Love Redesigned (Lakefront Billionaires, #1)

by Lauren Asher

“Well…are you going to buy it this time?” The sweet coffee slides down my throat like acid. “Why?” His eyes narrow. “Because you’re not the type to let an opportunity like that go to waste. The land alone makes it one of the most valuable properties around.” My stomach churns. “I’m teaming up with Dahlia on it.” He raises a condescending brow. “And you thought that was a good idea because?” “My mom asked me to.” “Of course she did. She’s been planning your wedding since you both were in the womb.”

“What are you thinking, buying a house with her and fixing it up together like she did all those times with Oliver?” Tension ripples through my body. “This isn’t like that.” He stares. “Do you have something you want to get off your chest?” My question comes out sharp. “You’re making a mistake,” he grumbles. “I don’t expect you to understand.” No one can, no matter how much they try. Dahlia and I have a complicated history of antagonizing each other into being the best—and sometimes worst—versions of ourselves. That kind of connection doesn’t go away no matter how many years I spend wishing it had. “I understand enough to recommend you don’t go teaming up with the woman you once were in love with.” I rub at my stubbled cheek. “I know what I’m doing.” “I know what you intend to do, but life has a funny way of fucking over our best-laid plans.” He dismisses me with a flick of his gaze. “We’re working on a project together, not falling in love.”

“That right there is what I’m worried about.” Rafa points at me. I blink a couple of times. “What?” “That look on your face.” “What are you talking about?” He replicates an expression that sure as hell can’t be mine. I toss a crumpled napkin at him. “No mames1.” “I thought you were over her.” “I am. I was just…” “Reminiscing?” “Thinking,” I correct. “Please consider doing more of that, because clearly you haven’t been lately.” “Helping Dahlia get over Oliver is the right thing to do.” After all, I’m the one who introduced them to each other.

My general manager, Mario, shuffles a few papers in front of him. “All submitted permits for our projects have been paused due to the person in charge going on paternity leave.” I frown. “And no one else can take over for the time being?” “No. The same thing happened two years ago when Abbie was having her twins.” I release a frustrated exhale. If I worked in a bigger city like Detroit or Chicago, I wouldn’t run into these kinds of issues. My life would be much less stressful if daily operations didn’t cease because a few people caught the flu or one person was out having a baby.

I’ve considered different options to reignite my passion, such as taking on an individual project again or changing up my team of designers, but I never seem to follow through. Part of me is afraid that I’ll never return to the office once I remember what it feels like to invest my blood, sweat, and tears into a project. Last night proved that. Dahlia wasn’t the only one who had a spark in her eye at the prospect of fixing up the Founder’s house. I did too.

I don’t enjoy silence as much as people think I do. In fact, I’ve grown to hate it over the years because it reminds me of what I lack. A home rather than a house. A wife to love, cherish, and support. A reason to wake up every morning that isn’t my job or the people who rely on me for a steady paycheck. Money might buy me a lot of things, but it can’t cure the gaping hole in my chest that only deepens with every passing year.

When the right person comes around, you’ll know it, I tell myself. But what if the right person has been there all along and I screwed it all up because I was a stupid twenty-year-old who didn’t know any better? That question has kept me awake since Dahlia returned last week, along with the what-if scenarios that could have happened if I had processed my grief the right way instead of isolating myself.

DAHLIA

At least you look good, I add. In honor of getting my shit together, I picked out my best outfit, hoping the pop of color and dash of accessories would boost my mood. You don’t need to seek everyone’s attention all the time; that old comment made by Oliver’s mother about my clothing rears its ugly, unwelcome head. I nearly twist my ankle at the memory. One day I hope you feel comfortable enough in your own skin to stop covering it up, she said before handing me a bottle of anti-aging cream. You should stop—

Nope. Can’t do this. Screw the meds and my therapist’s advice to get out of the house.

interesting.” “What?” “You’re not wearing your engagement ring anymore.” I swallow the thick lump in my throat. “No.” “Where is it?” “You’d have to ask Julian.” “Excuse me?” she screeches. “I have no idea what he did with it after he threw it in the concrete mixer.” Her gaze flicks over the faint white line on my finger. “A concrete mixer?” I can’t help laughing. “Yup.” “Wow.” “I know. Crazy, right?” “Most definitely. But it’s nice Julian helped you get rid of it.” “Don’t tell me you’re calling him nice now.” She raises her hands. “To be fair, he’s matured a lot since you were both in college.” I press my fingers against my ears. “I can’t hear you.” Her eyes roll. “You’re a child.” “What happened to the sister who helped me with recon missions to score some blackmail on him?” “She grew up.” I shoot her a look that she serves right back. “Seriously. Why is he the enemy? And don’t give me some lame excuse about you two having a rivalry since childhood because I know it goes beyond that.”

