love you too,” I said, hanging up the phone with a sigh.

I wasn’t jealous. Not really. I had always figured Eliza would be the first one to get married. She was beautiful and friendly and there were few people who didn’t like her. She was a successful lawyer in New York City and had it all.

We were twins, but the similarities ended at our birthday.

I walked out into the storefront to open for the day. The peace and stillness would be broken soon but customers meant sales, so the more the merrier. I turned on the lights, made sure the few tables were straightened, and unlocked the door.

Then I noticed something that made my blood run cold and then hot. “Son of a bitch,” I muttered.

There was another piece of paper taped to the glass, this one with bold, red ink.

I tore it off, crumpled it up, and tossed it into the trash with the other one. They could harass me all day every day. I wasn’t going anywhere.