The Billionaire Experience (Crane Brothers #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

R eagan Palmer pressed the gold house key into her ex-boyfriend’s palm and let out a gusty sigh. That tiny grooved piece of metal represented months—actually over a year—of their shared pasts.

“Welp. Now I’m homeless.” She shrugged and added a smile, because it was natural to smile at Dustin.

He smiled back, also a natural reaction for him. “You’re not homeless, Ray.”

They tilted their heads to take in the vaulted ceiling of the grand entryway. The two-story home they’d shared was located in an upscale, luxury neighborhood, and though she’d lived there for a while, it had always been his house.

Mansion life didn’t suit her, but that’s what she’d signed up for when she’d started dating Dustin Livingston. He’d argued more than once that his house wasn’t a mansion. Since she’d grown up in a humble brick ranch with an unfinished basement, she was inclined to disagree.

At one point she’d been sure that they were going to get married and live a cozy upper-middle-class life. They’d work hard and scrimp and save to send their two (future) kids to college. They’d playfully argue over which brand of toothpaste was best and kick back on the front porch with bottles of beer after a hard week’s work.

A year and a half had passed, and they’d never once argued over toothpaste, or cereal brands, for that matter. They’d worked a lot of hours, her bustling all over Chicago and surrounding areas to repair this or that, and him barricaded in his office downtown working on dry-as-toast spreadsheets. They hadn’t so much as whispered about being married or starting a family since she’d moved in, and the only beers she’d enjoyed on the front porch had been by herself.

They’d finally admitted to each other that their dream was, in actuality, someone else’s. Some other couple’s, perhaps living in an alternate reality. She’d recently realized that she didn’t want two kids. Hell, she didn’t know if she wanted any kids. And his dream job ended up being in Missouri—she had no interest in moving there.

When his job offer had come, they’d agreed to part ways. She took the guest bedroom—a formality since sex was a distant memory—and promised to oversee the house’s sale while Dustin relocated for his shiny new career.

All in all, a good trade.

“Kelly and Ike would never let you be homeless.” Dustin’s smile was knowing. Of course her grandfather who raised her and her recently divorced best friend wouldn’t let Reagan be homeless. She’d be sleeping on one or the other’s sofa for the upcoming weeks until she found a permanent place to call home.

“Off to the closing table.” He held the entryway door open for her. Her sneakers squeaked across the recently polished wooden foyer flooring. He locked up behind them. “I appreciate you seeing the sale through. Made it a lot easier than me driving back and forth to clean before every showing.”

“Not a problem.” And it hadn’t been. She was accustomed to odd jobs. Most were of the handyman—or handywoman as she liked to call herself—variety. Taking on selling the home she’d lived in had been a natural, and smart, thing to do. First, it gave her a place to stay while she looked for an apartment of her own, and second, he’d offered to pay her. She still felt weird about that.

“I’ll Venmo you the money as promised,” he said as if he’d intuited the bend of her thoughts.

“It feels strange. Taking money from you.”

“Ray, you always feel strange about taking money. I had to remind you to bill your clients half the time.” He shook his head in a way that made her feel like a scolded teenager. “You earned it. Living with me alone, you earned it.”

He punctuated his joke with a wink. They’d been as compatible as ham and eggs since day one, which made her wonder if more friction would have added some spice to their relationship.

Suited and tall, Dustin’s average good looks were somewhat magnified whenever he dressed nicely. His dark hair, graying at the temples, offset rounded cheeks that would forever make him appear younger than his years. They’d met when she’d answered a call for his grandmother to repair her dishwasher. He’d chatted her up while she’d tinkered with the appliance—and she had taken longer than necessary for the fix because he’d been such a good conversationalist.

He hugged her with one arm around her shoulders. It felt almost brotherly, which only served to deepen her melancholy.

“You have a full schedule today?” he asked as he opened the door of his Honda sedan.

She paused at her white work truck, a big-ass Ram that was a bitch to park whenever she answered calls in the city. “Done with work for the day. I’m going to have dinner with Ike.”

“Tell him I said hi. I miss him. I am sorry he sold the house. I know you would have liked it for yourself.”

“I’ll tell him,” she said, instead of what she was thinking. Which was along the lines of It’s too late now. Her grandfather had sold the house she’d grown up in with both her grandparents, with her blessing. At the time, she hadn’t given a single thought to moving out of Dustin’s house, believing the slump they were in would pass. It didn’t, but that wasn’t her grandfather’s cross to bear. After sacrificing so much for Reagan, he deserved to do what he wanted in life.

With a wave, Dustin pulled away from the curb. Reagan backed her truck down the driveway and maneuvered toward Sandy Springs Retirement, a golf and recreation community her grandfather had told her about at the beginning of the year. His cheeks had been rosy when he’d unfolded the full-color brochure. He’d carefully broached the subject of selling “our house” but she’d waved off his concerns, telling him, “I won’t be moving out of Dustin’s any time soon. I love this house, but you deserve to be selfish for a change.”