“I might act oblivious, but that doesn’t make me stupid. Something happened between you two while you were at college, so what was it?” “Nothing.” “You’re such a bad liar.” I focus on the centerpiece. “I don’t want to talk about it.” “You know you can tell me anything. I’m like Fort Knox.” A whole minute goes by before I speak again. “We kissed.” She squeals like a damn kid at Dreamland. “I knew it!” I glare. “What else? Tell me more!” My entire face feels like it might burst into flames. “No.” Her eyes bulge. “You guys had sex, didn’t you?” A flower stem snaps between my fingers. “Lily!”

“And then what?” my sister asks. I kissed him a few weeks before everything in his life went to shit. My shoulders drop. “His dad died.” “Oh.” “Yup.” “Makes sense. I assumed the sex was bad or something—” I choke on a laugh, and Lily gasps. “Ahh! It was good?” I can feel the heat blooming across my cheeks. “Great?” she squeaks. “I refuse to talk about this with you.” Mainly because there is nothing to talk about. Julian made sure of that during a five-minute call that destroyed any hope of us having a future together. You’re a distraction I don’t need, he told me over the phone after I offered to put the semester on hold and come back to Lake Wisteria after his dad died.

company because I was passionate about design too. I’m sorry I don’t feel the same way, he said once I poured out my heart and admitted I cared about him in a real, raw, and scary kind of way. I need time, he replied before ending the call. It was the last time I spoke to him over the phone. All my other calls went to voicemail, even after I helped Oliver pack up his dorm.

My father raised us to follow his motto of ser fiel a ti mismo—stay true to yourself—and I tried my hardest to stick to his values. Yet you failed anyway. “But the problem was that while trying to keep my relationship intact, I forgot myself. I gave up all the things that made me special because I thought it was the right thing to do to make the person who supposedly loved me happy.” The tightness in my chest becomes unbearable. “I realize now that the only person I was letting down was myself. I stopped trusting myself and the gut instinct that told me I deserved better.” My head hangs.

DAHLIA

My phone vibrates with a private text from Julian. Second Best The house is ours if you want it. My mouth drops open. It hasn’t even been two weeks since we agreed to the plan. For how much? Second Best 1.2 million Second Best We need to decide now because there’s another offer. Who? Second Best Some asshole from Chicago. He is willing to pay more, but I have a good relationship with the seller. Exploiting others for personal gain? Nice. Second Best … Just curious. Do I know the other buyer? Second Best Declan Kane.

My cheeks hurt from how long I’ve been smiling. Snap out of it. This is Julian!

Reserved Julian I can handle. Even competitive Julian can be frustratingly funny at times, although I wouldn’t tell him that solely because his ego doesn’t need any more boosting. But a joking Julian? I’m not sure I would stand a chance against this kind of behavior. Last thing I need is to stir up old feelings just because he makes me genuinely smile for the first time in months with a few quips.

Second Best Do we have a deal? Yes.

Second Best House is ours. I’ll text you the details about scheduling a walk-through once I deal with all the paperwork. Shouldn’t I be there for that? Second Best Do you have a lawyer on retainer who can review all the contracts before tomorrow? We both know the obvious answer. On second thought, I’ll sit this one out. Second Best I’ll have Sam send you a standard company agreement that will honor your percentage after we sell the house.

My sister barrels into my room an hour later wearing a pink cowboy hat and a dress with far too many sparkles. “Grab your comfiest heels and your favorite tube of lipstick because the Muñoz sisters are going out.” I pause my TV show and sit up in bed. “What? Since when?” “There’s a costume party at Last Call, and our attendance is required.” “I don’t know…” While my mood has been improving thanks to my antidepressants and therapy sessions, I don’t want to push myself too hard since there is a fine line between stepping out of my comfort zone and getting sucked into a black hole of panic. “It’ll be good for you to go out, even if it’s for a little bit.”

“What are you doing sitting there? Get out of bed and go work on your hair and makeup.” She claps her hands together and yells, “Chop chop!” I wrap a throw blanket around my shoulders. “I don’t want to see people from town yet.” She frowns. “Why not?” I stay quiet. She rolls her eyes. “You care way too much about what other people think of you.” “No, I don’t.” My tone comes off annoyingly defensive. “Then why else would you have spent the last week holed up in here, finding every excuse to avoid going into town?”

“It’s okay. Little sister is here to save the day.” “How?” She holds up a sparkly dress in the air, scrunches her nose, and tosses it on top of the growing pile beside her. “Consider tonight your first lesson in the subtle art of not giving a fuck.”

