Love Redesigned (Lakefront Billionaires, #1)

by Lauren Asher

Because a hurt Dahlia is a mean Dahlia, and I was too pissed off to see her reaction for what it was. A way to shield her vulnerability. She is obviously struggling with overwhelming sadness, and I’m not helping matters by treating her the way I have. It’s not too late to apologize for what you said. My mom waves me off. “I know. I know. Never mind.” “Who’s Annabelle?” Dahlia can’t hide that special glint in her eyes. “She is someone newer to town whose family moved here from Chicago. Julian dated her a couple of months ago, although their relationship ended rather abruptly.” “You don’t say,” Dahlia dryly replies. “Annabelle Meyers?” Lily frowns. “I had no idea you dated her.”

“She wasn’t worth mentioning.” “Julian!” my mom calls out. “How long did they date?” Dahlia asks with the softest, fakest voice. My mom clasps her hand against her chest. “Not long, although that didn’t stop my son from breaking her heart.” “Surprised she found him worthy of it to begin with.” Dahlia smirks. She didn’t. I bite down on my tongue in an admirable display of self-restraint. “Don’t start, mija,” Rosa warns her daughter. “Sorry, Mami.”

“Warned her about what?” Dahlia perks up. “Julian leaves a trail of sad women behind him.” “No, I don’t.” I don’t know why I feel the need to defend myself, but I stupidly continue. “And I didn’t break Annabelle’s heart.” She would need to possess one to begin with, and our exchange proved otherwise. “How would you know?” Lily asks. “Because we only went on three dates.” All of which ended with me politely escorting her to the door each night and giving her a kiss on the cheek. There was no buzz. No chemistry. No special spark that had my blood rushing and my head spinning.

I know the problem lies within myself rather than with the women I’m set up with. They expect a charismatic billionaire who will wine and dine them around the world, but I’m not that guy. I prefer listening rather than speaking, quiet actions instead of elaborate displays of affection, and working hard to share my money with others rather than finding a way to spend it all on myself. And while some were willing to accept that about me at first, all of them had the same reaction when I told them I wasn’t interested in having kids—at least not in the way they wanted. My mom frowns. “Her mother said Annabelle felt something special between you two.” “Better wife her up before she comes to her senses,” Dahlia adds.

Dahlia scratches the tip of her nose with her middle finger. “That’s it.” Rosa throws her napkin on the table and points a finger at her daughter. “You’re in charge of dishes.” “But I got my nails done yesterday.” She holds up her hands, showing off her intricate nail art. “Wear my rubber gloves, then.” “Here you go.” I place my plate on top of Dahlia’s cleared one, making her scowl.

“Since you’re in the mood to be helpful, you can do the dishes too.” “What?” “Dahlia wouldn’t be in trouble if you didn’t keep bothering her all day.” “She’s the one who started it.” “And I’m ending it. Go.”

I place the dirty dishes in the sink before rolling up my sleeves. Dahlia tracks my every move with heated fascination, making my stomach clench. Shit. “Do you have gloves?” I ask. She snaps out of whatever trance my arms had her in. “Um, yeah.” She digs through the cabinet beneath the sink and pulls out a large pair of pink gloves.

She returns, only to pause midstride so she can snap a photo of me washing a plate. “Aw. The color of the gloves really brings out your cheeks.” “Delete that.” “Nope.” She tucks her phone into her back pocket and leans against the counter beside me.

I take advantage of her distraction to steal the phone from her back pocket. “Give that back!” Dahlia reaches for her phone, but I hold it above her head. I struggle to rip one of the rubber gloves off thanks to the soap covering it, but somehow manage to bite down on the tip of one finger and pull. “Julian!” She claws at my arm with her freshly manicured nails. I can vaguely overhear Rosa speaking from the other room, asking if she should go check on us, only for my mother to assure her that everything is fine. “What’s your password?” I ask while attempting a few number combinations myself. “Screw you.” She turns her attention toward the spot between my ribs that has me jolting. “Give it back.” She tickles me again, and my grip on the phone slips. Oh fuck. Her phone falls into the sink full of water and lands at the bottom with a sickening thud. “Oh my fucking God! I’m going to kill you!” She dives for the phone and pulls it out. Water drips everywhere as she does everything in her power to turn it back on.

