Page 34 of The Billionaire Experience

“I told Reagan that she was my muse. The night she fixed the sink, I wrote a chunk of words that came from the ether.” He missed those days. The ease of writing—the flow. “It felt damn good. Natural.”

“Sounds like Reagan is the key to getting you unstuck. Focus on allowing the words to come. Stop forcing everything.”

“Did you take up meditation or something?”

“Yeah. After Emily died.”

Whenever Zander mentioned losing Emily, a sharp pang stabbed Brody’s chest. She was the best. At a loss for how to help after she passed, Brody had moved to London to be closer to Zan. His siblings hurting was his Achilles’ heel.

If the man who had lost his wife was able to see a silver lining, Brody’s seeing it was a walk in the park—figuratively speaking. Why couldn’t Reagan be his muse? If it felt true, then it was true. The more she was around, the more words he’d write. It seemed there was a silver lining after all. He flipped the coin into the air, caught it, and shoved it back into his pocket.

Zander stood. “Sadly, Reagan can’t help you run this last mile. That’s on you and your sorry excuses for leg muscles.”

“What about beer and pizza?”

“The sooner we’re done here, the sooner you can order a deep-dish cheese.”

Brody’s stomach growled.

Zander jogged in place backward, far too chipper about finishing this run. “With Italian sausage and black olives.”

“That’s cruel.” Brody loved sausage and black olives, so he forced himself to his feet and chased after his brother once again.

CHAPTER NINE

Reagan woke refreshed on Monday morning. She’d been tired after the busy day yesterday, which had included golfing in the sun, spilling her guts to Kel, and washing her truck. She’d slept like the dead.

She hadn’t heard from Brody since her last text on Saturday when she bailed on him. Which meant they hadn’t had a chance to discuss the kiss. She figured it was in her best interest to pretend it never happened, or to at least behave neutrally when she was around him.

Which she wasn’t sure she was capable of doing. She’d never grabbed a man by the face and made out with him before, so she was in uncharted territory. But. She could control herself.

That theory needed testing, which was what she intended to do today.

With the possibility of purchasing her grandfather’s house shimmering in the distance, optimism came naturally. The chance she’d be able to afford to buy it at market value was slim, but maybe she could strike a deal when the time came.

Her schedule was fairly open this week, save a handful of customers scheduled for monthly maintenance. That left her available to work on Maplebrook Drive more often than not. Now to reach out to Brody and coordinate her schedule with his.

She waited until she was driving toward his house to call. When the phone began to ring her stomach floated above her head before sinking again.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she said to herself. “You’re not asking him on a date, you’re aligning your schedules. There’s a difference.”

“A date is okay with me if it’s okay with you,” a deep male voice said from the truck’s speaker.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“If you were to ask me out, I wouldn’t be offended.” Without waiting for her response, he said, “What time are you coming over?”

“I have to stop by the hardware store, but I can come over after.”

“Pick me up. I’ll go with you.”

“That’s not necessary. I’m sure you have a lot to do.”

“Knowing what goes into homeownership is part of writing the book, remember? Plus, what if you need my opinion on paint color or what kind of ceiling fan I like? You’re going to want me there.”

He made a good point. She knew what she liked but wasn’t sure what style he preferred. And her shopping list was long. Frankly, she could use the help. It would cut her time in half if he was gathering supplies while she selected lumber.

A giddy little zing ran through her bloodstream. Every project she completed in the house would make it better. Soon it’d be back to its former glory, like when her grandmother was alive.

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