Page 11 of The Rebel Billionaire

I went to sit up, and the throbbing in my head convinced me to stay whereIwas.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a distinctive crystal highball glass filled with water. The day before rushed back into my sluggish, hung-overbrain.

Aiden.

Lawnmower hottie, a.k.a. LucasJackson.

And a very expensive bottle ofwhiskey.

Oh, my God, Aiden’s going tokillme.

I remembered I didn't care if Aiden was angry and I wanted to weep. Always, when something went wrong, I turned to Aiden. I'd never, ever, imagined my big brother would be the one to stab me intheback.

I wished he had another absurdly expensive bottle of whiskey I could steal and waste, not that stealing his whiskey was going to fix anything. And if the pounding in my head was any indication, alcohol was not the way I wanted to solve myproblems.

Carefully propping myself up on one elbow, I reached for the glass of water and sipped. It was room temperature and smelled faintly of whiskey, but it wasdelicious.

I drained every drop before flopping back down and staring at the ceiling. I'd need to replace the drywall up there, I noted absently, taking in the water stains from pipes that had leakeddecadesago.

The offending pipes were gone. The second floor was as close as you could get to a blank canvas in a house this age. Everything looked like a mess, but when I was done it would be a home.Myhome now that I'd moved out of WintersHouse.

I needed more water and I needed food. Fortunately, while my head was filled with jackhammers, my stomach felt okay—empty, ravenous, but I wasn't going togetsick.

I needed a shower, a change of clothes, and food. I could handle the shower and the clean clothes, but I'd have to leave togetfood.

In fact, if I really planned to live here, I was going to have to go on a little shopping trip. I wouldn't go crazy. Now that I was unemployed and had a money pit of a house to make livable, I couldn't go throwing money around left andright.

Not that I did that anyway. But I needed some basics, like a mini-fridge and something to sleep on. My Girl Scout sleeping bag was not going to cut it long-term. Showerfirst.

I dragged myself to my feet and stumbled into the tiny bathroom next to the room I was sleeping in. I thought the room might have originally been a maid's quarters, based on its proximity to the kitchen and the garage, but I was grateful it not only had a shower, but the plumbing had been aneasyfix.

Eventually, I'd gut and redo this bathroom, but for now, I was grateful for hot water and a workingtoilet.

I showered quickly, my stomach urging me to fill it. I'd forgotten linens, so I had to use my dirty t-shirt as a makeshift towel. Skin still damp, I pulled on a fresh pair of jeans and a fitted T-shirt.

Out of habit, I went to the mirror to pin up my hair. I was halfway through twisting the long, wet mass into a bun when Ifroze.

Why was I doing this? I wasn't going to work. I didn't need professional hair. I didn't need professional anything. The only benefit of being unemployed was that I didn't have to do what wasappropriate.

I could do whatever I wanted. After all, it wasn't like I could ruin my future chances for gainful employment. Not after Aiden had put out the word that no one shouldhireme.

I ignored the sting in my heart and reached for the phone in my back pocket. I was tired of perfect Charlotte and I was tired of perfect Charlotte's perfect hair. Before I could think better of it, I dialed the salon where I normally got myhaircut.

Fate must've been on my side because my stylist had a last-minute cancellation. She could take me in an hour and a half, plenty of time for me to get coffee and breakfast before I took one more step in ditching Charlotte forCharlie.

Might as well. I didn't have anything lefttolose.

I could've walked to the small café for breakfast, but I didn't want to run late, and to be honest, I was feeling a little shy about running intoLucas.

I bundled my hair into a messy bun and slapped on the bare minimum of makeup. It wasn't so much that I was worried about how I looked as the memory of launching myselfathim.

Had I seriously kissed a total stranger? I'd had a little bit of whiskey, butreally?

Okay, he was lawnmower hottie. I'd been drooling over him for a while, but kissing random men on a whim was so not me. It wasn't Charlotte and it wasn'tCharlie.

It wascrazy.

I couldn't avoid him for long. For one thing, he lived next door. For another, I was pretty sure I wanted to kiss himagain.