Page 20 of The Billionaire Experience

“Don’t be so stubborn. I know you enjoy torturing yourself, but know when to say when. There are plenty of other things you can tinker with in this house.”

He thought of the list Reagan had texted him. “That’s true.”

“All right, I’m out of here.” His sister yanked open the front door. “Don’t wait up!”

“Be safe!” he repeated, unable to stop himself. He pulled out his phone and thumbed through his texts. A couple from Tag and Zander. Too many to count from his mom. And there, in the middle, Reagan’s.

“You should be writing,” he said to himself, finger hovering over the keyboard. “But you do need a functioning kitchen sink.”

He debated texting or calling for two seconds before he pressed Call. He put the cell on speakerphone and listened to it ring once, twice, three times…

CHAPTER SIX

Reagan waved goodbye to Mr. Weatherby and climbed into her truck. Leaning back on the headrest, she blew out a breath and closed her eyes. She had planned on staying at Kelly’s house tonight, but as she’d been putting her groceries away—without her ice cream, which she’d left in Brody’s freezer—her grandfather’s poker buddy Phil Weatherby had called about an issue with his dishwasher. And not for the first time.

The contraption was a good twenty-five years old and needed to retire to a landfill. Mr. Weatherby insisted on keeping it. She’d replaced so many parts that it should be new. But it wasn’t, and this time he’d agreed it was time for it to pass on to the big appliance graveyard in the sky. She was planning on going to the home improvement store to find a replacement unit. Frugal Mr. Weatherby wanted to spend “as little as humanly possible,” so Reagan would be searching for a scratch-and-dent model.

At least she could finally grab a bite to eat. At the thought, her stomach roared. Other than an apple and a Pop-Tart, she hadn’t eaten since she’d raced out of the house to answer the call.

As if summoned, her cell started ringing from its perch on the dashboard as she pulled onto the main drag and pointed for home. She worried that Mr. Weatherby was calling with another issue, but instead the screen showed an unknown number. It wasn’t local but from New York. Her stomach dropped, her palms starting to sweat as the phone rang a third time. She pressed a button on the steering wheel and answered, “Reagan’s Repairs.”

“Uh, yeah, hi,” a familiar deep voice said. “I have a pint of chocolate peanut butter ice cream in my freezer that isn’t mine. I thought about eating it, but the woman who left it here seems the type to shoot first and ask questions later.”

In spite of her tiredness, she smiled at the windshield. “I know the type. You definitely shouldn’t eat it.”

“What if we shared it?” His low voice made the innocent question sound slightly erotic. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Actually, no. I’m heading home from a late call.”

“Hot date?”

She smiled again. “Oh yes. I’m totally into eighty-eight-year-old men with busted dishwashers from the Reagan administration.”

“Is that the Reagan you were named after?” He was teasing, she could tell, but little did he know…

“Hard to be sure, but my mom’s name is Ronnie.”

His laugh danced on her chest and did a good job of bringing her nipples to attention behind her bra. What was it about this guy?

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

“Swing by and tell me about it. I’ll split the ice cream with you fifty-fifty. I also have the oven preheating for pizza. It’s one of those deli ones, not the cheap freezer-burned ones. You should hurry. I think I’ve done this maybe one time in my life. Without my house manager here, ruining it is a high probability.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say no and blatantly ignore the errant attraction parts of her had for parts of him. She highly doubted he needed supervision for a take-and-bake pizza. She could tell him she’d had a long day and that Kelly was expecting her—only that wasn’t true. Kel had gone out with friends from work and was planning to crash at her friend Amy’s house.

Plus, Reagan was bordering hangry. Pizza of any kind sounded incredible.

“What can I bring?” she heard herself ask.

“Nothing. Unless beer won’t suffice, and you want to bring something else to drink. What goes well with cheese pizza and chocolate peanut butter ice cream?”

“I’m no expert, but beer sounds like the perfect pairing. If the edges of the pizza start to turn brown and the cheese is breathing, pull it out of the oven.”

“Breathing?”

“You’ll know it when you see it. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

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