Page 31 of The Billionaire Experience

Reagan blanched.

“I’m kidding! And listen, I could be wrong. Maybe he’s a billionaire with a big heart who isn’t after a quick lay and a huge profit. Maybe he’s writing a heartfelt memoir and needs a great ending. What better ending could there be than selling the home he purchased back to the woman who was raised in it?”

“Sounds like a fairy tale,” Reagan said glumly. In other words: unlikely.

“I’m in no position to give relationship advice, but I am feeling all my feels. Swearing and crying and yelling to anyone who will listen. Can you say the same?”

“What do you mean?” Reagan frowned, not following her friend’s train of thought.

“Since you and Dustin went kaput and he moved to Missouri, you’ve been extra hard on yourself. You have been withdrawn, not leaning on the people around you.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“A convenient excuse. It’s okay to admit he hurt you.”

“He didn’t hurt me,” she argued too quickly. “It hurt to end our relationship, sure, but your divorce was harder. You and Matt were together for eight years. And he cheated.”

“Allegedly.”

Reagan blinked in shock. This was the first time she’d heard that. Kelly gladly ran him down at every opportunity. Rarely did she speak in his defense. “What do you mean, allegedly?”

“He’s always proclaimed his innocence, but until recently I had no idea that two of his coworkers do too. Anyway, not the point.” She brushed aside the topic with one hand. She wasn’t going to talk about it until she was damn good and ready. “We’re talking about you missing out on a lifetime with Dustin. The sex tiger.”

Mid-drink, Reagan spit beer on her shirt.

“Dammit, Kel.” After she semi-dried her polo shirt with a napkin, she shook her head. “To be honest, I was more disappointed to lose out on buying my grandparents’ home than I was about Dustin moving to St. Louis. Which makes me an awful person.”

“It doesn’t make you an awful person. It makes you a lucky person. You could have wasted two more years with that schmuck.” Kelly patted Reagan’s hand. “You know your own feelings better than anyone in the world, Ray, and you are allowed to trust them. I also want you to know you’re allowed to offload some of the feelings you’ve buried.”

“Nothing about my former relationship was deep enough to bury. Sadly, it was shallow and very surface. We were friends who slept together on occasion, and then we parted ways. The end.” It sounded sadder out loud. “I’m not looking to hitch my wagon to anyone else’s.”

“Hitch your wagon.” Kelly snorted. “You are truly a product of another time.”

“Thank you.” Reagan smiled.

“By the way, you can hitch your wagon to Brody without labeling him as your boyfriend. This is a new century.”

“How unconventional.”

“To say the least, but so is being a billionaire’s dedicated handywoman.”

A zing of excitement sizzled over her skin as she thought about returning to the house. Not only because she was considering kissing Brody again, but also because she’d be spending more time in her former house. And maybe, just maybe, he’d consider taking a below- or at-market offer on the house when he moved.

“Before you ask, yes, you can crash on my couch for as long as you need. No sense in wasting your extra income on an apartment. What if the you-buying-the-house thing works out? You’re going to need a downpayment.”

“Aww. Thanks, Kel. I never pegged you for an optimist.”

“Tell no one,” her friend warned. Then her face broke into a grin, and they both started laughing.

Brody ignored the stitch in his side as he pounded the pavement in an effort to keep up with Zander. His thirty-six-year-old art curator brother who was more the pencil-pusher type should not be outrunning him, for Christ’s sake. And yet, here they were on a sunny, breezy April day, and Brody had been left in the proverbial dust.

When Zander had called to ask if he wanted to see the new apartment downtown and then go for a jog in the neighboring park, Brody had immediately said yes. Beat the hell out of spending the rest of his Sunday afternoon staring at a computer screen.

What he’d neglected to consider as he’d pulled on his Nike track pants and a T-shirt with a hoodie over top, was that he hadn’t been on a run in, oh, six months.

“How…often…do you…do this?” he panted when he finally caught up. Either that or Zander had slowed his speed a bit, which was an unfortunate but likely possibility.

“Five days a week.” Zander wasn’t nearly as winded as he eased into a fast walk. Brody happily joined him, taking his pace down to match. “You’ve been focusing too much on weights. Cardio is important.”

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