Billionaires Dollar Series

“But I’m your brother.”Content (C) Nôv/elDra/ma.Org.

Yes, and with a habit of always bringing his friends around, of breaking vases, of leaving a trail of Cheetos dust in his wake…

“I’m not allowed to have stay-over guests,” I say firmly. “It’s explicitly stated in the agreement I signed.”

“They’d never know.”

“You don’t think a place like this has cameras and stuff?” I stop at the edge of the pool and dip my bare toes into the water. Cool and lovely.

“You’re such a bore, Bella,” Wyatt complains. “If I had a mansion for the summer, I’d invite you to stay for as long as you’d like.”

He’s playing on my conscience now. My little brother is excellent at doing that. “Stop it,” I tell him. “I’ve already told you no, and explained my reasons. It’s not personal. I’m like… like a steward here. And I can’t screw it up. Besides, you have a place to stay.”

“Fine.” Wyatt’s sigh across the line is flippant now. “I get it, I get it.”

Sure he does. “Good. But you know you’re welcome to visit on occasion. Just you, though.”

“I know. Thanks.”

Something moves in my peripheral vision. No, someone. Ethan is in the oak tree again. He’s not alone this time, as a second man sits higher up in an adjacent tree.

Ethan gives a wave.

“Bella?” Wyatt asks.

“Yes, I’m still here. Sorry, but I have to go.”

“Is your thesis calling?” Kyle teases. Now that he’s asked his question, again, and I’ve told him no, again, the tension is gone between us.

When he visited last week for dinner, he’d walked around and marveled, going so far as to open closets in the master bedroom. That was when I’d shoved him down the hallway and pointed at the stairs.

“Yes. Words don’t write themselves, you know.”

“Talk to you later, Bells.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Slipping the phone into the back pocket of my jean shorts, I head to where Ethan is perched on the bough. A trace of faint humiliation still burns, but I force it down. Surely we can discuss a few nice, neighborly things, like the weather. Just keep it friendly.

I rock back on my heels. “Are you making it a habit? Sitting up there?”

“Better cell phone reception,” he says. “Who knew?”

I bite my lip to keep from smiling. “Right.”

“I didn’t mean to overhear your conversation.”

“That’s okay. What are you doing, though?”

He glances over at the man in the other tree, currently measuring the width of the trunk at different intervals. “I’m a terrible father,” he says.

“I very much doubt that.”

His smile becomes crooked again. “I’m hiring a company to build the treehouse. Actual professionals. Go ahead, tell me I’m a copout.”

I pretend to consider, furrowing my brow. “It is definitely a strike against you,” I deadpan. “I might consider calling social services.”

He nods gravely. “You take your civic duty seriously. I can respect that.”

I laugh. “In truth, I don’t think it’s bad at all. Professionals know what they’re doing, right?”

“And I don’t,” he says, smile wide. “Not to mention this is meant to be a surprise, and my hammering away out here an hour every evening won’t exactly be… inconspicuous.”

“Sure won’t.” I glance from Ethan to the man in the neighboring tree, still hard at work examining branches and boughs. “It’ll be big?”

Ethan shrugs. “No idea. I told them to design whatever will fit and make it special.”

“I had a treehouse growing up.”

“You did?”

“Yes. It was filled with cushions and in the summer my mother hung string lights inside.”

Ethan’s eyes widen. “Damn. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Of what would be inside it?”

“No, not at all.”

And he looks so… I can’t resist. “I can help with that. If you need help, I mean. Picking out pillows and a throw rug and maybe hanging lights… if it’s meant to be a surprise. For Haven and Evie?”

Nice, Bella. Very eloquent.

But Ethan gives a grateful nod. “I’d appreciate that.”

“Of course. Just let me know when you want to look at it.”

“Is it terrible of me to suggest right now?” he asks. “My mother has Haven and Evie today, and that doesn’t happen all that often.”

I smooth a hand over my shorts. “Of course! It’s a Saturday-I wasn’t planning on working anyway.”

“And no plans with all those student friends of yours?” he teases. “I haven’t heard you throw a rager yet.”

“And you won’t,” I say. “Should I come over? I can bring my laptop and we could, I don’t know, order some stuff?”

His shoulders relax a tad. “Perfect. Yes, let’s do that.”