The Billionaire Next Door

by Jessica Lemmon

  The hours went fast except the ones between two and four o’clock—those dragged. Rachel finally finished her workday promptly at five. She called Bree to check on her. The worst of her friend’s flu was over, and she had tonight off, so there was no need for Rachel to bartend again. Her relief was short-lived when Bree walloped her with news she hadn’t prepared for.

  “We’re moving out this weekend, Rach. I’m so sorry to do this to you, but we were told the house was available sooner than we thought, and a friend of ours offered to take over our lease here, meaning we won’t be penalized for leaving early. I figured since you were with Tag and you had a place to stay—”

  “No penalty from me either,” Rachel had said before Bree apologetically informed her further.

  Rachel had spent her lunch and ten-minute break arranging for a storage facility and calling the apartment she’d wanted to put the deposit down on. More bad news: the unit she wanted to hold wouldn’t be ready for two weeks.

  Working for Crane HQ gave her a discount on hotel rooms, but as she soon found out, even with a discount, the price of a two-week stay was much heftier than she would’ve liked.

  She checked a few discounted hotels, and for fun, the Van Heusen, which belonged to Reese Crane’s fiancée. She hadn’t pulled the trigger on that yet, figuring she could talk to Tag tonight.

  Over pizza they’d picked up on their way home, she and Tag camped out on the couch, swigged beer from bottles, and talked about their day. Her worries tumbled like shoes in the dryer, banging around in her head, unable to be ignored. Instead of sharing them, she took another drink of her beer and looked out the window at the sky, fading from purple-pink to yellow as the sun set behind the cityscape.

  “What is it?” Tag asked.

  “What is what?”

  “You were chattering and now you’re clamming up.”

  “No, I’m not.” Yes, she was. Because her thoughts had turned deep and murky and bordered on terrifying.

  “Dimples.”

  That one-word nickname bled the truth from her. She sighed and decided to tell him what was going on. From the beginning…then she’d see how far she got.

  “My apartment won’t be ready for two weeks. I put a hold on it over the phone today,” she said.

  “That’s great,” he said cautiously.

  “Bree and Dean need me out by this weekend.” She sagged on the couch. “I was going to stay at the Crane, but my first paycheck is another week out.” Money problems. She hated sharing money problems with Mr. No Money Problems.

  Predictably, he offered to fix it with a snap of his fingers. “I can comp one for you, Dimples.”

  “I don’t want special treatment on the hotel room, Tag.”

  “It’s not a big deal.”

  “It is to me.” He was a big deal. This was a big deal. They were a big deal. But she couldn’t seem to get any of those words out. Each time she thought of telling him how she felt, she clammed up, afraid to scare him off.

  But he didn’t scare off last night.

  “So stay here,” Tag said with a shrug.

  She blinked at him. Had she really heard that?

  His blue eyes held steady.

  “I couldn’t ask you to let me stay here for two weeks.”

  “You didn’t.” He leaned forward and kissed her. “I offered. Pretty much had to since you refuse to use me for my money.”

  His easy smile went a long way to easing her frayed nerves. She shook her head, still in awe of how he kept surprising her. “Thank you.”

  “Use me for my body, instead,” he said, kissing her ear. The ear kiss turned to a neck kiss. By the time he’d palmed her breast and she’d turned her lips to his, he was lying on the couch and she was on top of him.

  She pulled her lips away and tucked her hair behind her ear. “We always end up right here.”

  Large hands encircled her rib cage, warm and comforting. Tag was both of those things, proving to her with his actions she could count on him. Maybe it was time to stop being so afraid of scaring him off. He didn’t appear scared. Not even a little.

  “I like you right here,” he said, his low tone trickling through her.

  “I…like it too.” Chicken. What an enormous chicken she was. So close to blurting “I love you,” but she couldn’t do it. Because she had no idea what he’d say. She bit down on her lip, her thoughts pinging from topic to topic.

  “Now what are you thinking about?” he asked a minute later, smoothing those hands along her sides again.

