Page 3 of The Billionaire Experience

“I suppose that’s true.” His mother’s gold-green eyes flicked to the side. Her mouth quirked. He’d guessed what she was up to before she handed off the phone. “Brody, say hi to Alexis.”

The idea of hanging up was tempting but childish.

Alexis Calvin, Keaton’s costar and Brody’s ex-girlfriend, for lack of a better term, gave him a disingenuous, but no less dazzling, smile. “Hi, BC.”

“Hi, Lexi.” His mother had assumed they’d get married. She was so far off the mark on that one, it wasn’t even funny. Lexi had been almost predatory. He’d been mildly interested in continuing to see her after two successful dinner dates, but she’d been, as she’d told anyone who would listen, “smitten.”

He’d acted as her arm candy for a couple of charity events and one wedding. Three months ago, after ringing in the New Year, she was passed out on top of his naked body at two a.m. He’d been wide awake and stone sober when he’d decided not to continue the sham of a relationship. Later, she’d accused him of taking advantage of her one last time before ending it, and while that hadn’t been strictly true—it was Lexi who’d ripped his shirt open in the limo—he hadn’t resisted her either.

“I had to take a quick peek at that pretty face. It’s been months.” She pursed full lips. “I’m okay, by the way.”

So he’d gleaned from the many, many text messages she’d sent. The tone had started angry but had gradually petered off to aloof.

“I’m dating a nice guy.” She blinked catlike eyes dusted with tons of camera-ready makeup. “A truly nice guy.”

Cue the remorse. “I’m glad you’re happy, Lexi. Truly.”

Mom wasn’t the only actor in the family.

Her nostrils flared, but rather than arguing, she asked, “What about you? What are you up to these days?”

Yeah, he was so not going there.

“Listen, I’m in the middle of something.” He shot a thumb over his shoulder to gesture to the kitchen counter. “I’m replacing a sink in my new house.”

Her lips screwed into a curl of displeasure. “Gross. Why don’t you have someone else do that?”

While he’d been pampered in his life, never shying away from a personal chef who made healthy food or a financial manager to keep his investments tidy, Lexi skewed more toward the spoiled end of the scale. Another reason why they’d been incompatible outside of the bedroom.

“Because he’s writing a book about the common man,” his mother interjected, taking the phone from Alexis. “And therefore must prove to the world he is common.”

“Whatever. I gotta go,” Alexis said before trotting back to the soundstage.

“Was that necessary?” he asked his mom.

“No. But it was fun. We always knew you were too good for her.” She said that last bit in a whisper, and he shook his head. He appreciated his mother always having his back, but did she have to be so damned irritating about it? “Off to the set for me. Good luck with your sink. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

She blew him a kiss and ended the call.

He tossed his cellphone on the countertop, a tad dismayed to return to the mess he’d left for himself. He should call someone about the sink. He’d assumed it’d be a simple swap—pop out the old sink, put in a new one. But he’d already been to the home improvement store twice. Once to buy a different sink because the first one was half an inch too big, and once to pick up a part he hadn’t known he’d needed.

The sparkling stainless steel bowl mocked him.

Brody had traveled to deserts, tropical islands, and bustling cities all over the world. He’d slept in tents and hotels and on hardwood floors. How hard could it be to replace a sink? Not one to give up, he shored up and prepared for round three.

“Here’s to the plight of the common man,” he said aloud as he hefted the sink and tried again.

CHAPTER TWO

The next morning, Reagan braced herself for the drive into her old neighborhood. Force of habit. There was no telling what kinds of destruction had befallen Maplebrook Drive in the last month-plus.

For the last two years, she and Ike had watched as many of the surrounding houses were bought up and knocked down. Gargantuan new builds were their replacements. Modern monstrosities that were an ode to quick construction and “curb appeal.” While the upgrade to the neighborhood had increased the values of the homes—her grandfather had sold his house for a mint, which had allowed him to retire in his dream condo on the golf course—watching those sturdy brick homes being decimated had left an irreparable hole in her heart.

Maybe more than one.

She was answering a repair call today from Jean, her former neighbor across the street, who was having an issue with her thermostat. Reagan had implemented an annual membership for many of her elderly clients last year. She felt better popping in to solve a four-minute problem with fussy appliances or a clogged dryer vent without charging them for a full hour. Especially since the newfangled refrigerators, washing machines, and microwaves had more buttons than a spaceship.

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