The Billionaire Next Door

by Jessica Lemmon

  Rachel couldn’t rent their place alone. It was a luxury three-bedroom, three-bath with a garden balcony. It was located in Edgewater. For the last few weeks, she’d been pounding the pavement with resumes and had received only one callback: an offer for a receptionist position that she’d turned down graciously. She wasn’t too good for answering phones, but at the Andromeda she’d make twice as much money as the position offered.

  “Um…”

  “I’m sorry,” Bree said quickly. “I didn’t mean to pressure you. It’s—”

  “Stop. You’re too nice. The truth is, I can’t afford the apartment on my own. And moving in with Tag would be…” A long pause settled between them before she finished with, “Insane.”

  At that, Bree cocked an eyebrow. “Dean and I fell in love fast. It could happen.”

  “No. It couldn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  Oh, sweet Bree.

  “What you and Dean have is rare, and most of the time isn’t what the rest of us find.” It was as likely to spot a unicorn as it was to find a couple as in sync as those two. They were on the same page in every way—like the other day when they’d accidently matched in jeans and the same shade of royal blue shirt.

  “But if it’s real and you’re denying it based on your past with some idiot like Shaun, that’s not fair to you or Tag.”

  “Shaun has nothing to do with it. I mean, sure, I was intimidated about sex”—she whispered the word—“but I’m over that. I think it had more to do with me finding my confidence again.” And she had. She felt like her old self. In no small way, thanks to Tag.

  “I never believed you were scared of sex.” Bree’s eyes widened. “Oh man.”

  “What?” Rachel felt her brow crease.

  “You’re scared of falling in love! That makes so much sense. After Shaun, why would you want to commit only to be left behind again?”

  Rachel let out a disgruntled huff rather than reply. It was like Bree had been reading her mind these past few months. Inconvenient when there were certain topics she didn’t feel like hashing out.

  The front door opened and four men and women marched in, briefcases in hand. Bree grabbed a pen and pad of paper as she headed out to greet the foursome that sat in one of the booths by the window. Before she walked off, she turned to say, “We’re not done talking about this.”

  Rachel went back to cleaning the bar, turning the conversation over and over in her mind, her stomach tossing like a boat in a storm.

  Her independence was important. Making it on her own, imperative. Shaun had definitely put doubt in her mind after they’d split. He’d betrayed her when he was supposed to love her.

  Even now, the idea of moving in with a man again made her palms sweat. She’d feel so…trapped.

  Wouldn’t she?

  Tag hadn’t made her feel trapped or dependent. He’d made her feel…

  Amazing.

  She gave her head an intentional shake to dislodge the thought. Falling in love with Tag had its own pratfalls. He was a consummate bachelor whose middle name was Fun. What would he want with a girlfriend or…or…a wife.

  The word hit her like a bucket of ice water.

  Either of those roles required a lot of trust. She thought she trusted Tag, but what if she was wrong? She’d been wrong before. And the fallout hadn’t been pretty.

  She had to protect herself—her heart.

  No matter what.

  * * *

  Tag slid the heavy metal door of the freight elevator aside and made way for his brothers. Eli stepped into his upcycled warehouse, leaning heavily on a pair of crutches, his jeans flat below his right knee.

  The doctors had insisted on getting him on his feet as soon as possible after surgery to increase circulation, and Eli, though wobbly, was doing well. Physically, anyway. He slid a displeased look around his home, specifically to the second floor, where his loft bedroom used to be. His hair was longer, his beard thicker, his frown more prominent.

  “Welcome home,” Reese said, stepping out of the elevator behind Eli. Unlike Reese, who bought a mansion, and Tag, who opted for a penthouse, Eli went for the more industrial and less homey option. He’d improved the warehouse little by little every time he was on leave. He owned the building and chose to keep the lower floor empty. His upstairs offered plenty of open space to move around, ironically perfect for his mobility now.

  Reese dragged Eli’s suitcase behind him. “I’ll throw this in the bedroom. It’s back here, by the way.”

