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She blinks. “Excuse me?”

“You cannot sell this house.”

Her eyebrows rise. “Pretty sure I can. I have the deed and everything.”

“No.”

“Gabriel.”

“April.”

She folds her arms. “Are we seriously doing this?”

“This house is not for sale.”

She stares at me. Then laughs. Actually laughs. “Oh, honey.”

I narrow my eyes.

“Do not call me honey.”

“Then don’t tell me what I can and can’t do with my own property.”

Indignation burns inside my chest. “Your property?”

“Yes.”

I gesture around us. “I built this house.”

“And now I own it.”

“It bears my name.”

“Congratulations.”

I stare at her.

She stares back.

I have negotiated with railroad magnates. Bank presidents. Men who controlled entire industries. I have made and lost fortunes. I have ruined competitors with a single signature.

And somehow, this woman in an oversized T-shirt is proving more difficult than all of them combined.

I take a deep breath, and then another. Because I can. Because breathing is still a novelty.

And because I need to think.

April is the key to my curse. I’m certain of it. Her touch has brought me back twice. No one else has ever accomplished such a thing. I cannot let her leave.

But I also cannot force her to stay.

Not if I want her cooperation. And I very much want her cooperation.

So, I do what I have always done when faced with an obstacle. I negotiate.

“How much?” I ask.

April blinks. “What?”