  “The wedding.”

  Was it her or had he stopped breathing for a second?

  * * *

  He had the sensation of standing on a ledge, about to topple off backwards. Everything Rachel hadn’t said was reflected in her soft, blue-eyed stare. He’d been leaning into this—leaning into her. And suddenly, he wasn’t confident he knew what he was doing.

  He didn’t need to label what was going on. They could just be them. Their relationship included overnights, sex, and food. Not… He swallowed, feeling nauseous. Weddings.

  When he’d offered to let her stay here, he hadn’t thought about it for more than two seconds. She was at his penthouse often, and she needed help, and as per her usual, she wasn’t going to let him take care of it with money.

  Inviting her to stay seemed like a good idea until she mentioned—

  “My cousin’s wedding is next weekend.”

  “Oh.” He expelled a deep breath. That wedding.

  “Tag?”

  “Yeah.” Keep breathing. Be normal. Don’t freak.

  “You’re sure it’s okay if I stay here?”

  “I’m sure.” Even as the words left his mouth, he didn’t feel sure.

  Admittedly, him comping a room for her was ridiculous. She was with him whenever she wasn’t working. Her staying here was no big deal. He had tons of space.

  He nodded to himself. Six thousand square feet should be enough space to share with one person. That niggling buzz that had started in the back of his mind when she said the W word was frustrating, but it would go away.

  He hoped.

  “It will only be two weeks,” she said. “I can store my things in the meantime.”

  And now she was trying to be careful with him. He sat up and moved her so she was sitting next to him.

  “I can take care of that for you.” The moment he offered, she opened her mouth to argue. He didn’t let her. “Those are my terms. I’m not fighting with you about this. You won’t let me take care of a room at the Crane for you, then you have to let me help you move. You don’t have time with two jobs, and Dean and Bree will be too busy moving themselves out to help you. Who else is going to do it?”

  She closed her mouth and shook her head gently before admitting, “You make a good point.”

  He was tired of backing her into a corner before she let him do nice things for her. This entire situation was born out of dire need on her part rather than her letting him treat her the way she deserved.

  It was like she only trusted him so far; then she cut him off. Maybe that was what was bothering him.

  Jittery, he stood, closed the pizza box, and swiped his empty bottle off the table, unsure what exactly about this conversation was bothering him. Was it her mention of the one ceremony he’d always avoided? Or was it simply that she didn’t let him in when he wanted to help?

  “Another beer?” he offered, opening the fridge door.

  “I’d better not. I’m still wiped from last night.”

  He stared long and hard at the bottles lined up on a shelf in the fridge, before shutting the door without extracting a beer for himself. Then he paced around the kitchen, restless. Rachel yawned, slumping down in the corner of the couch.

  Their paces couldn’t match less.

  “I’m going to go to the gym for an hour or so. You good?” He could run off this frenetic energy and then maybe the fog in his brain would clear and he could get some sleep.

  “I’m goo
d.” She peered over the back of the couch. “Thank you again.”

  “You’re welcome.” He hoisted the trash bag out of the plastic bin and tied it off. “I’ll take this out, too.”

  She nodded. He nodded.

  She hadn’t been uncomfortable around him since the first time he asked her to touch him. He wanted to ask if she was sure this worked for her, but didn’t want her to think he’d had second thoughts.

  He watched her for a prolonged moment and then nodded again. “Be back in an hour, Dimples.”

  “Tag?” she asked when he was at the front door.

  “Yeah?” He turned to see her gripping the arm of the sofa, her chin resting on her hand.

  “Do you need me to make up the guest bed?”

  He scowled. What the hell?

  He shifted, the plastic bag in his hand crinkling.

  “Sorry. I’m being weird,” she said before he could argue. “Your bed. Of course.”

  At the very least.

  “Okay, see you.”

  “Yeah, see you.”

  He collected his gym bag and took the trash with him when he went, calling goodbye over his shoulder. In the entryway, he paused long enough to look back at the door, trying to decide if he’d helped or hurt their situation.

