The Billionaire's Limited-Time Romance

Three months ago. The August sun beat down on the Hamptons, the air thick with the smell of sea salt and coconut tanning oil.

Ellie wore a simple white linen sundress.

She sat on a wooden bench at the far edge of the Meadow Club's outdoor patio.

A thick macroeconomics textbook rested in her lap.

She kept her head down, deliberately ignoring the loud, wealthy crowd gathered on the main lawn.

A charity tennis exhibition match had just finished.

The crowd erupted into polite, overly enthusiastic clapping.

In the center of the clay court stood Ansel.

He wore a crisp white tennis polo and shorts.

Sweat dripped down his sharp cheekbones and soaked the collar of his shirt.

He was surrounded by a circle of young heiresses and junior investment bankers.

The boredom on his face was palpable.

Ansel tossed his expensive racket to a teenage ball boy.

A blonde girl in a designer dress held out a cold towel to him.

He ignored her completely and walked off the court, heading toward the quiet edge of the patio.

He walked up the stone steps.

His blue eyes scanned the empty tables until they locked onto the girl sitting alone in the corner.

Ellie was highlighting a paragraph in her book.

She did not notice the sudden drop in noise as Ansel walked away from his fans.

Ansel stopped right in front of her bench.

He shifted his stance, intentionally blocking the sunlight that was hitting her pages.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over her textbook.

Ellie frowned.

She followed the line of the long, muscular legs standing in front of her.

She looked all the way up until she met a pair of amused, ocean-blue eyes.

Ansel shoved one hand into his pocket.

"Reading economics in the Hamptons is a tragic waste of a summer day," he said, his voice dripping with lazy arrogance.

Ellie did not blush or stutter.

She calmly closed the heavy textbook.

"Far more productive," she replied, "than strutting around a tennis court like a peacock looking for a mate."

The barb pierced straight through his inflated ego.

He blinked, genuinely surprised.

Then, a low, genuine laugh rumbled in his chest.

Instead of walking away, he sat down heavily on the bench right next to her.

His broad shoulder brushed against hers, invading her personal space.

Ansel glanced at the plain leather watch on her wrist.

His eyes calculated her net worth in a single second.

"Which family brought you here as their plus-one?" he asked, his tone laced with condescension.

Ellie felt a hot flash of anger in her chest.

She sat up perfectly straight, refusing to shrink away from him.

"My aunt is Marion Bancroft. And it seems your manners are not as impressive as your backhand."

Ansel's eyes darkened.

The lazy amusement vanished, replaced by the sharp focus of a predator spotting a challenge.

He stood up suddenly.

He walked over to a nearby table and picked up a spare tennis racket.

He pointed the frame of the racket toward the empty clay court.

"If you can last one single game against me, I will apologize for my manners."

He paused, a wicked smile spreading across his face.

"But if you lose, you owe me one unconditional favor."

Ellie looked past him.

A glance toward the clubhouse doors revealed her Aunt Marion, standing awkwardly while two older women whispered and pointed.

Ellie's stomach tightened.

She stood up and grabbed the racket from his hand.

She walked past him, heading straight for the baseline.

The crowd quickly noticed the commotion and gathered around the fences.

Ansel served the first ball easily, barely using any power.

He expected her to miss.

Ellie stepped into the swing and hit a brutal, perfectly angled forehand straight down the line.

The ball kicked up a cloud of chalk dust as it landed perfectly on the line.

Ansel's smile dropped.

His body tensed, and the real game began.

For ten minutes, they traded vicious, heavy shots.

Ansel's power was overwhelming, pushing Ellie further and further behind the baseline.

His chest heaved as he leaped into the air for a final overhead smash.

The ball slammed into the clay, inches from Ellie's feet, and bounced over the fence.

Ansel landed on his feet.

He looked through the net at her, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

He flashed a victorious, predatory smile.

He had won his favor.