“Give me thirty minutes. If you hate it, then you can come home.” “What’s the second option?” She cracks her knuckles. “I will change the Wi-Fi and streaming passwords, hide your collection of Silver Vixen DVDs, and steal your entire overpriced skincare routine.” “You wouldn’t dare.” “Are you willing to bet your Dyson Airwrap on it?”

“Come on. Tonight will be fun, I swear. Plus, ladies drink for free.” I fidget with one of my rings. “I shouldn’t really be drinking with my medication.” “I won’t tell anyone you’re sipping mocktails if you don’t.” She winks. As much as I want to say no, my sister’s excitement won’t allow me to. “Okay. Fine. But only for one drink.” “Sure. Yeah. Whatever.” She pulls out a red dress from the bottom of my luggage. “Yes! This is perfect.” “And what am I supposed to be?”

“I’d rather you be surprised by whoever guesses it right.” She throws the dress at me. “Lily!” She rushes out of my room, yelling, “You’ve got fifteen minutes to get ready, so get to it!”

DAHLIA

You’re a part of our family now, so you should dress accordingly, Oliver’s mother said as she gifted me a beautiful designer gown two sizes too small. No one likes a show-off. His sister shot me the fakest smile after I beat everyone during a family trivia night. Couldn’t even let me win that, Oliver whispered in my ear before kissing my cheek for our audience after I won the award for Best TV Host in the reality television category.

Lily grabs my hand and pulls me toward the dance floor packed with people. After a few line-dancing songs, my worries fade away as I let loose and have fun. I always loved dancing, all because of my parents and their habit of turning our living room into a dance floor whenever their favorite songs popped up. As a kid, it was embarrassing at family parties, but now I yearn for that kind of relationship. As Lily spins me around with a laugh, the back of my neck prickles. I turn on the heels of my boots to find Julian staring at me. No. Not staring. Devouring. Goose bumps spread across my arms as his dark eyes drag from my body to my face. I raise a brow when his burning gaze connects with mine, and he looks away with a clenched jaw and a tight fist pressing against his thigh. I take advantage of his shyness and check him out. From the tasteful amount of exposed forearm to the pair of jeans showcasing his muscular legs, Julian is 100 percent my type.

“Dahlia? Is that you?” A deep voice has me spinning in my heels. “Evan!” I grin at the former high school prom king, beloved swim team captain, and the first person I kissed. Nothing happened after our game of spin the bottle at a lakeside bonfire, but I distinctly remember being on cloud nine for a few weeks after. “Surprised you still remember me.” “It would be impossible not to after you sweet-talked your way into borrowing my chemistry homework throughout sophomore year.”

The strange sensation of being watched has me glancing over my shoulder. I expected to find Julian glaring at me, but instead, he is shooting daggers at the man standing in front of me.

Evan’s eyes blaze a trail down my body, but my heart doesn’t miss a beat, which tells me all I need to know. “Listen—” I’m cut off as something firm and warm presses against my back. I turn to find Julian looming behind me with flared nostrils that look two seconds away from spouting smoke. “Evan.” Julian’s deep, raspy voice sends a shiver down my spine. “Julian.” Evan tips his chin. “How are you doing?” The vein above Julian’s right eye pulses. Evan’s eyes lock on to mine. “Better now that I found out Dahlia is here.” “Why?” Julian’s brittle voice makes me wince. Why? I stomp on the tip of Julian’s shoe with the sharp point of my heel. The asshole doesn’t flinch, most likely because he is made of ice. Evan’s eyes glimmer. “Because I always thought she was cute.” Ugh. Cute? Julian scoffs. “Right.”

“What happened to your brother?” I interject. Evan checks our surroundings. “He was hanging around the wrong crowd while he lived in New York, but he’s back on track and getting the help he needs.” I press my hand over my heart. “That’s good to hear.”

“Is he adjusting to his new job all right?” “Yes. Thank you for helping him get back on his feet. It was hard for him to find a job again with a record, and you were the first company willing to give him a chance.” “I’m glad I could help.” Julian closes the gap between us until I’m not sure where my body ends and his begins.

When I raise my foot to stomp on his again, Julian clamps his hand around my hip, stopping me. The heat of his palm singes my skin. Evan’s eyes bounce from Julian to me before landing back on the mercurial man behind me. “Well, Dahlia, it was nice catching up with you, but I should probably head out. Got an early morning tomorrow.”

Julian tenses behind me. Evan doesn’t spare me another glance as he disappears into the crowd. I escape Julian’s hold and turn toward him. “What the hell was that about?” Julian ignores me as he drains the rest of his whiskey. “I asked you a question.” I poke at his chest. “He’s not your type.” “And how would you know that?” I blurt out. “I just know.” “Feel free to share, since clearly I don’t.” Julian being so acutely aware of my needs rubs me the wrong way. Julian’s nose scrunches with distaste. “He’s too nice.” “I’m sure that seems like a negative trait to you, but to the rest of us, nice is good. Actually, it’s the freaking bare minimum.”

