Love Redesigned (Lakefront Billionaires, #1)

by Lauren Asher

It’s been two months, and I’m no better off than I was the day Oliver pulled the plug on our nine-year relationship. He didn’t care about our show or the life we made together. Shit. He didn’t care about anything except what he wanted. The perfect wife. A picturesque house overlooking the bay. Two kids and a dog all playing together behind a white picket fence, like some ’50s sitcom. It was a future expected of him and one I threatened to ruin.

“You can bounce back.” My cracked whisper fills the silence. “You can prove to him and everyone else that they didn’t break you.” I speak with a stronger voice this time, letting the words sink in. “And you can fight this battle against yourself and come out stronger because of it,” I add with a sense of finality as I roll my shoulders back, fix my posture, and run my fingers through my messy hair. From now on, I’m going to start living again. I only need to remember how.

JULIAN

Ma’s lips purse. “Mijo.” “Yes?” “I wanted to talk to you about Dahlia.” “What about her?” My voice lacks any inflection. “I know you have your differences, but can you set those aside and be nice to her while she is getting back on her feet? She’s in a fragile place right now.” “So I’ve noticed.” It’s obvious to anyone with eyes that Dahlia is one comment away from falling apart, but I want to know why. Oliver was a pretentious ass, but he seemed to respect Dahlia, according to my mom, so why call off a successful relationship after nine years? Ma’s voice drops as she says, “Rosa wants Dahlia to stay for a while.” I shut my eyes. She continues, “I’m thinking it would be nice for you to team up on a project to help get her mind off everything.”

“Please think about it.” Ma presses her palms together. I pause for three seconds. “Done. Still going to be a no.” Having Dahlia around again is hard enough after years spent avoiding her. Working with her would open myself up to a whole list of problems I have no interest revisiting in this lifetime. She tucks her arms into her chest. “Mijo1.” “I’m not trying to be difficult, but we have completely different mindsets when it comes to design.” “So? I think shaking things up will be good for her. Rosa says Dahlia has been in a creative rut for the last two months, so maybe taking on a different kind of job will inspire her,” she pushes. “Except you seem to have forgotten the time Dahlia called one of my projects an ugly gray box.” Ma makes a sour face. “To be fair, she wasn’t exactly wrong.” It’s my turn to glare. “You told me you liked it.” “I did because you made it, mi amor2. As your mother, it’s impossible not to love everything you do.”

Her shoulders fall. “Oh.” You could use her request to your advantage… A plan falls into place. “Actually, I’ll consider it under one condition.” Her mood instantly perks up. “What?” “I want you to stop trying to set me up with all your friends’ daughters.” “How else do you expect to meet someone special with the crazy hours you work?” “That’s my problem.” “I thought you were interested in getting married and starting a family?” I hold my tongue. She frowns. “Don’t tell me Rafa scared you away from marriage.” “He didn’t.” Shocking, given his current view on life and all. “I’d like you to have a child while I’m still young enough to chase after them.” “About that…” While marriage is a part of my plan, having a kid is not—a fact that scared away half the women I dated.

I don’t expect a lot of people to understand what it was like to watch my father silently suffer while my mom went through depression, miscarriages, and a stillbirth that had her flatlining on an operating table. Since my mom nearly died in the process of giving me a sibling, I don’t plan on having children unless the woman I marry is willing to adopt.

“I’ll agree to your request, but you need to promise me one thing.” “What?” “Please make this process enjoyable for Dahlia. You might not be interested in making me a mother-in-law anytime soon, but Dahlia—and Lily too—are the closest people I have to daughters, and I won’t stand for you upsetting her when she is already down.”

“Great! Now, be sure to make it seem like this was all your big idea when you approach Dahlia about it.” “Ma.” “I better go check on Rosa before she burns down the house. ¡Te quiero3!” She kisses my cheek before dashing toward the kitchen.

the rest of us easily become distracted by the empty chair and plate of untouched food beside me. At one point, Lily takes a tray to Dahlia’s room, only to come back fifteen minutes later with most of it left behind. “She wasn’t hungry?” Rosa stands and takes the tray from Lily’s hands. Lily shakes her head. “She ate some of it.” Everyone stares at the leftovers like a critical piece of evidence. Dahlia grew up like the rest of us, following three main rules: don’t lie, don’t cheat, and don’t leave any food on your plate. Ma kicks my chair. Go talk to her, she mouths. I rise from my chair. “I’ll be back.”