“Shit. I’m so sorry.” She scowls hard enough to make me take a step back. “You’re sorry?” “It slipped.” “It wouldn’t have been in your hands had you not accosted me.” “Accosted? A bit dramatic, don’t you think?” A small laugh escapes me. My reaction seems to fuel the fire behind her eyes. “I’ll show you dramatic.” With a burst of impressive speed, she grabs my phone from my back pocket and tosses it like a football into the sink. The glass screen hits the side of a heavy metal pot before plunging to the bottom of the sink. Both of our mouths drop open as the cracked screen flickers once before going black. “I can’t believe I did that.” She stares up at me with wide eyes. “I can.” I seethe.

“I’m so freaking sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.” She rubs at her eyes. “You’re sorry?” I ask with a cool voice. “Yes.” I can’t explain what possesses me to react the way I do, but I grab the side hose and spray Dahlia like we did countless times as kids. “Julian!” She holds up her hands, making the water splash everywhere. I ignore her cry as I blast her face with cold water, ruining her makeup and hair in the process. A mix of mascara, eyeliner, and blush runs down her cheeks. I drop the hose. “I accept your apology now.” My gaze flickers toward her soaked T-shirt. The black fabric clings to the curves of her breasts like a second skin, emphasizing the— “What the hell?” I sputter while choking on water. “You look like you need to cool down.” Dahlia sprays me with enough water to soak my hair, white button-down shirt, and the front of my pants. The

Her tongue traces her bottom lip as she focuses on my abs pressing against the wet fabric. I follow her gaze. “Like what you see?” “Consider me unimpressed.” Although the faint blush creeping up her neck gives her away.

Dahlia’s eyes widen as she is given a full view of what lies beneath the drenched fabric. “What are you doing?” she hisses. “Cleaning up the mess you made.”

“Still unimpressed?” She squints. “Even more so now that I got a better look.” “You’ve always been a lousy liar.” “And you’ve always been a terrible flirt.” “You’ve got something…” I swipe at the corner of her mouth with the pad of my thumb. Her sharp inhale is loud enough to be heard over the rapid beat of my heart.

My fingers tingle as I clasp her chin and lean in until our lips hover a few centimeters apart. “For someone intent on acting like she doesn’t find me attractive, you desperately look like you want to be kissed.” Her eyes snap open as she shoves me away. “God! I can’t stand you.” “The feeling is mutual.”

“I’m going to grab a bag of rice to soak our phones, and the mop to clean up this mess,” she announces with flushed cheeks. “That’s a good idea after how you drooled all over the floor.”

You’re playing with fire, my head warns. Wrong. I’m playing with something far more dangerous. Dahlia Isabella Muñoz.

DAHLIA

When Julian texted me a few days ago to schedule a walk-through of the Founder’s house, I thought he meant I would be meeting with his team to check out the work that needed to be done and compile a list of all our pending tasks. Instead, I’m surprised to find Luis Senior’s old pickup truck parked in the driveway and Julian standing on the ornate wraparound porch. He leans against one of the intricately carved beams that support the fish-scale shingled ceiling above his head. “I thought the McLaren was fixed?” I ask. “It is, but there is no way I’m driving that car during the fall, especially not after our little incident.”

“Dahlia.” I look up to find Julian staring at me with a strange expression. “Where’s the rest of the team?” “Ryder and the crew are dealing with a septic tank that burst at one of our sites.” My nose twitches. “Gross.” “For once, I’m glad it’s not me.” His eyes run up the length of my body. “You look…interesting.” My hands ball up against my sides. “I see why you don’t compliment others often.” His brows scrunch. “Why?” “You genuinely suck at it.” He frowns as a faint blush creeps up his neck. “I was trying to be nice.” “Why?” “Because I’m stupid,” he grumbles.