“You’d get bored within a month.” “How would you know? You’ve never been in a relationship.” “That might be true, but I know you.” My lungs stall. “Oh, is that right?”

“Maybe I need a man like Evan,” I say. “Someone kind and caring and willing to treat me well.” “That’s fine, but you also want someone to challenge you, and Evan—the town’s biggest people-pleaser—isn’t it.” Shock is quickly replaced by horror. Oh God. Did Julian and I screw each other up so badly that we can’t find happiness with others because we’re always looking for a fight? I shake my head. “I’m not looking for a confrontational partner.” “That’s not what I said.” “Then what?”

“There’s a difference between someone challenging you to be the best version of yourself because they care”—he sneers—“and someone looking for a fight.”

“Face it. You’d walk all over the guy in your glittery red-bottom boots, and he’d probably thank you for it.” “Damn right he should. These babies are beautiful and expensive.” I knock my heels together. “That comment alone makes you worthy of your costume because only a walking, talking red flag would smile like that.” I yank myself free of his gravitational pull. “Excuse me?” “Your costume.” His gaze slowly travels down my body, emphasizing his point. “La voy a matar1,” I whisper to myself. “You didn’t know?” Julian traces the tip of the triangular piece of paper. “No. Lily put it together.” I sharply inhale as the tip of his finger teases the sensitive spot between my dress strap and my shoulder. “Hm.” He pulls away all too quickly, his hand flexing before it tightens into a fist.

A bartender places a full glass of whiskey in front of Julian, and I snatch it before he has a chance to take a sip. I manage a single swallow before handing it back to him with a cough. “That’s disgusting.” That’s what you get for stealing Julian’s drink. “To you.” Julian places his mouth right over the stain my lipstick left behind and takes a sip. My stomach muscles clench as he smears half the mark in the process. It’s the closest his lips have been to mine since college, and it makes my body buzz in the same way.

“Since when do you drink whiskey?” “Since I can afford the expensive kind.” “How much did you pay for that?” “Enough to appreciate every last drop.” He takes another sip, sending a zing down my spine in the process as he watches me with hawklike fascination. Screw the gutter. I’m going straight to hell for the way I press my thighs together. “Please tell me you didn’t pay more than a hundred bucks for that.” He frowns. “Two hundred?” My question is met with the pounding music around us. “A thousand?” My voice breaks at the end. “I don’t expect someone who orders strawberry daiquiris to understand.”

“You know, maybe if you spent less time watching me and more time actively finding a girlfriend, you wouldn’t be chronically single and working eighty hours a week to fill the empty void of your existence.” His frown reveals far too much. “Last time I checked, both of us were single.” “I’m the one who dated a toxic, controlling man for too many years. What’s your excuse?” I take his blank expression as a challenge. “Are you unable to make a woman come?” I tease. His eyes narrow into two slits. “Maybe you’re a one-minute man?” His deep breath says more than any words can. “They have coaches and medicine for that kind of thing, so no need to have it stop you from finding love.”

he places his hand on my hip and squeezes. Before I have a chance to comment, his palm travels up the side of my body, brushing across my rib cage. I stop breathing as his hand wraps around the back of my neck. The firm way he holds me isn’t uncomfortable, but I squirm in place regardless. “What are you doing?” I push against his chest to no avail. His fingers tense, applying the smallest amount of pressure against my pulse point as he leans in and whispers in my ear, “Just b...

“Would you rather I demonstrate?” “Are you suggesting I have sex with you?” “Absolutely not. Sex with you would be…” Every inch of my body tingles at the snapshot of him hovering above me, his heated gaze burning into me right as his mouth comes closer to mine— I shake my head, and he frowns. “No need to look so horrified by the idea.” “Nauseated is more like it.” His thumb traces over my racing pulse point. “Mentirosa2.” “Keep telling yourself that.”

“I still remember the time when you begged me to kiss you.” Julian and I say a lot of messed-up things to each other, but bringing up that topic feels like the lowest of lows, and frankly, he should know better. I rip myself free from his hold. “I also begged Oliver to do the same, so don’t let it get to your head. And honestly, he was much better at it anyway.”

Maybe next time he will think twice before bringing up the one weakness I have. Him.

JULIAN

After Thursday’s run-in with Dahlia at Last Call, I knew Sunday would be unpleasant. When I tried to get out of dinner plans, my mother wouldn’t accept my excuse, claiming Rosa needed help fixing something in the kitchen.