Page 32 of Her Billionaire Bargain (Kensington Square)

“You have her address now, so leave me alone.”

“Thanks, Ice. Talk to you later. Don’t worry. You can trust me, I swear.”

Just before she hung up, she sighed. “I do trust you. And Shelby could use a friend. Maybe she could even use—God help me—a Dex.”

I laughed and punched her address into my GPS. Maybe I’d skip the flowers and candy in favor of pure honesty. “God help us both then.”

EIGHT

Weekends were for catching up.I’d love to believe they were for relaxing, but with an eight-year-old, even relaxing was often full of juggling fun with actual chores.

Structure was a good word. Even if my kid didn’t believe me. She would when she was older. I was almost sure of it.

“Mom! Can I have a juice box?”

“No. But you can have a water.” I stepped down off my stool, watering jug in hand. The late-May warmth was already seeping into the house, but I was loath to turn on the air conditioning. As soon as I started, it was hard to stop.

But my poor plants required some extra tending thanks to the late spring heat.

I heard the put-upon sigh and the slam of the fridge, but the crunch of crushed ice from the ice machine on the door told me she listened. At least for now. Berry came tearing through the four-seasons room as she slurped up icy water through one of her wild, brightly colored straws.

“Judy looks very fetching.”

I laughed as I poured water into the variegated Philodendron. “Where did you learn that word?”

“Harry Potter.”

I fluffed the leaves on Judy. “Well, why don’t you go over there and water the students from Hogwarts?”

“Okay.” Berry sucked down half of the cup of water before plunking it on a shelf, then rushed over to fill her watering can at the mini sink I’d installed in the atrium.

Also why I had her drink water instead of juice. The girl would float away with all the liquids she consumed a day. Juice was far too full of sugar for my already hyper kid. Rerouting her energy was always a struggle and a joy.

Luckily, she’d taken after her mama and her gram with her love for taking care of plants. Probably a little had to do with her aunt Avery too. My partner in Designing Women loved to bring Berry on some of the smaller landscaping projects for our business.

My very enterprising and far-too-smart-for-her-own-good daughter liked to name our plants. Judy had been with us since I’d bought the fixer-upper four years ago post-divorce. It had taken me a damn long time to save enough money to put a sizable down payment on the cottage on the edge of Kensington Square.

I’d been determined to get out of Turnbull, as much as I loved it. My clientele lived mostly in the affluent Crescent Cove or Kensington Square areas, and I wanted to be in the middle of the action. That, and I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it.

Single women with a kid and a growing business could survive and even thrive, dammit. If I convinced myself, it would happen. Maybe. I was pretty sure surviving was the only part of the equation I was getting right most days.

I glanced at my little girl, who twirled from one plant stand to another with her own little watering can. At least one of us was thriving.

She was talking animatedly to all the smaller plants she’d named after the students at Hogwarts. Harry Potter was one of her favorite things on this planet. She was a book maniac and well above her reading level. I’d worried a little bit about the darker aspects of the later novels in the series, but she was more intuitive and bright than even I gave her credit for.

The books continued to be an enduring favorite, and she’d recently branched out into graphic novels. Good thing I made a decent living because not even the library could keep up with the voracious reading appetites of my little girl.

Not so little anymore.

The sound of tires rolling up the drive, easily heard from this part of my small home, had me rushing to the window. A red convertible Mustang idled in the driveway with a pudgy dog in the front seat, his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

No.Why was he here? I hadn’t invited him. He hadn’t texted me to give me fair warning.

Had I forgotten something in our conversation?

Well, other than setting an appointment to sign a contract before I started any sort of work. The damn man had rattled me enough I’d forgotten my steps. And I never forgot my steps.

“Mama, doggie! Did you see the doggie?”

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