Good God. Julian’s laughs don’t come often, but when they do, my whole world stops for a few seconds so I can process the sound.

“First impression of the place?” “I’m in love.” His right brow rises. “Just like that, huh?” “Just like that,” I repeat as I note the detailed wood moldings throughout the space. “I mean, look at all the details.” “Whatever carpenter they hired did a great job. Termite damage aside, the craftsmanship is impeccable.” He runs a hand over the baluster. “Think you could replicate it?” I ask without thinking much of it. His hand freezes. “I don’t do carpentry anymore.” “What? Since when?”

“We’re not done with this conversation.” “All right. Make sure to bring it up again when you’re ready to talk about why you and Oliver broke up,” he snaps. I jerk back. His eyes shut. “Shit. Sorry, Dahlia. That was unfair of me.” The iciness in my chest that seems to vanish in Julian’s presence returns with the strength of a blizzard. “No worries. I’ve dealt with worse comments.”

“Wait!” He yanks on my arm. “What are you doing?” I shake him off. He tightens his hold, making my stomach dive in the process. “You almost walked into a spiderweb.” I look up from his arm wrapped around my middle to the massive web hanging like a curtain under the archway. “Oh God.” I shudder. I freaking hate spiders.

“Sorry. The feminism left my body the moment you mentioned spiders.”

When I hold my hand out in a silent request, Julian holds the tape hostage. “What?” I grind out. “I’ve been thinking.” “Should we mark this special occasion?” A wrinkle cuts across his forehead from how hard he frowns. “I’m sorry for what I said downstairs.” “Fine.” Do I forgive him for losing his cool? Yeah. Does that mean I’m not pissed about what he said? No, seeing as this is the second time he has used my failed relationship as a weapon against me. I bite down on my tongue hard enough to taste blood. “Tape, please.” He doesn’t make a move to pass it, so I lift my hand and wiggle my fingers. His deep sigh of resignation echoes off the high ceiling. “I haven’t been able to go into my dad’s woodshop since he passed away.”

“I’m not sure why I’m telling you this.” He pauses for a brief second. “I mean, I know why. I feel shitty for snapping at you earlier, and this is my way of making up for it.” “I appreciate the thought, but please feel free to stop sharing at any time.” I keep my voice flat despite my rising heart rate. Julian confessing his deepest feelings isn’t part of our arrangement. Neither is you feeling sorry for him in light of it. The crease between his brows disappears. “So I’m forgiven?” “I forgave you after you stopped me from walking into a spiderweb, so yeah, we’re good so long as you don’t do it again.” “Deal. Now, will you explain what you said earlier?” “About opening up the kitchen so more natural light can come through?” He scowls. “Déjate de tonterías2. What did you mean about hearing worse comments?” “Oh. Pass.”

“Don’t make me resort to extreme measures to get the information out of you.” I scoff. “Nothing you say or do will get me to open up to you about that part of my life.” “Wanna bet?” It’s funny how two words can open a floodgate of memories I banished. From money to bragging rights, Julian and I spent years wagering bets.

“I’ll give Sam your information, and he can coordinate the meetings.” “You’re willing to let me speak to your assistant after last time?” “Of course. I had him sign a new contract with a nice pay increase and a promise to never work for you so long as he lives.” “I hate how you’re always one step ahead of me.” He laughs for a second time today, throwing me off. “There’s a reason I always kicked your ass at chess.”

DAHLIA

The loud chime of my cell phone echoes off the high ceiling. A photo of Julian holding his Second Best trophy on graduation day covers the lit screen, along with his nickname in bold beneath. I slide my thumb across the screen and answer. “Julian.” “Did you lock up?” he asks while a door shuts in the background. I snort. “You can’t trust me to do that right?” It’s not difficult to imagine him glaring as he answers, “You Muñozes can’t be bothered to lock your front door at night, so forgive me for making sure.” “I’ve been locking doors since college, so never fear. I’ll do so when I’m done.” “You’re still there?” “Yeah. Is that a problem?” His silence only lasts a beat. “What are you doing?” “Exploring.” “Couldn’t that have waited until Ryder is there tomorrow?” The wooden floorboards groan from all my pacing. “There are some things I like to do alone.” He pauses. “Like what?” “You’re going to think it’s stupid.” At least that’s what the producers thought whenever I dragged a film crew around during my searches. “What’s stupid is you making assumptions about me without asking.” “Umm.” When did Julian become so assertive, and why am I finding it kind of hot? He huffs something to himself before speaking louder this time. “Be careful.”

