Page 22 of The Billionaire Experience

She wasn’t looking at him or the mess but at the sink on the floor. “It looks better there than in the front yard, don’t you think?”

“Do you have cameras on me?” He flicked his eyes around the room, feigning suspicion.

“Jean might. I happened to be at her house the day you tossed the sink into the yard.”

Right. The day he’d seen her for the first time. “Well, joke’s on you. That’s not the same sink. I exchanged it for this one.”

She blew on her slice of pizza to cool it. He did the same before they each took a bite, opening their mouths to let the copious steam escape.

“Ut’s guhd,” she managed.

After he’d chugged some beer, he said, “I was going to install the sink after you left earlier but didn’t get around to it. This will be attempt number three. Either the third time is a charm, or three strikes you’re out. Too soon to tell.”

“It’s so simple.”

“Rub it in.”

She lifted a hunk of cheese and blew on the sauce to cool it. “I’ll show you how after I eat this slice.”

“That’s not why I asked you here. I mean, it wasn’t the only reason I asked you here.”

“You bribed me here with the promise of pizza and beer in the hopes I’d offer to install your sink?”

“Well, it sounds bad when you say it like that. I planned on paying you to do it another day. I can’t allow you to work tonight. It’s after-hours. I’d have to pay time and a half.”

“Ha. Like I charge time and a half?” She rolled her eyes.

“You should. Your time is valuable.”

There was a lull in the conversation while she finished her slice and he ate his second. Beer bottle in hand, she inspected the sink on the floor.

“You don’t have to do that.” He’d prefer she sat next to him. Talked to him about nothing while he admired her cute nose.

“You mentioned that you live in Manhattan.” She set her beer aside and then bent and lifted the sink. He nearly turned over his chair jumping up to help, but she only jerked her head toward his plate. “Finish your food.”

He took the sink from her and walked it to the hole in the countertop. “This part, I can do.”

At least he hoped so. The last time he’d tried, it’d gone in crooked and he’d had to pry it out of the counter. That had required a screwdriver and a copious amount of swearing. Thankfully, it nested perfectly in place this time around.

“Look at you.” She nodded like she was proud of him, and he pulled his shoulders back. He’d once nearly been bucked off a camel in the desert and lived to tell the tale, but Reagan’s approval felt like a bigger triumph. “Do you own or lease?”

“This is the first time I’ve committed to a house for myself.” He stepped out of the way and considered the brownstone and his ex—didn’t count. That was a mere six-week blip on his bad-decision radar.

“Why?” she asked as she poked her head below the counter.

“Travel is important to me. I love to be on the move. I’ve never wanted to be tied down.” The spotlight was on him again. She was talented at deflecting the topic of conversation from herself. He wondered if she knew she was doing it.

She jiggled something under the sink. “Is your book about upgrading a house?”

“It’s about making a house a home.” A twinge of vulnerability swept through him. He tackled everything else in life with gusto, but for whatever reason this settling-down business was a tad panic inducing. “Or it will be once I start writing. It’s just an idea at the moment. I should be watching what you’re doing.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is the only sink in the house that needs replacing.” Her eyes back on her work, she added, “From what I remember seeing earlier.”

“You have a good memory. I don’t know how you could tell the grate in the half bathroom was stuck by looking at it.”

“Lot of practice.”

He admired her long, denim-clad legs sticking out from under the cabinet, amused by how attractive she looked while doing a job usually performed by a fifty-something male plumber.

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