Page 43 of The Billionaire Experience

He decided not to argue that she didn’t need an office to start sketching her ring designs or hire virtual manufacturers. He’d learned most of what he knew by trial and error and had a feeling she’d learn the same way.

She pulled her purse onto her shoulder. “I forgot to ask. How’s the book?”

His least favorite question.

“Fine. Good.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That doesn’t sound fine or good.”

“I write more when Reagan is here.”

“Really? Isn’t it difficult to keep your fingers on the keyboard while your mouth is fused to hers?” She grinned, proud of herself for that one. “Oh, by the way, Dante hasn’t called me back yet. Do you think he’s ignoring me?”

“He’s not ignoring you. He’s busy.”

Her lips screwed to one side. “I’ll try him again. I’m hoping he’ll come to Zan and Chloe’s housewarming party. You’re coming, right?”

“Of course.”

“Are you bringing a date?” she asked meaningfully.

“Maybe.”

He followed her to the front door. She scowled past him at his laptop, which was currently sitting on a sofa cushion, lid open, screen dark. “You need a desk.”

“Pass.” A desk would make him feel more confined, not less. “I can write in a coffee shop if I want to feel like a real writer.”

“You are a real writer. A famous, bestselling one.” She hopped onto her toes and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for breakfast.”

“Thanks for joining me.”

Once she left, he considered going to a coffee shop to write. He’d written his first book in lots of weird places. Sipping coffee and people-watching sounded like more fun than cleaning the kitchen. Maybe that was the missing piece…

But as he shut off the warmer for the coffee pot and grabbed his laptop, he thought of Reagan and how motivated he was whenever she was here.

This time around, it seemed the missing piece was her.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

After picking up wood glue and stain from the hardware store and eating a fast-food breakfast that was less satisfying than Brody’s signature omelet would have been, Reagan pulled into Kelly’s apartment complex.

Unfortunately, the guest parking space had been taken by a black two-door convertible. She gathered up the empty fast-food bag, filled with wrappers and crumpled napkins, and climbed out of her truck.

This morning she’d intended to linger at the house and continue her work. Yes, she needed to buy paint, but there was plenty she could have done in the meantime. She had received a customer call to change out furnace filters—not an emergency—which could be done later in the day.

She’d slept soundly last night and had woken up very aware of being in Brody’s intimate space. When she’d bypassed the sofa, and his laptop sitting open on the cushion, she remembered every pulse-pounding moment of kissing him. She’d made coffee and continued living in denial instead of waking him.

When he’d padded into the kitchen with heavy-lidded eyes and finger-combed hair, she’d had to remind herself to be professional. A tall order given that his sturdy frame had been perfectly outlined by a snug T-shirt and boxers. The second he gave her a sideways smile, she’d had the overwhelming urge to press every inch of her body against his and kiss the smirk clean off his face.

And off a few other places.

Shaking off the distracting visual, she turned the knob on the front door to let herself in. Unlocked, it spun easily beneath her hand.

“Jesus!” a male voice boomed, shocking Reagan to her toes.

“Oh my God!” followed, that exclamation coming from Kelly.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Reagan shielded her eyes with the fast-food bag, but it was too late. She’d already seen a flash of Kelly’s ex-husband’s naked pelvic area.

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