Page 9 of The Rebel Billionaire

Twice the size of my own bungalow, it was a rambling craftsman style structure that had great bones but was a total disaster. I'd considered it for myself—the front rooms had detailed woodwork that was hard to turn down, but it was way too big for me and too much of aproject.

I'd had my hands full with my own mess next door, but that was nothing compared to this place. "You're not going to live here,areyou?"

"Of course I'm going to live here,"shesaid.

"You're insane." I'd revised my assessment of her from crazy to just having a bad day, but now the pendulum was swinging back to totally fucking nuts. "You can't live here. This place is about to fall down onyourhead."

"Only parts of it," she protested. "Look, the foundation is solid and I had a new roof put on right after I took possession. A lot of the electrical has been shut off, and what's on is safe. Not entirely reliable, but safe. Same for the plumbing. There's no kitchen. That was gutted a few weeks ago. And the upstairs is basically a bunch of studs since the contractor re-did the layout of therooms.

"But the front of the house—the hall, the stairs, the dining room, and the living room just need cosmetic work. And I did get the bathroom in the back of the house in working shape. I have a portable AC unit if I need it and a sleeping bag. So yeah, Iamstayinghere."

She'd struck me dumb. Whatever I'd expected Charlotte Winters to say, it hadn't been a concise rundown of the rehab on her house. At best, I'd figured she'd hire a contractor, have him get the whole thing intoHouse & Gardencondition, and then she'dmovein.

Living in a back room with no kitchen and barely a bathroom while she fixed up thehouse?

I hadn't seen thatcoming.

"Don't tell me you're going to do the work yourself," I said. She narrowed those blue eyes at me again andscowled.

"Why, because I'm a girl? Because I'm too spoiled to know howtowork?"

"Settle down, Princess—" I started to say, but she cutmeoff.

"Don't call mePrincess."

"Fine,Charlotte."

"Charlie. Don't call me Charlotte. Only people at the office and Elizabeth call meCharlotte."

Sidetracked, I asked, "Who'sElizabeth?"

Charlotte shook her head. "Aiden's ex-wife, and we are not talking about Elizabeth. We're talking about why you think I can't work on my ownhouse."

"I'm not trying to be an asshole, but there's a lot of work to do here, and most of it requires some pretty technical experience. Please tell me you don't think you're going to do anything with the electrical or theplumbing."

"I'm not an idiot, Lucas," she said, and the sound of her saying my name in that annoyed voice went straight to my cock. It was the first time she'd saidmyname.

"I don't think you're an idiot, Charlie," I said gently. "A little crazy. Reckless, maybe, but not anidiot."

"I think you're the first person to call me crazy or reckless since I was a teenager. You're just seeing me on a bad day. Normally, I'm perfect Charlie Winters. I always do the right thing, say the right thing, wear the right thing. Or, at least, I used to. Now, I don't know what the hellIam."

Something inside me rebelled at the sound of defeat in her voice. I'd seen her passionate, pissed off, and definitely reckless, but I couldn't stand the thought of herdefeated.

Trying to get her back on track, I asked, "If you're not going to work on the house, what are you goingtodo?"

"Iamgoing to work on the house. I've got a contractor handling the stuff I can't do like reworking the second floor and coordinating the plumber and electrician. But there is stuff I can do—I've got to pull up these rotten floorboards on the porch, and that just takes a crowbar and some muscle. And all that wood work in the house has three coats of paint on it. There's gorgeous quarter-sawn oak underneath all that paint. I have no idea what they were thinking coveringitup.

"I've got crown molding, wainscoting, paneling, and all of those railings on the staircase to strip and stain, not to mention all the hardwood floors have to be refinished. I was going to hire someone to do that, but now that I'm out of a job, it seems like a waste ofmoney."

I was willing to bet my house this girl had never stripped paint before. It wasn't that it was technically difficult, so much as boring, repetitive, and time-consuming. I gave her a week, max, before she got tired of it and hired someone else totakeover.

Not that I was going to voice that thought out loud. I did have some sense of self-preservation.

She could figure out on her own that she wasn't cut out for the hard, sweaty work of renovating an old house. I knew exactly what she was getting into. I'd done everything she'd listed next door in my bungalow. I'd loved every second of it, but it hadn'tbeeneasy.

"Okay," I said, not wanting to piss her off again. "And what about today? What's your plan for the rest oftoday?"

Charlie eyed me with suspicion, as if wondering what my angle was. Her probing look wouldn't get her anywhere.Ididn't know what myanglewas.