Page 24 of The Billionaire Experience

“Everyone?” Her smile fell and like that, she was gone.

Shit. She’d mentioned a guy friend. The split could have left her raw, and here he was behaving like Pepé Le Pew. He crawled out to find her leaning on the counter, sipping from her beer bottle. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not offended. I’m…not sure how to proceed.”

“With the sink?”

“With you.” Her lips flinched into an unsure smile that was so brief, if he’d blinked, he would have missed it.

But she hadn’t said no.

“How about I finish this up and share some fascinating sink FAQs for your book?” she asked. “You want to grab your laptop?”

“That sounds like less fun than kissing under the sink.”

She gave him a half-hearted shove. “Go. I’m working. You have to work too.”

“Fine. But I’m drinking while I do it.” He feigned petulance as he scooped up his laptop.

“Write drunk, edit sober.” She sent him a wink before heading for the front door. “I’m going to find my drill.”

It took longer than usual for her to hook up the sink, but she hadn’t been hurrying. For one, she didn’t want to hurry. The moment he’d asked if she wanted to kiss under the sink, the only response in her head had been YES. So worried she’d say it out loud, she’d scrambled away from him as quickly as possible.

Laptop open, he took notes while she worked. He asked a few questions and then typed up notes for his book before leaning close to observe the process some more. She enjoyed the earnest way he listened and his eagerness to learn. She couldn’t say that about Dustin. He’d never been mildly interested in her abilities, let alone fascinated.

Since Brody was eager to participate, she paused several times to let him help and further explain why she was doing it “that way.” When he asked, What’s that doohickey called? she teased him for using a word her grandfather used, and then he grinned in a way that made her ribcage thrum.

No more offers came for under-the-sink kisses, and she tried to convince herself that she was glad. She’d come to two conclusions:

Kissing Brody was a bad idea.

It would also be amazing.

Brody was attractive, single, and flirting with her. She was sure of it. And she was untethered—in every way imaginable. Any doubt from earlier had dissipated the more time they spent together.

“And, by the way, writing drunk makes sober editing take twice as long,” he said as he settled onto the couch next to her. She’d finished in the kitchen, and they each had fresh bottles of beer in front of them. “Let me know what I owe you. I’m not paying you in beer again. It’s unethical.”

“I don’t usually drink this much.”

“That’s your second light beer on a Friday night. You gotta get out more.”

“Tell me about it. Some nights I act the age of most of my clients. You should see me in my curlers and slippers, unwrapping hard candy as I sit down to watch Jeopardy! It’s real cute.”

His throat bobbed when he laughed. She stared at the tanned column of his neck a beat longer than was appropriate. He was awfully rugged for a billionaire. Lounging on the couch in denim and a T-shirt, an open bottle of beer next to him, it was hard to picture him wearing a suit and tie.

“You should be a writer,” he told her. “That was a vivid picture you just painted of yourself.”

“I write a mean invoice.” Her voice softened when he held her gaze.

“Actually…” He paused. Then he said, “I have an idea.”

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