Page 76 of The Billionaire Experience

The scenario had been strangely domestic. Strange because domestic hadn’t been a large part of his upbringing. He’d lived his life like a pampered alley cat, coming and going whenever he pleased, never staying too long in one place. And wasn’t change the best part of life?

He'd been sure that it was; that sameness was akin to death. And then along came Reagan who had upended everything he thought he knew for sure. She had become a steady in his life—along with her belongings—in the house he’d purchased that she used to live in.

When she’d accepted the offer to work for him, he knew he didn’t fit in her world any more than she fit into his. Since the party at Zan’s penthouse, he’d begun to wonder if he’d been wrong about that. She’d fit in pretty fucking well that night. He’d never had domestic symbiosis with anyone until Reagan Palmer.

Their situation had morphed into its own thing—a sort of temporary permanence, which he planned on exploring more the next time he sat down to write. The idea intrigued him. Could one achieve happily ever after…for now?

He chewed on that question while walking from the parking garage to the airy, open restaurant downtown. Inside, he spotted Dante right away. His brother wore a suit, because of course he did. Brody was dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt, cuffed at the sleeves. No jacket for him.

Dante turned his head when Brody approached.

“This is my brother, Brody,” he was saying to the bartender. She was young and attractive, with dark hair and brown skin and round eyes. She was also leaning heavily in Dante’s direction. Like Brody, Dante never had issues finding a woman who liked him. Keeping them was another matter altogether.

“What can I mix up for you?” the bartender asked.

“Bottle of Miller Lite.”

“Plebeian,” Dante said before sipping his neat scotch.

“I mowed the yard. I’m thirsty.” Brody smiled. “I liked it.”

“Give it a few years. You won’t like it.”

“I’m not going to be in the house for years. A few months, tops.” It was nothing he hadn’t said before, so why was his chest uncomfortably tight?

“I like to pay people to mow for me,” Dante said. “Domesticity has lost its charm.”

“With household tasks or women?”

“Both.”

“So a girl like…” Brody nodded in the direction of the bartender.

“Amani,” Dante finished for him.

“You wouldn’t consider a relationship with Amani?”

He glanced over at her. “Relationship? No. A night we’d never forget, absolutely.”

As if she’d felt him staring, Amani looked over her shoulder at Dante and grinned.

“Looks like that might be possible,” Brody said. “Reagan is coming to New York with me to the Refurbs for Vets event. In case you need a headcount, or whatever.”

“Really.” Dante’s brow lifted in surprise. “I knew I liked her. You allowed to leave suburbia or is it against the rules?”

“I made the rules. I can bend them. The private jet is for Reagan’s sake. She’s never flown on one.”

“Showoff.” Dante sipped his drink. “Have you decided what you’re going to do when you’re done with domesticated life?”

The tightness in the center of his chest coiled even tighter. He had an immediate visual of Reagan lying on top of him, of being lost in her green eyes after hands down the most amazing sex of his life. Or what about when she’d kissed him goodbye at the front door? As domesticated as the family dog…

“I’m sure Reagan will stay in the house when I move back to Manhattan,” Brody forced himself to say.

“How’s that going to work?”

“Simple. I’ll go back to New York, and she’ll live there.”

“You’re going to give her the house, aren’t you?”

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