To describe Dahlia as talented would be insulting. She has a God-given gift to turn the most mundane objects into works of art, although I never stepped out of my comfort zone and praised her for it. Once I lift my fist to knock, her door flies open. “Julian?” Dahlia gapes at me with puffy eyes and a red nose. I tuck my clenched hands into my pockets. “Hey.” “Is there a reason you’re lurking around outside my room?” She checks the empty hall. “I need to talk to you.” She squints. “Since when do you willingly want to speak?” “Since my mother asked me to.”

“Still doing everything your mom asks? No wonder you’re still single.” “I knew coming over here was a mistake,” I grumble to myself. Dahlia will never agree to the idea of working on a project together if I come out and ask her. My trap forms quicker than my mouth can move. “Feel free to get lost.” She reaches for the door. I stop it from slamming shut with my hand. “Wait.” A wrinkle runs down the center of her forehead. “What?” “Oliver and you are done?” Her eyes turn into slits. “Are you only asking me so you can gloat?” “No.” Although her false accusation makes me want to. Don’t be petty, Julian. She breaks eye contact first. “Yeah. We’re done.” “Might want to get rid of that ring, then.” I can’t help but glare at the tacky piece of jewelry with a frown. “I’ve tried.” Her hand forms a shaky fist. “Clearly not hard enough.” Something flashes behind her eyes. “I’ve been waiting to hear back from the Creswells’ lawyer first before I got rid of it.”

“And what did this lawyer say?” I ask before I think better of it. “I got the news an hour ago that I can do whatever I want with it.” “How convenient.” My voice remains flat, although my words hits their target. Her nostrils flare. “Are you insinuating that I’m lying?” The silence following her question answers for me. “You know what? I’m in the mood to prove you wrong.” Some things never change. While I’m busy remembering the countless times she tried to do that, she catches me off guard as she slides the ring up her finger and holds it out for me. “Here.” I take a long step back. “What am I supposed to do with that?” “Heck if I know, but I’m sure you’d be more than happy to get rid of the ring given how often you glare at it.”

Although Dahlia loves jewelry—that much is obvious based on her endless rotation of rings, earrings, and necklaces—she hates gaudy wedding rings that can be found at any local jewelry shop. I want a vintage ring like Mom’s, she said once to her sister while they gawked over a cousin’s engagement ring during a birthday party. No way! I want a ring like the mayor’s wife has. Lily beamed. But it’s so basic. Dahlia’s nose scrunched. Who cares so long as it’s big, Lily snorted. Dahlia clears her throat, yanking me away from the memory. “You want me to get rid of it?” I ask. She nods. I’d like nothing more. Although… An idea hits me. A terrible, stupid idea that has me acting first and thinking about regrets later. “Fine, so long as you join me in the process.”

“I’ll send you a video of what I end up doing with it. Hopefully you can make time to watch it in between binge-watching episodes of The Silver Vixens and crying your eyes out.” “I am not crying my eyes out.” My eyes flicker over her face for an extra beat before I turn around. “You’re a real asshole sometimes,” she calls out. “See you next Sunday. Or not. I’m sure you’ll be real busy and everything.” I don’t bother looking back, although I throw her one last goodbye wave from over my shoulder. She mutters something inaudible before saying, “You know what? I’m going with you.” Gotcha.

“Wait! Stop!” Dahlia nearly yanks my hand away from the steering wheel. “No.” I continue driving past the nieve de garrafa4 food truck located near the Lake Wisteria Park Promenade. Helping her get rid of the ring is one thing, but stopping for nieve along the way? Absolutely not happening. “Please?” She actually presses her hands together. “I haven’t had Cisco’s in years!” “It’s October.” “So? There could be a blizzard outside, and I’d still want it.” My muscles tense even more. “This wasn’t part of the plan.” “So help me God, I will literally jump out of this car right now if you don’t pull over.” “At least let me speed up first to make it worth the trouble of another police report.”

Puppy eyes. “Please, Julian. I’m not above begging you for Cisco’s.” Fuck me. Every cell in my body lights up at the sound of my name in that voice. “I’ll do anything. Please.” Good luck saying no to her when she looks and sounds like that. “Let’s start with shutting up.” I slow down and make a U-turn at the next median. “Yes!” She does a little victory fist pump.