  He and Rachel were good in bed, good at dinner, good at hanging out. But living together? Even temporarily…

  What had he done?

  Chapter 24

  Good morning, Mr. Crane,” Bobbie greeted Tag as the elevator deposited him in front of her desk.

  “Reese in there?” he asked, forgoing his normal banter.

  “What, no ‘schnookums’?”

  Bobbie’s ultracasual reaction made him blink in surprise. “Sorry, off my game today.”

  In so many ways.

  “I should say so.” She didn’t push him further, simply slipped back into her formal routine. “He returned from lunch ten minutes ago.”

  “Good.”

  Bobbie hit the intercom to announce him, but Tag mashed the button on her desk to open the office doors before she could. Reese, standing at his desk with a palm full of pink WHILE YOU WERE OUT notes, paused flipping through them. Behind Tag, the office doors whooshed shut.

  “I need the number of your therapist.”

  “Nice of you to call as usual,” Reese said, droll. “I don’t have a therapist.”

  “She’s at my apartment.”

  Reese’s brow crinkled. “Who?”

  “Rachel Foster.” Tag walked to his usual seat, couldn’t sit, so he paced to the window. He turned and pointed at Reese. “This is your fault.”

  His brother’s frown intensified.

  “You were the one spewing that shit about how Mom’s death made the Crane boys scared of girls.” He waggled his fingers in front of him, realizing he probably looked and sounded crazed. “So what did I do? I leaned in to it. I let it happen. I told myself I wasn’t scared of anything, and now she lives with me.” He crammed his hands into his jeans pockets. “Kind of.”

  Reese abandoned the notes and came out from behind his desk to stand in front of Tag. “I’m missing something.”

  “Her roommate booted her out of her apartment because they’re leaving and transferring the lease. She was homeless. What was I supposed to do?”

  “Be a good boyfriend and let her stay with you,” Reese answered with a shrug.

  At the word boyfriend, Tag’s stomach flipped. He’d once told Rachel he wasn’t boyfriend material, and no matter what he was “leaning in to,” that hadn’t changed.

  “Maybe you do need a therapist. You’re pale. Sit down.”

  Tag shook his head and bypassed the chair, pushing his fingers into his hair. “This isn’t normal. Cranes are not normal. We’re fucked up.”

  “You’re normal.” Reese was his usual calm, stoic self, which was what Tag needed right now. “This is a big step and a first for you. Look at me. I holed up in a hotel suite like Howard Hughes last year.”

  Tag dropped his arms. “You need therapy, too.”

  “Probably.” One side of Reese’s mouth lifted. He gestured to the chair by his desk.

  Tag dropped into it, one foot bobbing from too much coffee.

  “How long has she been there?”

  “Four days.” Tag scratched his cheek. “She has no idea I’m in full-on panic mode.”

  “You’re not in panic mode. You’re fine.”

  Tag took a deep breath. He wasn’t fine. Every passing day, he felt more trapped. Or…not trapped. Stuck. He was freaked. And this morning, he thought he’d figured out why.

  “Remember when we were kids and Mom would be up packing our lunches, a cup of coffee by her elbow?” Tag asked. “Dad would come down, kiss her on the cheek, and pour himself a mug.”

  Reese frowned, his answer a simple, “I remember.”

  Tag swallowed down a bout of nausea and forced himself to continue. “Rachel was making a sandwich for her lunch this morning, a mug of coffee sitting next to her elbow. Sun was streaming over her blond hair. Then she looked up…and smiled at me. My heart just…stopped.”

  And time along with it. The surreal moment played out in slow motion, and Tag caught a glimpse of a future that scared him.

  “I can’t do this, bro.” Tag’s desperate laugh was dry and devoid of humor. “And I have no idea why.”