  Eli’s gaze flitted again to the loft and the metal stairs leading to his second floor. Then he walked to the living room area, his arms straining through his Henley as he maneuvered on the crutches. The therapist told them Eli would be fitted with a prosthetic in the next few weeks once his stump had healed. Eli had shared with Tag that he was anxious to get moving like “normal” again, to not be restricted. It’d take time, but Tag knew he’d get there. His brother could do anything he set his mind to.

  “We moved everything from the second floor to the main floor,” Tag said.

  Eli faced Tag, his navy blue eyes hard. “Yeah, I imagine those stairs will come in real fucking handy.”

  Reese entered the room and blew out a sigh.

  “What the hell is all that?” Eli angled to the gym area they set up along the wall below the loft. Tag and Reese had had the area outfitted with a bench and weights and a machine for everyone’s all-time favorite: leg day.

  “Your physical therapist will come daily, and you’ll have a nurse check in on you twice a week,” Reese told him. “This is part of the deal, Eli. You have to do your rehab.”

  “We’re close by if you need anything,” Tag interjected.

  Despite his surly attitude, they knew this was what Eli wanted. He wanted to be at home rather than stay with Reese and Merina any longer. And Eli made it clear he had no interest in staying with Tag. “Penthouses suck,” he’d said. He wanted his freedom, and this was the only way to give it to him.

  “The nurse is temporary, just until your leg heals. Her visits will taper off after you learn your way around,” Reese said.

  “Relearn, you mean.” Eli scowled at the floor.

  Tag’s heart ached like it had split in two. What would it feel like to be missing a part of your own body?

  “Hey, better than living with him,” Tag said, trying to lighten the mood as he pointed at Reese. Eli had stayed with Merina and Reese for the last few days and had been shuttled back and forth to the hospital as needed while Tag readied his warehouse.

  “I’ve had enough of that love nest,” Eli muttered.

  “It’s sickening, right?” Tag joked.

  “I’d talk,” Reese said. “You’re still seeing your blond bartender. Last I checked, it’s about time for you to run for the hills isn’t it?”

  Eli gave them the first hint of a smile—the barest lift of one side of his mouth. “Tell me it’s not true. Tag, the ultimate player, benched.”

  Tag stifled his own smile. He’d wanted to shift the topic from Eli’s leg. It worked.

  “Merina said you had a girl out in the waiting room. She said you took her to Hawaii on vacation.” Eli adjusted his weight on the crutches and rolled one shoulder.

  “For work. She was advising on the bar setup.” Tag palmed the back of his neck. Okay. The conversation switch had worked too well.

  Eli and Reese exchanged glances. “He knows I didn’t suffer brain damage when I lost my leg, right?”

  Reese let out a deep laugh.

  When Tag looked up to tell them both to cram it, he noticed Eli suddenly didn’t look so good. Then Eli winced, knuckles going white on the crutches, his face pinching. A sound of raw pain followed.

  Tag and Reese rushed to him, but before they could each grab an arm, Eli unclenched a hand and held it open, signaling them to stop. He growled one word. “Don’t.”

  Tag froze. Reese locked his fists at his sides. The doctor warned them about this—phantom pains. I
ntense, spearing, sometimes hot, electric shots of pain in the limb that was missing.

  Watching Eli’s expression shatter in agony was the hardest thing Tag ever had to witness.

  “Stubborn ass,” Tag muttered when Eli wobbled like he might pass out.

  Tag grabbed one crutch and wrapped an arm around his brother’s back, physically moving Eli to a chair and forcing him to sit. Tag laid the crutches within reaching distance, but otherwise let him be. A sheen of sweat covered Eli’s forehead as his chest heaved. At least he was breathing through the pain now.

  “Fuck me,” he panted, lifting one shaky hand to wipe his brow. “I need a beer.”

  “You can’t drink beer with your medication,” Reese said.

  Eli glared at him.

  “I can get you a pain pill,” Tag said, feeling utterly helpless. Useless.

  “No, I’m good.” Eli didn’t look good, though. He was pale and looked like he’d taken a beating.

  “I forgot to eat,” Reese said. Out of the blue.

  Tag turned to face him and Reese held his gaze. “Takeout? Chow Main’s not far from here.”

  “Chow Main sounds great,” Tag said, understanding this was Reese’s excuse to stay. “Eli?”