She reaches for the door handle, only to hesitate. “Actually, you’re right. It’s too cold for Cisco’s.” I stop my scrolling. “Are you serious?” “Yes. Let’s just keep going.” She motions toward the steering wheel while scanning the park. The tension in her shoulders combined with her darting eyes gives her nerves away. While Dahlia has always struggled with anxiety since we were younger, this feels different. She is different. With a sigh, I open my door. “Where are you going?” Panic bleeds into her voice. To do something stupidly nice. “I’m in the mood for Cisco’s.”

DAHLIA

Step one of my plan to get over my ex-fiancé includes mango-flavored nieve de garrafa from Cisco’s, also known as the best food truck around. I devour my dessert while Julian taps away at his phone, doing whatever important things billionaires do on a Sunday night.

“Where are we going?” I ask after a minute. He lowers the volume. “One of my construction sites.” “I swear I’ll haunt you forever if I end up being buried beneath six feet of concrete tonight.” “I’m flattered you want to hang around me for all eternity.” His eyes sparkle. Mine narrow into slits. He raises his right hand. “No need to worry. So long as my mother loves you, I’ll let you live.” “I’m not sure whether to be horrified by the threat or impressed you’re willing to put up with me solely because your mother loves me.”

Screw guys in backward ball caps and gray sweatpants. Men in hard hats and work boots are my new kink, thanks to Construction Ken standing in front of me with muscular arms and killer cheekbones.

Julian stops beside an empty concrete mixer near the exterior back wall overlooking the lake. “You’re joking.” Of all the things Julian could have suggested, I would have never guessed this. “Do you have a better idea?” “No, but this feels criminal.” He keeps quiet while gathering supplies. His white T-shirt quickly loses its crisp color as construction dust clings to the material. His jeans suffer a similar fate, with the blue color turning gray when he pours the dry mixture inside the machine.

It was difficult to tear those two away from each other, especially when they were boots-deep in a project together. But then Luis Senior suddenly passed away from a heart attack, leaving a twenty-year-old Julian to grapple with a family business and his mourning mother.

Julian curses to himself for the second time as he glares at the electrical panel. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” I ask. “Just because I don’t work on-site anymore doesn’t mean I’m incompetent.” “Could have fooled me with how you kicked the machine when you thought I wasn’t paying attention.” He scratches his nose with his middle finger, spreading gray dust all over the bridge. I reach out and wipe it away without a second thought. He stares up at me like one does the sun—in equal parts pain and wonder.

“Then why not call someone to come help us with this master plan of yours?” His eyes narrow. “Because if my dad were still around, he would kick my ass if I asked for help making concrete. He taught me this stuff when I was Nico’s age.”

My head snaps in his direction. “What happened?” He drops the cable like a live snake. “Nothing.” “Please tell me you didn’t forget to check if it was plugged in.” “Of course I checked.” The moon above us highlights the faint blush creeping up his neck. The idea of Julian obsessively checking everything but whether or not the machine was plugged in has me curling over and laughing until my lungs hurt. “This is the last time I do something nice for you.” He grumbles something else under his breath. “I’m sorry!” My voice comes out wheezy. “No, you’re not.” “Forgive me? Please?” I bat my lashes. He glowers. “Only if you don’t repeat this story to anyone. Especially Rafa.” “Cross my heart.” I draw an invisible X over the spot. “Tell anyone and I’ll share that boxed wine video I have of you.” My eyes widen. “You kept it?” “Blackmail has no expiration date.”

It’s everything I wanted and more, I lied as I held up my shaky hand for the camera crew hired by the Creswells to film our publicized engagement. A lot of women would be appreciative of a ring like that, Oliver said when he caught me not wearing the eyesore once after working out. “Having second thoughts?” Julian’s deep voice has me turning around. “Are you sure an ability to mindread wasn’t added during your last software update?” His glare lacks its usual punch. “You’ve always been expressive.” “Not all of us were born with the ability not to feel anything.” “I feel things,” he scoffs. “Like what?” “Excitement.”

“You good?” he asks in the same soft voice he saves for his mother. My boots squeak together as I rock back. “What if this is a bad idea?” “Do you plan on getting back together with him?” “No. Definitely not.” “Do you want to sell it?” I consider the option for a few seconds before shaking my head. “And pass that negative energy on to someone else? No.” “I could buy it off you.” I choke on my gasp. “What?” He assesses the ring. “It’s hideous, so I wouldn’t pay more than a hundred for it.” “Bucks? But it’s worth—” He interrupts me. “Hundred thousand.” My eyes bulge. “That’s a lot of money.” He shrugs.