Her grandparents had raised her from practically infancy, and Ike had raised her alone from age fourteen on. The man deserved a gold medal for tolerating her through her challenging teenage years, that was for damn sure.

At the gate, the guard waved her in, familiar with the logo on her truck’s door by now. She’d done several jobs for the residents of Sandy Springs over the last few weeks. Ike being here had come with an unexpected boost for her business.

His condo was modest, with a cheery box of yellow flowers beneath the kitchen window. It was April and still chilly in the Midwest. She hoped the blooms lasted if there was another frost. Either way, it wasn’t her grandfather’s problem. The community employed full-time gardening help to keep the lawns neat and the flowers colorful.

She swallowed down the lump in her throat. How could she be so incredibly happy for him and so incredibly sad for herself at the same time?

“Do not feel sorry for yourself,” she muttered as she tucked her truck keys into the front pocket of her perfectly worn Levi’s. She wouldn’t tolerate any pouting while visiting him.

“There’s my beautiful girl!” Her grandfather threw open his front door. At age seventy-two, he was slightly stooped, and his neck wasn’t as straight as it used to be. Thick-rimmed glasses had left a permanent dent on the bridge of his nose, and rows of false teeth grinned back at her. He wore a short-sleeved plaid shirt and gray trousers. His hair—a head full of graying white—was trimmed at the sides but combed into a perfectly respectable side part.

He enveloped her in his arms, patting her back hard enough to knock the wind from her lungs. “I booked us the best table at the bistro,” he said when he let her go. “My treat.”

“You should let me treat you. Dustin is closing on the house today, which means my ship’s come in.” He wasn’t paying her a massive amount of money for housesitting, but it was a good-sized chunk that she could certainly use.

Ike’s smile fell. “I can’t let you treat me. You’re saving for a fancy apartment with a garage. One that is much better than the dump I raised you in.”

“It’s not a dump.” She knew what he was doing. Trying to make her feel better that the house on 388 Maplebrook had been sold six weeks ago to someone other than her. By the time Dustin’s out-of-state job offer had led to their subsequent breakup, the sale had gone through two weeks prior. She’d played it off with a que-sera attitude. Whatever will be, will be. To be fair, she had believed that at the time. “I hope the guy who bought it doesn’t knock it down and build a McMansion.”

“Ha. McMansion. Whatever befalls that pile of bricks was meant to be.” He smiled warmly. Any optimism she had inherited was thanks to Ike’s influence.

Their old neighborhood’s value had skyrocketed recently. It was established, with fully grown trees and lush green lawns, and located close to the city and the golf course her grandfather now lived on.

“I doubt he’ll bulldoze it. He was talking at the closing table about making it his own. He was excited about mowing and asked if I’d sell him the riding mower.” Ike pressed a button to open the garage door, revealing a gleaming blue golf cart. “Weather too cool for us to ride to the bistro?”

“Never!” Her smile was genuine when she pressed her hands into prayer pose. “Can I drive it? Please?”

“Some things never change. You asked the same thing about my Buick on your sixteenth birthday.” His laugh was raspy when he handed over the key. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and raced to the golf cart. She settled into the plush white leather seat and turned on the battery-powered cart. Ike sat next to her, continuing where he’d left off. “Can you imagine someone would buy that old rattletrap of a lawnmower?”

She punched the gas a bit too hard, and the vehicle jerked. Ike grabbed the oh-shit bar above his head as his pale eyebrows jumped. “Easy, Ray. My bones ain’t what they used to be.”

The nickname “Ray” had been fitting for a tomboy at heart. Almost always in jeans and a T-shirt, she liked to think she offset the nature of her work by wearing bright lipstick and mascara.

“Sorry. I’m excited.” She eased down on the gas pedal this time.

“He paid me a thousand dollars for that mower,” Ike said as they glided along the smoothly paved road.

She turned her head to see if he was serious. “A thousand dollars?”

Ike laughed again. “Those city boys really don’t know what they’re doing, do they?”

She considered Dustin as she shook her head in agreement. “No, they sure don’t.”

“Merri…what?”

“Merriweather Springs, Ma.” Brody Crane watched via video call as his mother dashed around backstage at the studio. She was better known by most as Keaton Killdeer and had been on the soap opera scene since before Brody was born. She’d won two Emmys for her starring role as Mary Marigold on the wildly popular soap Loving and Living . “It’s a suburb about thirty minutes outside of Chicago.”

She swiped a donut off the craft services table and took a bite, humming while she chewed. “For the life of me, I can’t understand why you’re doing this. You’re a city boy. A world traveler. You’re adventuresome! Now you’re living life in suburbia in the Midwest.” The studio lights reflected off the lenses of her glasses when she shook her head.

“I’ll be here a couple of months, Ma. Not exactly an eternity.”

He’d purchased the house over a month and a half ago but had only recently stepped foot in it. He’d been traveling, and sorting out his penthouse in New York, before he left for his extended stay outside of Chicago. He’d barely done more than furnish his new house, and even then, sparsely.

