Page 29 of The Billionaire Invitation

“No. Jesus.” He stood.

“I thought you were going to marry her back then.”

“We never talked about marriage.” He paced the short distance to the kitchen and poured another splash of scotch into his glass.

But a future between them had been implied. He’d known it. She’d known it. They’d never made plans because they’d assumed they’d have time to make them after graduation. Then his grandfather had died, and suddenly, they had run out of time.

“What do you think would have happened if she’d gone to LA with you?”

“We’ll never know.” And wasn’t that the truth. “We might have burned hot for a few months only for her to return to Chicago anyway.”

His gut pinched at the lie.

“I was consumed with the foundation. My mom needed me.”

He felt that in his temples—a slow ache calling him on his bullshit. No, he would never know for sure what would have happened, but if last night had been a clue, he and Honesty could have worked through whatever would’ve come up. It had seemed insurmountable at the time.

“History has a way of repeating itself until we learn our lessons,” J said. She often sounded wiser than her years. She was what one might call an old soul.

“When I left the first time, things were…unresolved. So maybe us being together, on our terms and knowing the expiration date, is a good way to resolve it.”

“Or maybe you’re playing with fire and one or both of you will get burned.”

“Okay, single lady. You’re not one to be handing out relationship advice.”

“The plumber’s pipes are always leaking.” She let that confusing statement linger a moment before she explained it to him. “I am an expert at repairing other people’s sinks, even though mine is perpetually leaky.”

“If anyone should be unclogging a sink, it’s Reagan.” Their sister-in-law-to-be was a handywoman.

“Ha-ha. Is your ‘appointment’ tonight with Honesty?”

“We’re having dinner to recap on the luncheon she had today with a potential donor.” Plus, he had an offer for her. The idea had hit him like a lightning bolt this morning when he’d been taking a shower.

“I’m glad you’re helping her. You’re great at what you do. You help a lot of people.”

“Thank you.” The compliment rang tuning-fork true in his soul. He was great at helping people. He prided himself on it.

“You’re not that great at helping yourself though.”

“I helped myself plenty last night,” he mumbled into his glass.

“I am talking about what you really need, not sex.” Jaylyn walked to the kitchen where she poured an inch of scotch into a glass for herself. “What if things work out this time?”

He paused, his own glass halfway to his lips.

She returned to her seat on the sofa and traded her glass for a kneadable eraser. She started pulling it like Silly Putty. “Think about it. You’re both older and smarter. Maybe two weeks leads to two more weeks. And then you would be here. In Chicago.”

“You are tireless.”

His sister grinned. “Thank you.”

“I’m going to go. Thanks for the drink.”

“Ugh, fine!” She tromped over to see him to the door. “I’m here for you, bro. Even when you don’t want me to be.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“Love you or whatever.”