  “You two need to go home so I can sleep.”

  But they wouldn’t. Not right away. Certainly not on the heels of Eli’s attack.

  “After dinner,” Reese said, pulling his phone from his suit pocket. “I’ll call Merina and see if she wants to stop by. She’s probably starving.”

  “I’ll order.” Tag pulled his own phone out and hit the button for the Chinese restaurant that had a permanent place in his address book. “Eli, beef or chicken?”

  “I don’t eat meat.”

  “Hold on a second, Merina,” Reese said into the phone. “What did you just say?” he asked Eli.

  “Fish. But not meat.”

  The man who’d once considered steak the end-all-be-all didn’t eat meat now? Tag ingested this information but didn’t argue. “Shrimp okay?”

  “Or tofu. Either one.” Eli rested his head on the chair and closed his eyes. Tag exchanged looks with Reese, who shook his head, shell-shocked.

  Tofu? Who was this guy?

  “Hey, yes, I have a takeout order,” Tag said into the phone. Reese resumed his call, moving to the far side of the room to talk to Merina. Tag completed the order, hung up, and told Eli, “Twenty minutes. I’ll get it.”

  “Aren’t you going to call your girlfriend?” Eli asked, eyes still closed, his mouth curving into a smile.

  “You’re lucky we like you,” Tag said, pulling his keys from his coat and moving for the freight elevator. The next sound that echoed the room floored him and made him smile in spite of himself.

  Because Eli laughed.

  * * *

  Rachel wrung her hands in her lap as Tag pulled up in front of a tidy Tudor home in a cute neighborhood outside Chicago. This was where his best friend, Lucas, lived? The super-attractive, smart-mouthed music producer had a charming little house with flowerboxes? She’d expected a sleek high-rise apartment building. This home was a monument proving players could be tamed.

  “Come up with me. I want you to meet the kids,” Tag said.

  The kids.

  “Okay.”

  She climbed out of the car, careful of her little black dress with the super-short skirt. She’d felt ambitious on her shopping trip earlier this week, and given the temperature, hadn’t chosen wisely. The skin exposed between her knee-high boots and hemline was freezing. She definitely wasn’t in Hawaii anymore.

  “Same rules apply as with my family. Don’t mind the bug-eyed looks of shock,” Tag said as they scaled the concrete steps leading to a covered front porch.

  “Your friends haven’t met a girl you’re seeing in a while either?” Her nerves were doing the cha-cha.

  “Only when you met Luc at the Andromeda that night. But no, not in a long while. Lucas was my wingman for a lot of years, and Gena is the one who spun him.”

  “Who what him?”

  A sly smirk, then, “Nothing.”

  Tag pressed a button and a bell rang. The door popped open and the man Rachel remembered stood at the threshold, a toddler on his hip. Oddly enough, the sight of him with a little girl attached to his side suited him.

  Tamed player, indeed.

  “Hey, guys, come on in.” As she stepped inside, she heard Lucas say to Tag, “Doorbell, man, really?”

  “I’m trying to make a good impression,” Tag murmured.

  Rachel smiled to herself, liking how Tag was still trying to impress her.

  “Oh my God, I can’t believe it.” A petite, tattooed, black-haired woman swung around the corner. She stopped in front of Rachel and propped her hands on her hips. “She’s gorgeous, which is not a surprise.”

  “Meet my wife, Gena,” Lucas said as the smaller woman walked a circle around Rachel like she was checking out a prize pony.

  “Nice to…meet you.” Rachel had to swivel her head to find her. She moved like a mini tornado. Gena’s glossy hair was smoothed back into a ponytail, her low-cut, red silk shirt not the least bit understated and her black jeans as tight as possible.

  “You’ve been around our boy for a while.” Gena narrowed hazel-colored eyes.

  “Claws in,” Tag instructed, palming Rachel’s back. The second he touched her, she relaxed some.

  “You like her.” Gena grinned up at him.

  “We don’t get out much,” Lucas said to Rachel in explanation. He placed the little girl in his arms on the floor—or tried to, anyway.