The purpose of the move was to be immersed in suburbia while he penned his second book. He hadn’t so much as typed “Chapter One” into his manuscript. The last thing he needed was a repeat of his last deadline—which he’d missed to the tune of six months.

“You can write from anywhere . Why not fix up a stately brownstone here in the city?”

He’d lived in a stately brownstone once upon a time with his ex-girlfriend. Just remembering the smothering feeling of permanence made him shudder. “Because,” he explained instead, “the premise of the new book is about a billionaire making a house a home in the Midwest . I can’t talk about what that’s like without actually living in the Midwest. I don’t write fiction.”

“Well, I preferred the premise of the original book.” Keaton popped the rest of the donut into her mouth.

Yeah, because he’d been living in Manhattan while writing it.

“If that premise had worked, I’d have written it months ago.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, residual panic from the long months he’d spent avoiding his editor and ignoring his deadline washing over him anew.

When he’d blown by his deadline by half a year, he’d had to admit that the premise of his follow-up book was off the mark. Writing about living extravagantly in New York City was a little too on the nose for a Crane billionaire. He hadn’t stretched a single inch outside his comfort zone during that time, and had been invited to nearly every ball, charity event, and cocktail party on the Upper East Side. Worse, he’d stationed himself at his apartment, not following his whims to travel even once. No wonder once he’d closed on his new house he’d booked a flight to Paris.

His first book had remained on the New York Times bestseller list at number one for nearly a year, and writing it had been an adventure in and of itself. Nothing had stayed the same from day to day. He’d traveled across America, had found temporary jobs—mostly construction or restaurant work—and had either crashed on newfound friends’ couches or slept in his car. He’d met incredibly hardworking, down-to-earth people, some of whom he’d kept in touch with since. Returning to highbrow society had been tepid by comparison.

“I suppose that’s true.” His mother’s gold-green eyes flicked to the side. Her mouth quirked. He’d guessed what she was up to before she handed off the phone. “Brody, say hi to Alexis.”

The idea of hanging up was tempting but childish.

Alexis Calvin, Keaton’s costar and Brody’s ex-girlfriend, for lack of a better term, gave him a disingenuous, but no less dazzling, smile. “Hi, BC.”

“Hi, Lexi.” His mother had assumed they’d get married. She was so far off the mark on that one, it wasn’t even funny. Lexi had been almost predatory. He’d been mildly interested in continuing to see her after two successful dinner dates, but she’d been, as she’d told anyone who would listen, “smitten.”

He’d acted as her arm candy for a couple of charity events and one wedding. Three months ago, after ringing in the New Year, she was passed out on top of his naked body at two a.m. He’d been wide awake and stone sober when he’d decided not to continue the sham of a relationship. Later, she’d accused him of taking advantage of her one last time before ending it, and while that hadn’t been strictly true—it was Lexi who’d ripped his shirt open in the limo—he hadn’t resisted her either.

“I had to take a quick peek at that pretty face. It’s been months.” She pursed full lips. “I’m okay, by the way.”

So he’d gleaned from the many, many text messages she’d sent. The tone had started angry but had gradually petered off to aloof.

“I’m dating a nice guy.” She blinked catlike eyes dusted with tons of camera-ready makeup. “A truly nice guy.”

Cue the remorse. “I’m glad you’re happy, Lexi. Truly .”

Mom wasn’t the only actor in the family.

Her nostrils flared, but rather than arguing, she asked, “What about you? What are you up to these days?”

Yeah, he was so not going there.

“Listen, I’m in the middle of something.” He shot a thumb over his shoulder to gesture to the kitchen counter. “I’m replacing a sink in my new house.”

Her lips screwed into a curl of displeasure. “Gross. Why don’t you have someone else do that?”

While he’d been pampered in his life, never shying away from a personal chef who made healthy food or a financial manager to keep his investments tidy, Lexi skewed more toward the spoiled end of the scale. Another reason why they’d been incompatible outside of the bedroom.

“Because he’s writing a book about the common man,” his mother interjected, taking the phone from Alexis. “And therefore must prove to the world he is common.”

“Whatever. I gotta go,” Alexis said before trotting back to the soundstage.

“Was that necessary?” he asked his mom.

“No. But it was fun. We always knew you were too good for her.” She said that last bit in a whisper, and he shook his head. He appreciated his mother always having his back, but did she have to be so damned irritating about it? “Off to the set for me. Good luck with your sink. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

She blew him a kiss and ended the call.

He tossed his cellphone on the countertop, a tad dismayed to return to the mess he’d left for himself. He should call someone about the sink. He’d assumed it’d be a simple swap—pop out the old sink, put in a new one. But he’d already been to the home improvement store twice. Once to buy a different sink because the first one was half an inch too big, and once to pick up a part he hadn’t known he’d needed.

The sparkling stainless steel bowl mocked him.

Brody had traveled to deserts, tropical islands, and bustling cities all over the world. He’d slept in tents and hotels and on hardwood floors. How hard could it be to replace a sink? Not one to give up, he shored up and prepared for round three.

“Here’s to the plight of the common man,” he said aloud as he hefted the sink and tried again.