Page 92 of The Billionaire Experience

Brody unhooked a thick black rope and gestured for her to go out ahead of him. The breeze lifted her hair as she approached the glass wall and peered through it. Windows were lit in checkerboard patterns on the skyscrapers beyond. Cars buzzed by on the street below. The dark sky held a fat full moon and a handful of stubborn twinkling stars the city lights had failed to outshine.

“Are we allowed to be out here?” she asked.

“Cranes only.”

“I should have known. The world truly is your oyster, isn’t it?” She sat on a plump cushioned couch and dropped her clutch onto her lap. He sat with her. “I admit I’ve been feeling out of place. I’m not accustomed to attending charity balls or personal shoppers wheeling out racks of couture for me to choose from.”

“I wanted you to indulge.”

She met his eyes and asked, “Why?”

“Why?” he repeated.

“You’re planning on leaving Merriweather Springs after the book is done, right?” She continued without waiting for him to confirm. “Is living there and having a round-the-clock muse merely an experiment for you? Or is there something more substantial going on that I should know about?”

Shit. He hated when Dante was right.

Reagan was asking for more. They had shared a lot of intimate moments, and, yes, many of them went beyond sex. He’d visited her relative in the hospital. They lived together. Without meaning to, he’d complicated the hell out of things with her. He’d been flying by the seat of his pants and had mistakenly assumed she had been too.

But Reagan wasn’t a fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants kind of girl, was she? She’d grown up with a mother who was as unstable as an unmonitored nuclear power plant. Once her grandparents had adopted her, she’d clung to sameness. She loved stability. Which was why he’d decided to give her the house in the first place.

“I’m still leaving.” He watched her reaction closely. Her eyes widened before she jutted her chin in that stubborn, proud way she had.

“I like Merriweather Springs. But I belong somewhere…faster.” He was more comfortable with a fast pace; a lot going on around him.

“That makes sense.” She tucked her blond hair behind her ear. “You belong here. That tuxedo, those diamond cufflinks—elegance suits you. Sometimes the clothes really do make the man.”

“I don’t belong in any one place. That’s the thing.” He unbuttoned his jacket as he turned his body toward hers. He should have planned what to say next but he hadn’t, so he blurted out, “I’ve always believed that settling down is the start of the slow rot.”

Her eyebrows closed in over her nose.

Committed to his path, he continued to explain. “Stop moving, you die. I need to stay limber.” It was nothing he hadn’t said before, so why did he sound completely full of shit? “I came to Chicago to write my book—to finish the draft. My plan has always been to come back here to edit it. I embraced suburbia, genuinely, but the novelty has worn off.”

Her back snapped into a rigid line, her expression dangerously neutral.

Wrong thing to say.

“That didn’t come out right.” He’d brought her outside to share that she’d soon own the house she used to live in. Reagan had a life. A separate one that he’d intruded upon. She deserved to have her house back instead of it sitting empty when he left town. “What I’m trying to say is, you’re not going to have to find an apartment.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not going to keep the house. I want you to have it.” A lump formed in his throat as a wave of dizziness hit him. It was a decision he’d made a while ago. One he’d been sure about. So why did he feel a pinch of uncertainty now? “It always should have been yours. I wouldn’t feel right keeping it, or even selling it to you. You’ve been a huge help.”

Wow. That sounded lame out loud. The woman whose hand was in his was so much more than “help.” She was more than his handywoman or his muse. She’d surprised him in so many ways. From her collection of tacky plastic jewelry to the way she trusted him with her body. She had fulfilled him in a way he hadn’t known was possible before he met her. If he was into the long-term scene, Reagan would be the perfect life partner.

The lump thickened in his throat, but he pressed on. Maybe once she knew he wasn’t going to dangle her house over her head, she could relax and enjoy the evening. Enjoy the many nights they’d spend together back home.

Home. He refused to turn that thought over in his head. He knew himself well. Well enough not to lead her on. He tried to smile. “I have to check with my lawyer, but I think if I charge you a dollar it’ll keep the taxman from eating you alive. Hell,” he added with a grin, “I’ll give you the dollar too.”

Suddenly she was standing over him, fuming if the rigid set of her shoulders and balled-up fists were any indication. “Believe it or not, I have a dollar, Brody.”

“I know you do.” He stood with her. “And hey, if you decide you want to move someday, you’ll have an asset. The neighborhood’s value is skyrocketing. In a couple of years, you’ll be able to sell that house for five times what I paid for it.”

Her neck was red, the shade traveling swiftly to her cheeks. “I’m surprised you haven’t offered me up for auction yet.”

“Pardon?”

“Evidently I’m the biggest charity case here.”

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