  “Tad!” The girl held out both arms and reached for Tag. He obliged, taking her into his arms. “Airplane!” she cried, which sounded like “awwpwane” but it wasn’t hard to guess this little one had used Tag as her amusement park on more than one occasion.

  As have I, Rachel thought with a smirk. Then her smirk died as she eyed Tag with a toddler on his hip. The sight of Lucas had been sweet and unexpected. But Tag? Who smiled as the girl tugged on his beard…

  Ovary. Explosion.

  “No time, Arianna,” Gena said, extracting her daughter from Tag’s hold.

  Tag winked at Rachel, whose knees went the consistency of jelly.

  “You can play airplane with Aunt Missy,” Gena was saying to Arianna. “Melissa! We’re going!”

  A dark-haired woman appeared in the doorway of the living room and took hold of Arianna. Melissa was obviously Gena’s sister. She looked exactly like Gena but with no visible tattoos and shorter hair.

  “The crying is our cue to leave,” Lucas said smoothly, handing his wife her coat and pulling on his black leather jacket.

  Thirty minutes later, they were at La Prie, a top-notch steak house with swanky decor and the snootiest waiters Rachel had ever encountered. She normally didn’t understand the fuss of a place like this, but tonight, she decided to enjoy being doted on. A bottle of wine stood on the table between Rachel and Gena, who were both working on their second glasses.

  Tag and Lucas, beers in hand, were laughing about who-knew-what. Rachel was having a hard time listening in on their conversation since Gena had been dominating theirs. Jury was still out on whether or not Rachel liked the woman. She was…audacious.

  “So.” Gena elevated her balloon-shaped wineglass in one hand. “I know how you two met—a dog in the same apartment building. But what is it about you that has our boy, Tag, so unwilling to back down?”

  “Babe.” This from Lucas, who sent an apologetic smile to Rachel. “Think you could hold off the KGB-style questioning until after we eat?”

  “Don’t you want to know why Tag has invited us out to dinner to meet her?” Gena asked, gesturing to Rachel. “The last woman he was dating that I met was…” Gena froze, mouth open, then clapped her lips shut and regarded Tag. “My gosh. I think it was the night I picked up Lucas.”

  “You didn’t pick me up,” Lucas corrected.

  Tag leaned close to Rachel and said,
“You’re in for a treat.”

  “I did so,” Gena argued, putting her glass down. “I saw you and Flex Luthor over here working your wiles on a horde of skanks—”

  Rachel sputtered into her glass, equally amused by Tag’s nickname and hearing Gena refer to a “horde” of skanks. She dabbed her lips with a napkin as Tag patted her back and laughed. Seriously, the man took everything in stride.

  “—and I walked right up in between you and said—”

  “I know what you said.” Lucas smiled genuinely.

  “Then tell me.” Gena batted black lashes.

  “You said, ‘I bet by night’s end you won’t remember a single one of these girls’ names, but you won’t ever forget mine.’” Lucas’s smile went wonky and his eyes turned the color of melted caramel. “Then she introduced herself.”

  “Is that how a girl lands a player?” Rachel quipped, lifting her own wineglass.

  “How’d you snag this one?” Gena asked, tipping her chin at Tag.

  Rachel wasn’t sure she’d “snagged” Tag permanently, but she had him for now.

  “I didn’t. Tag made me go to Hawaii.”

  Gena’s brows rose.

  “You weren’t exactly fighting me,” Tag said, a twinkle in his eye. “At all.”

  Rachel froze, worried about how much more Tag might say. Turned out he didn’t say more, only sent her a knowing glance.

  “Well, you had her thirty thousand feet in the air. I imagine it was because she had nowhere to go.” Gena turned her attention from Tag and leveled Rachel with a look. “You know he’s one of the good ones, right? Have you figured out that much yet?”

  A rose-red blush stole Rachel’s cheeks. She had figured that out.

  “Rach, let’s go powder our noses.” Without waiting for her answer, Gena stood and took Rachel’s hand, dragging her toward the back of the restaurant, around the tidy square tables and diners and waitstaff dressed in black. The restroom was sepia toned, with a gilded gold mirror on the wall. Gena didn’t move for a stall but stopped in front of the mirror and faced Rachel’s reflection. “Tag has a lot of girl friends.”