Page 5 of Her Billionaire Bargain (Kensington Square)

TWO

I woketo the sound of bells ringing. I slammed my hand in the general vicinity of my nightstand, trying futilely to silence the intrusion. I’d been having the very best dream about Jason Momoa or his nearest statistical equivalent—

And the damn bells would not stop.

I pried open one eyelid, glared at my phone, and willed it to cease making noise immediately. It was a fucking Saturday. My one day to sleep in. Why was work calling me?

This was what I got for not silencing notifications on a day I was not working. And I wasn’t. No matter what. TJ knew the rule. Unless the client had more money than God and a willingness to spend it, Saturdays were sacrosanct.

I grabbed the phone, swiping to accept the call. “Seriously, Teej?”

“I know, I know, I seriously debated calling for like five minutes. But you gotta hear who it’s for.”

“Not even a text? C’mon, man. I was having the very best dream, and I swear, if you just ruined my only dream O for the month—”

“Dear God, if that’s true for you, I’m seriously sorry. Also, I’ve never had that kind of dream. At least that took me all the way to the finish line. For real?”

“When it’s a Jason Momoa lookalike, it kinda happens spontaneously. Or it would have if you hadn’t ruined it.”

She sighed heavily. “I knew no good would come from you browsing that architectural magazine.”

“It’s aspirational. Besides, you neglected to tell me what that builder Kainoa N’ai looked like. Thanks for nothing, by the way.”

“As if it matters. Your vagina is locked tighter than a vault to all but dream men.”

“Yeah, but dream me is a ho, obviously. Still not talking, Teej, and I’m about to hang up.”

“Wait, wait, wait, he’s richer than sin and comes with excellent refs.”

“The Pope?”

She huffed out a laugh. “Not that excellent.”

“K, unless I get a name, bye now.”

“Dexter Shaw.”

“Who?”

She let out an impatient breath. “If you ever pulled your head out of parenting magazines for a minute, you would’ve seen he was listed in New York Magazine’s 40 under 40 to watch just last month.”

“Big whoop. And I read far more design mags than parenting. Those are too preachy.” I didn’t have a clue about this 40 under 40 thing she’d mentioned, but that name sounded vaguely familiar. Or maybe more than vaguely. “What does he want?”

“You.”

I pulled myself up into a semi-seated position. “Why me?”

“Apparently, you wore a pink pantsuit when he met you and treated him like crap, thereby somehow rocking his world. I swear, men are masochists.”

I must still be dreaming because none of this conversation made any sense. “What?”

“Yeah, kinda blew my mind too. Since when do you wear pantsuits?”

“Since never.”

Except for that one time last fall…

I blew out a noisy breath as the memory of a far too handsome man talking to my little girl and playing with her ball filled my mind. To be fair, he hadn’t said anything untoward to her that I knew of or acted the least bit strangely. But the fact remained that gorgeous lawyers did not make a habit of even acknowledging Berry existed under most circumstances.

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