“When did we start caring about each other’s well-being?” “Since you’re not covered under my liability insurance.” I fake a sniffle. “For a second, I thought you had feelings for me.” “Only the negative type.” “Please stop now before I swoon.”

I sigh at the ceiling. And blink. Is that… I rub my eyes to make sure they’re not deceiving me. My heart thunders as I take off downstairs in search of the ladder Julian left behind for me. I teeter and nearly lose my footing twice while hauling the heavy thing up the flight of stairs, but I power through and make it up to the attic without any slipups. I set the ladder beneath the wood beam and climb the steps toward the rolls of paper tucked between two support beams. Gotcha. I swoop in and grab them before making my way down the first few steps. A faint tickling sensation on my right hand has me looking up to find a gray spider crawling toward my elbow. “Ah!” I scream as my foot slips. The rolls of paper go flying, along with the spider, as I do everything in my power to catch myself. Wrong move. My arms flail in a wasted attempt to secure my balance. I fall with a gasp, only for all the air to be knocked from my lungs as I crash against the floor on top of my left arm.

You need to call for help. My vision blurs and my body trembles as I pat my pocket with my right arm, only to remember I placed my now-fixed phone on the window ledge before I went to retrieve the ladder. “Fuck.” A tear slips out. Anxiety builds within me like a nuclear bomb waiting to detonate. Please don’t have a panic attack right now.

How am I supposed to call for help when I don’t have my phone? How many hours will it take for someone to notice I’m missing? Will they know where to find me? With every unanswered question, my anxiety grows. Black spots fill my vision, and my deep breaths do little to stop the panic clawing at my chest like a wild beast. Think.

Think. Think. Think. “Hey, Siri. Answer the call.” I copy the way my mother talks into her phone whenever her hands are occupied at the shop. “Help! I’m hurt and can’t get to my phone to call anyone. Call Julian and tell him I’m stuck in the Founder’s attic. He knows where it is.”

JULIAN

I didn’t think when I ran out of my office. Or when I broke five different road rules in my panic to make it back to the Founder’s house. In fact, my body is running on pure adrenaline and a single brain cell as I rush into the house, shouting Dahlia’s name while searching for the attic. She cries out from one side of the house, and I rush to the stairs.

The sight of Dahlia cradling her left arm to her chest nearly brings me to my knees. This is all your fault. “What happened?” I do my best to tamp down the edge in my voice. “Oh, thank God you came alone. I don’t think I could deal with my mom or sister hyperventilating and praying the pain away right now.”

“What the hell were you thinking?” “Can you help me first, lecture me later? I’m pretty sure I broke my arm.” She points at her limp limb. “I’m going to call for an ambulance.” I kneel beside her and fumble for my phone. “No!” “Why not?” “No need for that whole production.” I check out her arm again. “We could make everything worse by moving you.” “The thought of being in an ambulance…” Her voice shakes. Shit. In my panic, I nearly forgot about how Dahlia had a front-row seat to her dad dying in the back of an ambulance from a stroke. “Will you drive? Please.” She attempts to sit up.

“Wait! Can you get my phone first? It’s on the windowsill.” “Fine.” I grab her phone and tuck it into my back pocket. I kneel and slide my arms beneath her. Her eyes water as I hold her against my chest and rise, doing my best to avoid aggravating her injury. My hands tighten around her. “You good?” “Never been better.” Her overly cheery voice grates on my frayed nerves.

