Page 19 of Starting Over with Her Billionaire Boss

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his thigh. Avoiding her gaze, he instead studied the chipped paint on the door-frame, wishing he could think of what to say to make this easier.

“I’m going to be honest with you, Kinsley, I didn’t expect this, so I am a bit at a loss for words. I can’t use my typical tactics onsomeone I care about.”Care about.Those were words he didn’t use lightly, and the moment they escaped his mouth, he wanted to curse himself for letting that phrase loose, of all things.

“Well, spit it out because you’re making me nervous,” Kinsley said, walking into a sitting area Daegan presumed to be the living room. She sat on an old red sofa, motioning for him to sit opposite her. The antique coffee table between them held paint swatches.

“To put it succinctly, I came here today to talk to the homeowner so that I could purchase this property.” He sat, the cushion being much softer than he expected. “It’s the only one left I need to purchase on the block. This place is the last house standing between me and the next step in a short-term leasing project to turn the area into a better, more profitable tourist destination for Trueport.” Daegan maintained eye contact for a moment before Kinsley blinked, her gaze darting around the room. “I already own all the acreage behind it.”

She straightened up. “I thought you knew I inherited it. You sent the flowers,” she said. Her voice was edged with accusation, fury laced through each syllable.

It was Daegan’s own fault for not checking the new owner’s name. These offers had been such a breeze for them so far. Perhaps he had become a bit too careless. “I didn’t know until now, Kins.”

Kinsley’s jaw tightened, hands clenching into fists at her sides. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and cutting. “You’re here to buy my family’s house? The one that’s been passed down for generations?” Her fingers tightened on the sofa’s arm, the knuckles turning white as he watched.

Here it comes.“I didn’t know, Kins. I swear,” Daegan said, his voice softening to accommodate the delicate situation. “I just wanted to discuss it. I’m ready to offer six hundred thousand dollars, which is well above the house’s value.” The silence thatfollowed was only broken by the ticking of a clock. “Of course I am open to discussion and willing to consider any other ideas you have or what price you are looking for.”

Kinsley’s eyes wandered over the familiar decorations on the shelves and walls. Daegan couldn’t even begin to imagine all the memories and history that those pieces held. When her gaze finally settled back on him, it was steady. The warmth of nostalgia had been replaced with something much colder, more resolute. For just a moment, it stopped his breath. He already knew the answer before she even spoke. “No, because I’m not selling.” She was angrier than he’d ever seen.

“I’d love to discuss it with you,” Daegan said, but as the words left his mouth, he felt his smile falter at the edges. His fingers fidgeted with his watch, adjusting the leather band, which was already a perfect fit. “Maybe over a business dinner tonight, or this weekend?”

“Abusinessdinner?” She looked disgusted. “No, I’m not selling. Furthermore,” she boasted, “I’m busy this weekend. I am actually just about to head out the door to go to the airport.”

“Oh. Maybe you can get some reading done on the plane.” Daegan really tried his best to change the tone in the air.

“I’mnot going anywhere. I’m playing chauffeur.” Her words were crisp. Daegan was good at recognizing an upset woman; if there was a video next to the definition in the dictionary, it would be of this moment.

He also knew when he was no longer welcome.

“Ah, well, I hope this weekend is a good one for you,” he said as he stood, walking across the creaking floor toward the door. “We can discuss this next week.”

“No, wewon’tbe discussing this next week because there is nothing more to discuss regarding the ownership ofmyproperty, Mr. Westerhouse.” He recognized her tone as one she’d had to use on a phone call the other day. Daegan hadoverheard it and found her assertiveness sexy as hell. But having it used on him? It hit him like a sledgehammer between the eyes. “This house isn’t just four walls to me. It’s my family, my history. It’s everything I have left.” There was a note of desperation in her voice. “You think money can somehow replace that, but it can’t.”

“I’m not trying to take that away from you, Kins! I didn’t know?—”

“I guess not,” Kinsley cut him off. “But now you do. And the answer’s still no.”

“I’ll see you Monday then,” Daegan said, seeing himself out the front door.

“For work—and only for work. Until then, have apleasantweekend, Mr. Westerhouse,” she spat.

The door slammed shut behind him with a force that made the porch rattle. A startled stray cat bolted out from beneath the steps, disappearing into the overgrown rosebushes. Daegan stood there for a moment, the sound of her final words echoing in his mind. The warmth of her earlier smiles was long gone, replaced by something cold and unyielding.

He turned slowly, walking back to his car as the summer breeze swept through the avenue. Each house, with its peeling paint and sagging porches, told a story of time and memory. But none hit him harder than the one he’d just left.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, Daegan rested his hands on the wheel, staring at the chipped mauve paint of her home in the rearview mirror. “Why did it have to be her?” he muttered, his voice low and defeated. He started the engine, the hum of the car doing little to drown out the tension in his chest. As he pulled away, his mind raced with thoughts he refused to entertain.

Kinsley’s breathcaught in her throat. She tried to steady herself, but her hands were trembling, her grip tight on the doorknob. How could he? How could Mr. Westerhouse still ask this of her, after everything she’d told him just this afternoon? Her chest tightened, her breath coming in short bursts as if she’d been struck. Pressing her trembling fingers to her temple, she willed herself to push through the sting of betrayal and think clearly.

Her head rested against the banister as she sank onto the steps. Questions swirled in her mind, each one more painful than the last. Had any of it been real? The coffee, the conversations—had it all been part of his calculated attempt to manipulate her? The thought turned her stomach and made her blood boil.

Sell the house? Tohim?

Fury tightened her chest.Never.Not in this life, not in the next. He’d have to rip it from her cold, dead hands.The nerve of that man.He was attempting to rob her of one of the few things she had left of her own family. He’d known how this would hurt her, and he’d walked into her home and tried it anyway.

I’m better off without him.What was she thinking, letting him in on her past? She wasn’t about to sell her family’s memories to this man and she wasn’t about to allow herself to develop any sympathy—or feelings—either.

Feelings.

That’s something she didn’t need. Especially now. She couldn’t risk developing feelings for someone, particularly when everyone else in her past had left her—either through fate or by choice—apart from a couple of friends. As much as Kinsleyenjoyed the company of others, she deeply feared growing attached to new people. She knew better. It was far easier to avoid getting hurt if you weren’t connected to others to begin with. She’d only proven herself right.

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