Page 18 of Starting Over with Her Billionaire Boss

“Plans?” Her voice was crisp.

“I just need to make a stop by someone’s home and then go hide away in my own like a hobbit until Monday morning.” Daegan turned back to her with a fake smile, not looking forward to the actual work awaiting him throughout the weekend.

“Ooh, living life on the edge, are we?” Kinsley’s voice was tantalizing, much to Daegan’s delight. It was as if she could push aside those wounds, much like he had learned to do.

Daegan leaned forward across his desk and lowered his voice. “You have no idea. I might even eat a spoonful of ice cream,” he joked, pulling himself back into his chair with a smirk.

The smile that had been tugging at her cheeks neutralized, an abrupt seriousness taking over Kinsley that Daegan couldn’t quite read. “Well, enjoy your weekend and I will see you on Monday.” She turned, walking away in a manner that only seemed to hypnotize him. The clacking of her heels, the sway of her hips as the sunlight hugged her curves…everything in perfect unison.

It only took Daegan ten minutes to give in and close down his office. With the necessary files and paperwork Kinsey had organized in his briefcase, he headed out. He wasn’t heading home, but rather to one of the most important purchasingconsultations of his career. Though he didn’t have the paperwork pulled for it yet, he knew the location by heart.

He needed to convince the new owner to make some quick cash and get an accepted offer in writing as fast as he could. Summer and fall were so short here, but if the permits went quick, he could break ground before winter. If he had to pull out a few stops—maybe a little flirting—then he was bound and determined to do whatever it would take to get this house into his hands.

It was a beautiful summer day. Warm, gentle breeze, and a few clouds accenting the sky as he drove through peaceful neighborhoods. Summers here were perfect, autumn was stunning, and winter was picturesque. If he could provide tourists more places to stay and spend their money, Trueport could go from redlining to a gold mine.

As the avenue of those necessary eight homes came into view, Daegan’s hopes turned bittersweet. They were gorgeous homes on generous portions of property, each with its own history dating back a century or two. Some were run-down. Some painted bright colors. One was boarded up. Regardless, these were all homes Daegan had deals set to buy. A couple were already in his possession.

All but one.

But with this one visit, Daegan had faith that that would change.

The home in question slowly came into view. The faded light mauve paint was chipping in places. A crooked white picket fence surrounded the property. A cracked, paved driveway led to a path that ended at the porch, enclosed by a white railing. The lawn appeared freshly cut, although the hedges could do with a good trim, and the overgrown flowers needed a little care.

Daegan eased his car carefully through the narrow posts on either side of the driveway, his fingers drumming nervously onthe steering wheel. He stared at the chipped paint on the old house for a moment longer than necessary before shutting off the engine. His gait faltered as he stepped out, betraying the confidence he usually carried into every negotiation. Regardless, he was a businessman. A solid one at that. He would get this property turned in his favor, no matter what it took. A little flirting? No problem. A nice dinner at a fancy restaurant to convince this woman that she was better off selling the property? Easy. There were very few things he wouldn’t do to secure this house; a young, new homeowner wasn’t about to stand in his way.

He rang the doorbell, took a step back, and waited. When he felt enough time had passed, he gave the door a few solid knocks and glanced around. Perhaps he had the wrong entrance? These older homes often had a different, modern primary.

Faintly, he heard the creak of the door opening.

“Mr. Westerhouse? What are you doing here?” an all-too-familiar voice questioned. There was no mistaking the alarm in her tone.

Daegan’s gaze snapped back to the doorway in an instant to see Kinsley standing there.This changes everything.It wasn’t often that Daegan found himself at a loss for words. Now? This was one of those rare times that words just didn’t flow.

“Is everything okay?” Kinsley snapped him back to reality. “Didn’t I leave you behind at work?”

“I was hoping to speak to the homeowner.” He smiled. “Are you…” he trailed off, already knowing the answer.

Kinsley’s eyes flicked down as she nodded. “Inherited it from Granny,” she said, her fingers tightening on the edge of the thick wooden door, knuckles whitening.

Right.The grandmother she had mentioned, the last of a long line of tragedies Kinsley was somehow shouldering as if it were only natural to do so.

Pitching this deal was going to be like selling a sunken ship as a luxury yacht.

“I thought you knew,” Kinsley said, trying to fill his silences as she often did. “I mean… You sent the bouquet and all.”

I didn’t put two and two together,he should have said, but he still couldn’t spit it out. Every line was wrong, every pitch he relied on would only insult her. Thomas had never told him the new owner’s name—Daegan should have asked.

“You seem lost or confused.” Kinsley’s voice softened, though she looked off to the side and not at him.

Daegan inhaled deeply and let it out with a sigh. “Kins, can we talk for a minute?”

Kinsley opened the door, her hand resting protectively on the doorknob for just a moment longer than necessary, before stepping aside. She motioned him in with a stiff gesture, her lips pressed into a thin line, as if holding back an unspoken torrent.

As Daegan stepped inside, the scent of pine hit him immediately, a sharp contrast to the sterile, minimalist environment he’d grown accustomed to. The creak of the old floorboards beneath his designer leather shoes made him feel like an intruder in a place where time had settled comfortably. His eyes drifted over the clutter of knickknacks—a quiet reminder that this was not just a house, but a home—Kinsley’shome.

A home he was about to disrupt.

Kinsley closed the squeaky door gently behind him. “What’s the matter?”

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