Dahlia hides her face against my shirt, dampening the material with her tears. You still care about her. Mierda. I’m not given more than a second to process the thought before Dahlia speaks up again. She sniffles. “This is all so stupid.” I stalk toward the exit. “What is?” “Breaking my arm like this.” “How did it happen?” I walk toward the stairwell while doing my best to keep her steady. “I had a run-in with a spider.” “A spider?” “I know what you’re thinking. But that beast was the size of a tarantula and had a set of fangs like a snake.”

“Should I contact pest control?’’ I ask. “Pest control? No way. You need the Department of Natural Resources to come out here and drop fumigation bombs because I have a feeling that creature was one of many.” “You think there are more?” “Of course. Perhaps hundreds.” She glances toward the ceiling. “Actually, no. Thousands. Make sure the DNR knows all of this when you give them a call tomorrow. When it comes to the government, you need to exaggerate matters to get anyone’s attention.”

She tucks her face against my chest in a poor attempt to hide her smile, only to pull back after a sniffle. “What happened to your cologne?” I nearly trip over my own feet. “What?” “The one you wore on the day of the car accident?” Of all the questions to ask… “Oh, yeah. I ran out.” Good job putting that one brain cell to work. “Hm.” She falls quiet. “I have an idea.” I speak a little too fast. “What?” “What if we burn down the house?” She clutches the fabric of my shirt with her good hand. “No!” “But we could be saving the world from super-spiders.” “And anger the ghosts who live here? Hell no! I’ve seen enough horror movies to know better.” My brows crinkle. “What ghosts?” “Didn’t you research the house before you signed the paperwork?”

“Is the attic off-limits then?” “Sure, so long as you go back for the rolls of paper I dropped.” “Of course, you want me to go in there.” “You’ll be my hero. I’ll get you a custom medal and everything.” Her eyes brighten despite the tears pooling near her bottom lashes. I help Dahlia get into the truck with only a couple of hisses before I slide into the driver’s seat and start the engine. “I’m taking you to Lake Aurora.” “Why?” she cries. “Doc’s is down the road.” “Absolutely not.” She huffs. “What do you have against Doc? He’s been fixing broken arms since before our time.” “Exactly. I’m pretty sure the man worked the front lines during the last World War.”

“Come on.” She raises a single sassy brow. “I’m going to need you to move out of the way first.” “I’d rather carry you.” Her eyes widen. “What for?” “You broke your arm.” She frowns. “Funny. I didn’t know I needed one to walk.” I resist the temptation to pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’d rather you not trip and fall, seeing as you couldn’t even stand up earlier.” “I’m surprised you care about that.” “Only under certain circumstances.” Her eyes sparkle. “Like when I’m about to sue your company for damages?” “I’d expect nothing less. Should I give my lawyer a courtesy call?” “Sure. I heard from a good source you have a nice liability insurance policy.” I bite back a laugh. “Stop stalling, and let’s go.”

I told myself a hundred different times that I don’t care about Dahlia—that any romantic feelings I had toward her died long ago—yet here I am, making myself sick over how she got hurt because of me. Truth is, I do care about Dahlia, regardless of whether I want to or not. Caring about someone isn’t the end of the world, I tell myself. Except Dahlia isn’t someone. She is so much more.

After another hour, Dahlia walks out of the two doors with her left arm wrapped in a purple cast and a reminder card for an appointment booked four weeks from now. Relief hits me instantly like a wrecking ball to the chest. She’s okay. Of course she’s okay, you dumbass. It’s a broken arm, not open-heart surgery.

She attempts to rip at the plastic wrapper covering the tube. Despite her struggles, she refuses to ask me for any help, so I pluck the container from her hand. “Give it back!” She tries to swipe it back with her good arm. I hold it up above her head and tear the plastic off. To spite her for being difficult, I pop open the cap and pour some into my mouth before passing the container back. She peers inside the tube. “You ate almost half of them!”

“You got me two? Why?” “They were on sale.” The lie comes out easily. “If you keep doing things like this, I might end up thinking you’re a nice guy or something.” “We can’t have that.” I reach for the bag, only for her to sidestep me. “Never mind. Your reputation as an asshole is alive and well.”