Final Offer (Dreamland Billionaires #3) by Lauren Asher

“Let me grab my laptop. I think I have an idea.”

I return to the living room with my laptop open and Pinterest already pulled up. Instead of sitting across from Lana, I take a seat next to her and place the laptop over my thighs so she can see the screen.

The heat coming off her body seeps through my skin. I’m tempted to brush my arm against hers and be rewarded with a gasp, but I hold back.

Business first.

Her brow arches. “Pinterest? Really?”

“Iris swears by it after planning most of her wedding and honeymoon with it.”

She laughs. “Of course. I wish I thought of it first. I like to pin new ideas for teaching, but I didn’t think about it for the house.”

“Look at me being useful for once.” My laugh comes out half-hearted.

She nudges me with her thigh. “You can be useful.”

“How? Because I opened a jar of spaghetti sauce for you last night?”

“The lid was stuck pretty tight. I’m not sure I would have gotten it off without you.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m glad my life’s purpose has been narrowed down to domestic tasks and arm muscle.”

“Well, you did always joke around about wanting to be a stay-at-home dad. Maybe it’s your calling after all.”

“Don’t tempt me. You know how I feel about corporate life.”

Her head tilts. “You know there are other jobs out there besides a basic nine-to-five desk job.”

“I’m aware.” Doesn’t mean I’ve found one that works for me. It’s not like I need a job, but my brothers make it seem like that’s the point of life. Or at least they did until they found something nicer.

Love.

“Have you done anything since hockey?”

My shoulders turn to stone. “Does stepping in as Declan’s assistant count?”

Her mouth drops open. “You were Declan’s assistant?”

“Don’t look so surprised.” I flick her nose, earning a breathy chuckle that makes my heart pathetically swell.

“I’m surprised you lived to tell the tale.”

“He wasn’t that bad. Iris was the one who had to put up with him for three years.”

Her lips part. “Iris worked for him?”

“Yup.”

“And she still fell in love with him? Wow.”

Wow is right. If it weren’t for my grandfather’s will and his marriage-of-convenience clause, I’m not sure the two of them would have ever gotten together in the first place.

“Declan is lucky because Iris is one hell of a woman.”

Her face softens. “You really care about her.”

“She’s always been there for me when I needed someone.” I break eye contact and focus on my laptop screen.

Lana reaches out and squeezes my hand. “She sounds like a great friend. I’m glad you found someone who could be that for you.”

I nod as I swallow the thick lump in my throat. “I love her like the sister I never had, but she was never you. What she and I had was always different.”

“You never tried to…” Her voice drifts off as the question dies on the tip of her tongue.

“We kissed once, but that was all.” I clasp her palm and tuck it against my thigh.

“If your friendship is anything like ours, then I’m questioning it.” The muscles in her back remain wound tight despite the playfulness of her words.

“Nothing has ever compared to us, and nothing ever will.” I lift her hand to my mouth and press my lips against the faded scar on her knuckle. It’s small but a constant reminder of her getting hurt after I stupidly dared her to climb a chain-link fence.

She releases a shaky breath. “You need to stop talking and doing things like that.”

“Why?”

“Because this isn’t the past.” She attempts to tug her hand free of my grasp, but my hold is too strong.

“Good, because I’d much rather focus on our future.” I pry her fingers apart before kissing the soft flesh of her palm, earning the softest inhale from her.

“We don’t have a future.”

“Not yet, but give me some time to prove you wrong.” A pink flush blooms across her cheeks, so I trace it with the pad of my thumb. “I don’t expect you to believe me, but I’m just warning you.”

“Warning me about what?”

“I walked away from you before because I thought I was doing the right thing. That you were better off without me. That you would be happier. I don’t plan on making that same mistake again, even if you expect me to. While I might mess up—hell, I can practically guarantee it—I’m not going to run away again. I’ll fight for us no matter what.” I release her hand, although there is nothing I want more than to never let go.

Tension between us grows as I refocus on the laptop screen in front of us. Lana loses herself in her thoughts for a few minutes before resuming as if our conversation didn’t happen.

Maybe it’s for the best. Speaking about my intentions doesn’t matter when I have years of mistakes and mistrust to overcome.

But that starts today.

Lana and I spend the rest of the afternoon searching Pinterest for different ideas. She points out everything she likes, and together we quickly create a few different boards for each of the rooms in the house. It doesn’t take us long to determine Lana hates futuristic modern ideas almost as much as I dislike mid-century style. Together, we decide the best option is to go with a transitional modern style.