Page 1 of The Billionaire Experience

CHAPTER ONE

Reagan Palmer pressed the gold house key into her ex-boyfriend’s palm and let out a gusty sigh. That tiny grooved piece of metal represented months—actually over a year—of their shared pasts.

“Welp. Now I’m homeless.” She shrugged and added a smile, because it was natural to smile at Dustin.

He smiled back, also a natural reaction for him. “You’re not homeless, Ray.”

They tilted their heads to take in the vaulted ceiling of the grand entryway. The two-story home they’d shared was located in an upscale, luxury neighborhood, and though she’d lived there for a while, it had always been his house.

Mansion life didn’t suit her, but that’s what she’d signed up for when she’d started dating Dustin Livingston. He’d argued more than once that his house wasn’t a mansion. Since she’d grown up in a humble brick ranch with an unfinished basement, she was inclined to disagree.

At one point she’d been sure that they were going to get married and live a cozy upper-middle-class life. They’d work hard and scrimp and save to send their two (future) kids to college. They’d playfully argue over which brand of toothpaste was best and kick back on the front porch with bottles of beer after a hard week’s work.

A year and a half had passed, and they’d never once argued over toothpaste, or cereal brands, for that matter. They’d worked a lot of hours, her bustling all over Chicago and surrounding areas to repair this or that, and him barricaded in his office downtown working on dry-as-toast spreadsheets. They hadn’t so much as whispered about being married or starting a family since she’d moved in, and the only beers she’d enjoyed on the front porch had been by herself.

They’d finally admitted to each other that their dream was, in actuality, someone else’s. Some other couple’s, perhaps living in an alternate reality. She’d recently realized that she didn’t want two kids. Hell, she didn’t know if she wanted any kids. And his dream job ended up being in Missouri—she had no interest in moving there.

When his job offer had come, they’d agreed to part ways. She took the guest bedroom—a formality since sex was a distant memory—and promised to oversee the house’s sale while Dustin relocated for his shiny new career.

All in all, a good trade.

“Kelly and Ike would never let you be homeless.” Dustin’s smile was knowing. Of course her grandfather who raised her and her recently divorced best friend wouldn’t let Reagan be homeless. She’d be sleeping on one or the other’s sofa for the upcoming weeks until she found a permanent place to call home.

“Off to the closing table.” He held the entryway door open for her. Her sneakers squeaked across the recently polished wooden foyer flooring. He locked up behind them. “I appreciate you seeing the sale through. Made it a lot easier than me driving back and forth to clean before every showing.”

“Not a problem.” And it hadn’t been. She was accustomed to odd jobs. Most were of the handyman—or handywoman as she liked to call herself—variety. Taking on selling the home she’d lived in had been a natural, and smart, thing to do. First, it gave her a place to stay while she looked for an apartment of her own, and second, he’d offered to pay her. She still felt weird about that.

“I’ll Venmo you the money as promised,” he said as if he’d intuited the bend of her thoughts.

“It feels strange. Taking money from you.”

“Ray, you always feel strange about taking money. I had to remind you to bill your clients half the time.” He shook his head in a way that made her feel like a scolded teenager. “You earned it. Living with me alone, you earned it.”

He punctuated his joke with a wink. They’d been as compatible as ham and eggs since day one, which made her wonder if more friction would have added some spice to their relationship.

Suited and tall, Dustin’s average good looks were somewhat magnified whenever he dressed nicely. His dark hair, graying at the temples, offset rounded cheeks that would forever make him appear younger than his years. They’d met when she’d answered a call for his grandmother to repair her dishwasher. He’d chatted her up while she’d tinkered with the appliance—and she had taken longer than necessary for the fix because he’d been such a good conversationalist.

He hugged her with one arm around her shoulders. It felt almost brotherly, which only served to deepen her melancholy.

“You have a full schedule today?” he asked as he opened the door of his Honda sedan.

She paused at her white work truck, a big-ass Ram that was a bitch to park whenever she answered calls in the city. “Done with work for the day. I’m going to have dinner with Ike.”

“Tell him I said hi. I miss him. I am sorry he sold the house. I know you would have liked it for yourself.”

“I’ll tell him,” she said, instead of what she was thinking. Which was along the lines of It’s too late now. Her grandfather had sold the house she’d grown up in with both her grandparents, with her blessing. At the time, she hadn’t given a single thought to moving out of Dustin’s house, believing the slump they were in would pass. It didn’t, but that wasn’t her grandfather’s cross to bear. After sacrificing so much for Reagan, he deserved to do what he wanted in life.

With a wave, Dustin pulled away from the curb. Reagan backed her truck down the driveway and maneuvered toward Sandy Springs Retirement, a golf and recreation community her grandfather had told her about at the beginning of the year. His cheeks had been rosy when he’d unfolded the full-color brochure. He’d carefully broached the subject of selling “our house” but she’d waved off his concerns, telling him, “I won’t be moving out of Dustin’s any time soon. I love this house, but you deserve to be selfish for a change.”

Her grandparents had raised her from practically infancy, and Ike had raised her alone from age fourteen on. The man deserved a gold medal for tolerating her through her challenging teenage years, that was for damn sure.

At the gate, the guard waved her in, familiar with the logo on her truck’s door by now. She’d done several jobs for the residents of Sandy Springs over the last few weeks. Ike being here had come with an unexpected boost for her business.

His condo was modest, with a cheery box of yellow flowers beneath the kitchen window. It was April and still chilly in the Midwest. She hoped the blooms lasted if there was another frost. Either way, it wasn’t her grandfather’s problem. The community employed full-time gardening help to keep the lawns neat and the flowers colorful.

She swallowed down the lump in her throat. How could she be so incredibly happy for him and so incredibly sad for herself at the same time?

“Do not feel sorry for yourself,” she muttered as she tucked her truck keys into the front pocket of her perfectly worn Levi’s. She wouldn’t tolerate any pouting while visiting him.

---