  Reese lowered onto his desk, perched on the edge while looking down at Tag, concern evident on his features. Tag said nothing, just waited. There was nothing to say. He was a mental basket case who was freaking out because things were good. Now he was wondering if he’d missed the window to end things before they turned bad. He had no idea where the self-sabotaging thoughts had come from, so he had come here.

  “You should leave,” Reese said.

  Tag flinched. “Leave?”

  “Yes.” Reese stood and smoothed his tie. “You have cabin fever. Get out of there.”

  “What, like move?” Tag asked with a laugh. Because seriously, what was his brother talking about?

  “Hawaii,” Reese said, deadly serious. “Blue ocean, bluer skies, sand, and surf.”

  Tag leaned back in the chair and narrowed his eyes. “What’s going on?”

  “I found some land in Maui. Perfect for a new build. I didn’t want to ask you to go since you were busy with the bar projects, but now…Maybe you should go instead of me.”

  “I can’t go to Maui.” But man, did the idea of breathing clean ocean air appeal. He could leave his penthouse since it had inexplicably turned stifling.

  “You can. You should. Before you do something stupid.” Reese crossed his arms over his chest. “Like barricade yourself in a hotel suite and ask your wife for a divorce.”

  Tag remembered when Reese had gone through that. It was a rough patch both he and Merina had miraculously made it through together.

  “You’re never home this much, Tag. Normally, every two or three days you’re gone.”

  He hadn’t considered that, but damn, Reese was right. Tag typically traveled so much, he kept an overnight bag packed and ready. He’d been on one trip over the last several months, and it wasn’t a trip he’d taken alone.

  “Tell me about Maui,” Tag said with a nod. A business trip might be just what his fictional therapist ordered.

  “It’s a perfect slice of land,” Reese said with a smile that reflected his pride in finding it. “I wanted to go with an updated design for this one. Like we did in Miami.”

  “Miami.” Tag practically salivated. Crane Miami with its ultra-svelte style and splashy lobby. The entire building lit up hot pink and electric blue at night. He rubbed his hands together, possibility blooming before him. What if Reese was right and what Tag needed was a project to sink his teeth into? A getaway to clear his head?

  “Well?”

  Breathe. Tag felt like he could breathe for the first time in days.

  “I’m on it.” He’d overseen grand openings for restaurants and bars for Crane Hotels,
but he’d never been a part of choosing the plot of land one would sit on. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

  “Good. I’ll email you the details and have Bobbie set an appointment with the Realtor,” Reese said, then paused. “Tell me something. You’re the pro at letting girls down. Refusing Rachel should be well within your skill set. Why didn’t you?”

  “I hate seeing her sad.” The lost look on her face. Her fear that she couldn’t tell him about her problems. She was so worried over him providing things for her. Didn’t she see he could? That he wanted to?

  But that wasn’t the only reason.

  “I care about her,” Tag admitted.

  Reese watched him for a moment. “I know.”

  His brother understood what he was going through. Being understood after feeling like he was losing his marbles was such a relief, Tag blew out a sigh, slightly embarrassed about coming in here and having a meltdown in front of a guy who had a tight grip on his faculties.

  “Thanks, Doc.” Tag pushed out of the chair. His brother had suggested he go to Maui for a good reason. Tag needed to go to Maui not only for himself but also for Rachel. For them. Before he went mental. “Guess I’m off to Maui.”

  “Send me a postcard,” Reese said from his desk, flipping through the stack of pink notes again.

  Tag turned for the door, feeling better and, oddly enough, worse. Part of him felt like he was running, but if he expected to figure out what had him knotted up, Hawaii could hold the answers.

  In front of Bobbie’s desk, Tag stopped and sent her a grin. “Darling, can you book me a flight to Maui?”

  “Sure thing, sugarplum,” Bobbie said with the smile he’d been trying to tease from her for years. “When are you leaving?”

  * * *

  “I already miss you so much!” Bree cried. Not literally, but her face scrunched up like she might cry at any moment.

  “You are a broken record,” Rachel teased. “I’ll miss you, too. At least we’ll work my last shift here together.”