Page 18 of The Billionaire Experience

“Sorry.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Touchy subject.”

A cool breeze infiltrated her leather jacket. She repressed a shiver as she stood. “I’m going to head out unless you have any questions. I can email you the list.”

He stood with her. “How about you text it to me and let me know what I owe you for the walkthrough?”

“One beer.” She took a final sip. “Paid in full.”

“Not quite. You didn’t finish it.”

“Okay, half a beer.” She set aside the amber bottle.

He unpocketed his phone and rattled off his phone number. She texted him the invoice.

“I promise not to call after-hours with any kitchen-sink emergencies. When do you clock off?”

Was he…flirting with her? It’d been a while since she’d been flirted with, but this qualified from what she could recall. “Depends. Usually around seven.”

“Seven.” He dipped his head into a nod as if mentally logging the information. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good luck. With everything.” She tucked her phone into her back pocket. “In there.”

He buried his hands into his front pockets and followed her down the porch steps. For every one of her backward steps, he took one forward. “You’ve given me a lot to think about, Reagan. I appreciate you taking the time.”

“I appreciate you keeping the tree.” She tripped on her next backward step but was saved by her truck. When her butt bounced off the door, she yelped.

“You okay?”

“Yes. Totally fine.” She needed to get out of there before she did or said something more awkward. She fumbled with her key fob until her truck unlocked. “Thanks again. For the beer.”

“Half a beer,” he corrected from beneath that fantastic mustache.

“Right.” She let out an overzealous laugh.

“I’ll call you if I need anything.”

She shut herself into the truck and gave him a double thumbs-up. Apparently hoping to escape before being more awkward had been too much to ask.

“Thanks a lot, universe,” she grumbled as she sped down the road.

“Why did you buy a fixer-upper, anyway?” Jaylyn rested the burned end of the bundle of sage onto the abalone shell she’d brought with her.

Yes, he’d had her smudge the house again. She’d rolled her eyes but had done as he’d requested.

“Didn’t mean to. But now that I own it, I figure a fixer-upper will make for a more interesting story than if I moved into one of those massive new builds.”

“That makes sense. More people will want to read about a Crane roughing it than one living in luxury.”

The term “roughing it” rankled him after Reagan’s reaction when she’d accused him of “playing house.”

“It’s not that rough.”

Jaylyn gave him a slow blink. “I’m well-traveled. I have met people from all tax brackets. You’ve leaped out of an airplane, Brody. You can handle a house with a backyard.”

“I know.” He’d successfully attempted lots of things, but this was the first time he felt as if his surroundings were defeating him. He’d written one book, for Christ’s sake, so why couldn’t he write another one? “This book has to work.”

“It will.” His sister patted his shoulder like he was a lost cause. “I think it’s nice that you bought yourself a house. You’ve bought one for everyone else.”

“Not everyone,” he grumbled.

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