“But…” Hustling him out of a hundred thousand dollars does sound nice— “The offer expires in three…” Wait a minute. Why does he want to buy the ring in the first place? “Two…” Who cares? Take it! “Fine!” I shout. “You accept?” “Sure.” “Great. Now with that settled…” He tosses the ring into the concrete mixer. The diamond gets swallowed up by the thick mixture as the machine spins round and round. “Julian!” I jump to hit the red emergency button, but he yanks me away before I have a chance. All the air is knocked from my lungs as I slam into his body.

He wraps his other arm around my waist and tightens his hold, making any escape impossible. “What are you doing?” I hiss like a wounded animal. “Saving you from yourself.” He hauls me farther away without my feet touching the ground. “Are you serious? What was the point of offering to pay all that money for a ring you planned on throwing away?” I screech as I shove at the steel band of muscle locked around my body. “It’ll be worth every penny.” “But—” My reply gets lost somewhere in the chaos of my mind. “You didn’t like your ring.” I rear back. “What?” “I bet you hated it from the moment Oliver got down on one knee and popped open that cliché Cartier box.”

“Why would you think that?” “Because, like him, it was stuffy, obnoxious, and represented everything he and his pretentious, cookie-cutter family stand for.” Julian’s words hit hard enough to make my legs shake beneath me. Julian saw Oliver and his family for exactly what they were. A fancy façade.

The demise of my relationship started with a prenup, and things quickly devolved from there as I was pummeled with tasks like premarital counseling and health screenings. It’s standard protocol for people like us, Oliver said as he passed me a stack of prenuptial paperwork thicker than my thigh. While I expected one given the Creswells’ financial situation, its contents shocked me. A genetic health screening? I asked with a frown, only for Oliver to wave away my concern. It’s a formality. He grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. Think of it as a protective measure, he added. I winced. Protective measure against what?

He quickly moved on to the next section, dictating how I would be paid per child I gave birth to. Bonus cash if I breastfed. God, I should have run after that meeting, but instead, I trusted him.

“If you want the ring, I’ll pull it out.” He speaks to my back. I shake my head hard enough to rattle my already-scattered brain. “No.” Tears pool near the bottoms of my eyes, about one second away from falling. You better not cry in front of Julian, so pull yourself together and get the hell out of here. “Come find me when it’s finished.” I fight the impulse to curl into myself as I accept that part of my life is over.

DAHLIA

A flash of something red and white catches my eye. “Stop the truck!” He slams on the brakes, and we both go shooting forward. I groan as the seat belt locks into place and crushes my chest. “What’s wrong?” His eyes dart across my face. I press a hand against my chest. “Besides the fact that you nearly gave me a heart attack?” “You asked me to stop.” “Not like that!” “Sorry.” “It’s fine. Give me a second.” I unbuckle my seat belt. “Where are you going? It’s pitch-black outside.” “I want to see something.” I climb out of the truck and walk back to the spot that caught my attention. The For Sale sign posted in front of the gate feels illegal, and I’m tempted to steal it to prevent someone else from making an offer on the house of my dreams.

Not just any Founder’s house, but the one I dreamed of renovating one day. Ever since I was a little kid, I used to say that if I had three wishes, one of them would be to own this particular blue house. Now you have the money and opportunity to make it happen. The sudden rush of excitement sends my head spinning, making me feel drunk on the idea of restoring a house like this. I’d be foolish not to take advantage of this rare opportunity. I’ve been obsessed with the Founders’ houses long before I pursued a career in interior design. Their backstory, aesthetics, and view of Lake Wisteria and the forest beyond made them easy to fall in love with and impossible to forget.

“Is this for real?” I flick the sign to be sure. “Seems like it.” Julian stops beside me and pulls out his phone. “What are you doing?” “I want to know how much they’re asking for it.” “No!” I steal his phone. “You can’t stop me from being curious.” “You’re not allowed to touch this one.” The five original Founders’ houses rarely go up for sale, so no way in hell am I letting Julian buy it. “Is your name on the deed?” “Not yet.” I’ll be damned if I let this project slip away from me.

He taps at his screen before placing it against his ear. “Sam. Hey. Sorry about the late call, but this is important. First thing tomorrow morning, I need you to contact a seller—” I snatch his phone back and take off in the opposite direction. “Hi, Sam. It’s Dahlia Muñoz. How are you?” “I—uh—I’m sorry, did you say Dahlia Muñoz?” A male voice wheezes toward the end of his question. “Yes.” “As in Dahlia Muñoz, founder of Designs by Dahlia?” “That’s me.” “Holy shit,” Sam whispers to himself. I stick my tongue out at Julian while hitting the speaker button. “I’m your biggest fan!” Sam shouts. “Wait. What are you doing with Julian?” “Sadly, we know each other.”

