Page 43 of The Billionaire's Promise

"Again?" she asked.

I shook my head. "I'm ignoring him."

"Give me your phone," she demanded, holding out her hand.

I eyed her, suspicious. "Why? You're not going to call him and tell him off, are you? I don't want to encourage him."

"No, I promise. Just give me the phone."

"Fine," I said, unlocking the screen and handing it over. She tapped at the screen as we walked, arm in arm, letting me watch for cars and other pedestrians. I wondered what she was doing with my phone, but she kept it angled away from my curious gaze.

As we stood in line at the cafe, she handed it back, saying only, "Now you'll know when he calls." We got ice cream and strolled down the street, passing shops, cafés, and restaurants.

A moment later, my phone buzzed to life again, this time with a mechanical voice saying, "Warning, the Loser is calling. Warning, the Loser is calling." I dissolved into giggles, almost dropping my ice cream. This time, I didn't bother to silence the call.

"Much better," Charlie said with relish.

"I agree.” Brayden was a loser, and the sooner I erased him from my life, the better.

Charlotte led me around the corner and down a residential street filled with a mix of Victorian and Craftsman homes, some exquisitely restored and some in need of a little TLC.

She stopped in front of a two-story Craftsman with a wraparound front porch and faded, peeling paint in shades of gray. I think it was gray. It could have been purple or blue before time had leached out the tint. The yard was a mess of weeds and brambles, overgrown in some places and bare in others.

A prime example of the kind of homes in the neighborhood that needed some love. When it was fixed up, it would be adorable. At the moment, it was a little scary. AFor Salesign sat in the front yard.

"What you think?" Charlie asked. I looked from her to the house and back again.

"For you?" I asked doubtfully, eyeing the deep bow in the front porch and the loose shingles on the roof.

She shrugged one shoulder, staring at the peeling paint with a look I could only describe as wistful yearning. Charlotte didn't just like the house. Shewantedit. On the surface, they were a terrible match. Charlotte's polish, her starkly tailored business suit and her sleek hair, did not fit this house with its welcoming architecture and general air of neglect.

I watched her eyes devour the house, and I knew that this sad structure was more Charlotte than Charlotte was. At a loss, I said, "It's a little smaller than what you’re used to, but anything would be small compared to Winters House."

An understatement. Winters House was bigger than some hotels.

"I know," she said. "It needs a lot of work, and I never have time. And actually, it’s a lot bigger than you’d think. Too big for just me. But I saw it on the website, and it looked—"

"Like home?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "It looks like home." I didn't bother to ask if she could afford it. She was Charlotte Winters. She probably had enough money to buy the whole street.

"You should—" My words were drowned out by the sound of a lawnmower roaring to life at the house next door. Both of us turned to look, and my jaw dropped.

The man pushing the lawnmower was well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and long legs, every inch of his body chiseled with muscle. He had on a pair of faded kaki cargo shorts and no shirt, displaying tanned skin heavily decorated with tattoos. The only one I could see clearly was the bird on his back—maybe a hawk—its talons extended, dripping blood. The tattoo was a little intimidating, but when he turned around, all thought fled my mind.

Cut cheekbones, light green eyes, a lush lower lip, and shaggy black hair. Holy crap. Ifhelived next door, I was having second thoughts about Charlie buying that house.

Leaning into Charlotte so she could hear me over the roar of the lawnmower, I said, "I was going to say you should put in an offer, but if he’d be your neighbor, let's go to the real estate office right now. Good Lord, he's hot."

As if he'd heard me, which was impossible, the hot neighbor looked up and winked.

Not at me. At Charlie. Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away.

"Let's go," she said, looping her arm through mine again and dragging me up the street, away from her dream house and the gorgeous guy next door. I tried to resist, but she was relentless.

"Are we going to the real estate office?" I asked. "We should at least get more information about the house, don't you think?"

"No," she said mulishly. "I'm going back to work. I don't know what I'm thinking. I have a place to live. It's stupid to think about moving out. And I don't want to leave Aiden on his own."