Page 7 of The Billionaire Experience

“I don’t mind thirty-something power couples, but hustling is against my religion.” Tag illustrated that point by lounging with one leg crossed ankle to knee. Laid-back Tag took life as it came and rarely let anyone see him sweat. Brody hadn’t hung around his cousin much growing up, but he’d had a lengthy visit in Chicago years ago, and it’d been Tag who he’d connected with most.

Brody in no way considered himself laid back. He was always itching to do something—anything. Sitting at home; staying in one place for too long made him antsy. Which made the idea of him writing a book about settling down his biggest challenge to date.

“You mentioned you were writing another book over Chow Main takeout at Eli and Isa’s warehouse.” Tag tilted his head. “But you didn’t say much about it.”

“There’s not much to tell. I haven’t written a single word. Usually after I figure out the first sentence, I can get rolling.”

“Might help to open your laptop.”

“Yeah, it might.” Brody glanced at the coffee table where his closed computer sat beneath a pile of mail. His books were nonfiction, memoir-style. He endeavored to pass on the life lessons he learned in real time. To encourage people to climb out of their day-to-day ruts and try new things. He’d had zero issues writing his first book while traveling the country. Must’ve been better fodder for writing than replacing kitchen sinks.

“Writer’s block?”

“That’s not real.” Brody pointed his beer bottle at Tag. He also reached down and knocked on the wooden lever that popped the footrest. Knocking on wood was superstitious as fuck, but he didn’t need any bad juju when it came to this deadline. Come to think of it, he should probably ask his sister, Jaylyn, to sage the house when she came to town.

“It is if you ain’t writin’,” Tag added unhelpfully.

Brody’s eyes again tracked to the laptop gathering dust. Maybe he would write that first sentence tonight to make triple sure Tag hadn’t just cursed him.

CHAPTER THREE

Reagan folded the sheet and blanket she’d slept on last night and stacked them tidily on the corner of the red sofa. It didn’t look like much, but it made a passable bed.

“What time did you get up, woman?” Her best friend, Kelly, yawned as she plodded downstairs in a bathrobe, her caramel blond hair tied into a sloppy topknot. “It’s 6:30. Why do you look as fresh as a daisy?”

“Thanks, but I don’t feel that way. I haven’t had coffee yet.”

Kelly clasped her heart and stumbled through the living room, miming a dramatic heart attack on her way to the kitchen. “Why not?”

“I started answering emails and didn’t get to it. It’s no big deal.” Reagan had been trying to be as quiet as possible. She’d showered last night and had run minimal water while brushing her teeth this morning. “I don’t want to disrupt your entire life.”

Kelly paused at the cabinet, coffee cup in hand. “Ray, you’re not disrupting my life. My philandering dickweed of an ex-husband, on the other hand, has earned the title of Disruptor.”

Reagan couldn’t help smiling at Kelly’s dry-as-toast delivery.

“You are my best friend and are having a little bit of a hiccup. That’s it.”

“I’m on the waiting list at Clifton’s Bluff, but I’ve been second-guessing my need for the garage.” The swanky apartment complex charged almost double the rent to add a coveted garage space beneath the unit. The complex was in a well-to-do area, near the golf course and Ike, with quick access to the highway for her calls in the city. It was perfect, save the hefty monthly rent.

“Don’t move until it’s right.” Kelly fished a coffee pod from the drawer. “You’ll be stuck in a dump like this with a year’s lease if you rush.”

“I like your place.” And she appreciated a couch to sleep on every so often. She didn’t want to cramp her grandfather’s style, even though he would have allowed her to stay with him full-time if she asked. “But I do need somewhere to call my own.”

The single-cup maker sputtered the end of its cycle, and Kelly offered the coffee to Reagan.

“No, you go ahead. I’ll make myself one.”

“Oh, thank God. I was being polite, but I need this more than air right now.” Kelly chuckled as she snapped in a fresh pod for Reagan.

The two had met in junior high. Kelly had been the only other girl in school as tall as Reagan, and they’d bonded over what they’d referred to as their “vertical advantage.” At five-ten, Reagan was two inches shorter than Kelly.

While she waited for her own cup of coffee to brew, she asked, “What do you know about the Crane family?”

“The Crane family? As in the hoteliers?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you want to know?”

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