“I can’t believe Julian never said anything. He knows how obsessed I am with your…everything!” “Oh, you are?” I ask. “Of course I am! Ask Julian. He always gets pissed when I watch your show at my desk during my lunch break.” “Why do you think that is?” Sam scoffs. “Beats me.” I laugh. “It’s not like he couldn’t learn a thing or two from you. Seriously. I love what you did last season with the Mayhem Manor. It’s one of my favorite designs, and the one I keep coming back to anytime I need some inspiration.” “With Julian’s designs, that must be often.”

“Sam, listen. I hate to cut you off, but I have a special request and not a lot of time.” “Name it.” Sam speaks with conviction. “Whatever Julian tells you to do, don’t. At least not with the Founder’s house.” “But he’s my boss.” “Are you up for a new job? Because I’ll hire you—” “That’s enough.” Julian snatches the phone from my hand. “Sam, I’ll call you back tomorrow. Sorry again about bothering you this late.”

Julian’s frown deepens. “If you like the house, then you’ll have to put in a competitive offer.” “But you’re a billionaire.” “So?” “So how the hell am I supposed to outbid you?” He strokes his chin like an evil villain. “I see your point.” “Great. Now if you’ll do me a solid and pretend you never saw the house, I’ll be forever indebted to you.” “Forever indebted to me?” His voice lowers, awakening hundreds of butterflies from their cocoons. Hell. Freaking. No. I tilt my head back. “Let me have this one. Please.”

“It’s nothing personal. I need land, and this place has it. One of these properties could fit ten of my houses easily.” I throw my hands in the air. “See! That reason alone is exactly why I should be the buyer.” “Because you don’t want to capitalize on an opportunity? That’s stupidity, not validity.” My fists ball at my sides. “It’s not stupid to value a home’s history.” “I value the financial kind more.” “And you think I don’t? A historic home can make as much money as a new build if you fix it up the right way.” “I’m not saying it can’t, but the math will always be in my favor, no matter how hard you try.” I groan. “How much do you sell one of your homes for?” “Three mill, give or take.” My eyes widen. “Three. Million. Dollars?” Houses around the lake used to be worth less than a quarter million back when I was a kid. He breaks eye contact first. “Yeah.” “And how many houses have you demolished?” “Enough.”

“Do you want me to beg?” My voice drops. I bite down on my cheek to stop myself from grinning when he blinks twice. While Julian and I have engaged in many psychological warfare tactics over the years, seduction has never been one of them. But hell, if it means securing my dream house, I’m willing to flirt my way into a deal with the devil. “No.” His jaw tightens. “I’m not above getting down on my knees.” His eyes drop to my lips before he glances away. “Shut. Up.” I clasp his chin and force him to look at me. “What do you want?” He jerks his head free from my grasp and takes a step back. “Whatever the fuck is the opposite of this.” “I’ll leave you alone if you walk away from this house.” I brush my finger down the center of his chest. He jolts. “I knew working with you was a mistake.” “What?” “Nothing.” His gaze flickers between the property and me for a whole minute before he speaks again. “What if we go fifty-fifty instead?” “I’m sorry?”

“You want us to go all in together, hoping to rezone the property and build a few extra houses on it?” “Correct.” I shake my head. “That will never work.” His frown lines return with a vengeance. “Why not?” “Because only one of us has style, and hint, it’s not you.”

“You’re testing my patience.” “I’m surprised you still have any left when it comes to me.” He grumbles to himself before speaking again. “You can have full creative control of the house.” “Really?” “Yes.” “And what if city hall denies your request?” “Then we will need to flip the property and resell it for a price worthy of investing my time and resources,” he says. “What resources?” “If you plan on restoring that house within the next three years, you’ll need my company to get the job done.” “Why is that?” “The only other construction company in town has a year-long waitlist because they’re busy fixing up the motel.”

I speak before I have a chance to talk myself out of the opportunity. “I’m in.”

JULIAN

I’m not cut from the same corporate cloth as my competitors, and it shows in every interaction I have. The desire to hire someone else to run the corporate side of the business rides me harder than ever lately, but I don’t have anyone I can trust with that kind of responsibility.