Page 57 of The Billionaire Experience

“It’s a shame.” He was regarding his plate, so she thought he was talking about their breakfast.

“I know, I know. It’s a shame I didn’t have this breakfast sooner.”

“Well, yes, but that’s not what I was going to say.” His eyes held mischief, and she knew he was going to tease her. “It’s a shame we’re not going to get a damn thing done from here on out. How can we possibly concentrate on anything but sex now that we know how good we are together?”

“You’re laying it on awfully thick,” she said around a laugh.

“Did that already.” He gave her a wink and then raised his coffee mug. She’d definitely drink to that.

“So.” She rested one elbow on the table and aimed for casual conversation. Mainly to remind herself that it was possible for her to think of something other than having sex with him. Repeatedly. “How’s the book coming along? Did my super muse powers help you overcome your writer’s blo?—”

He leaned over the table and gave her a succinct kiss. “I’m sort of superstitious about that two-word phrase. If Jaylyn has to come over here and sage the house again, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Reagan almost giggled picturing Brody in panic mode calling his sister to cleanse the house but thought better of it. He looked deadly serious about not using the words “writer’s” and “block” together. She drew a cross over her heart and swore not to break his house rule. “Tell me more about the book. The first time I asked, I accused you of being a bit of a classist.”

“A bit? You had me labeled the moment you learned I was a Crane.” He polished off his remaining omelet in two big bites.

“I know. That was presumptuous of me. I am genuinely curious about your work. There is a life lesson in every story, right?”

“There should be.” He folded his arms, leaning back in his chair and regarding her suspiciously.

“I read an article on nonfiction writing the other day, to familiarize myself with what your process might entail.”

Suspicion was replaced with gratitude when he smiled. “You did?”

She shrugged, self-conscious. “I figured if you’re willing to learn more about my art form, it was only fair to learn about yours.”

He licked his lips, his smile holding strong. “I’m still settling on a theme, but it has to do with the illusion of home.”

Coffee cup hovering at her lips, she froze. “Illusion?”

She’d never thought of home as an illusion. For a woman who had been abandoned by her mother and adopted by her grandparents, home had become her ultimate sanctuary. Once she’d had a permanent home, anyway.

“I have a nomadic spirit. Settling too long in one place makes me itchy.” He shifted in his seat. “When I lived with Dad, we traveled a lot. Even when I lived with Mom. She moved a few times. I ended up changing private schools twice. Permanence isn’t really real, you know? I mean, look at this place. Your grandfather moved on. You’ve moved on. Sort of.” He offered a crooked smile. “I have been exploring that idea lately. I’m making a home for myself, but I know I won’t stay. Embracing the temporary, enjoying it, can be challenging. But you don’t need any thing in your life to make a home. It’s in here.” He tapped his breastbone with three fingers. “So, yeah. Impermanence. It’s what life is about at its core.”

She blinked to bring herself back to the present. The idea of impermanence settled in her stomach like a brick. There was nothing soothing or hopeful about the idea of temporary. What about how temporary her mother had been in her life, or how temporary Dustin had been as a boyfriend? Neither scenario gave her warm fuzzies.

“Anyway.” He tossed his napkin onto his empty plate, not picking up on her prickly thoughts. “It’s a work in progress. Thanks for asking.”

She forced a smile.

He pulled in a deep breath through his nostrils, and his gaze trickled down her body. With a head shake, he added, “Seriously don’t know how I’m going to get anything done with you here.”

“We’ll figure it out.” The statement was throwaway. She was still reeling over his insistence that home was temporary and everything was impermanent. If that was true, why the hell care about anything? What was the point?

“Oh, hey,” he said with a snap of his fingers. “Zander sent the invitation for the housewarming party this morning. You’re coming, right?”

She’d told Chloe she would, something she was regretting at the moment. “Sure.”

“Great. I need to pick up a gift and I was hoping you’d help me out. What do you buy a widower art curator who has everything including a girlfriend he’s madly in love with?” He took her hand and pled, “If you come with me, I’ll give you a million dollars.”

She gave his hand a brief squeeze before taking her plate to the sink. She needed to shake off her emotional reaction and focus on what came next. Unlike Zander and Chloe, Brody and Reagan were not “madly in love.” Reagan was in no position to judge Brody just because his life view had rubbed up against hers in an uncomfortable way. Since this conversation came after they’d rubbed up against each other in a yummy way, it had been harder to square.

“I couldn’t accept a million dollars.” She cleaned her plate and rested it in the bamboo dish drainer on the countertop. “One hundred thou, tops.”

Her attempt to lighten the mood proved effective. He came to her, standing close and reminding her of everything they’d done earlier, sans clothing. Her physical pull to him was so strong she nearly forgot he’d upset her.

“I’m happy to help you with your shopping woes, no charge.”

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