Love Redesigned (Lakefront Billionaires #1) by Lauren Asher

I rub at my stubbled cheek. “I know what I’m doing.”

“I know what you intend to do, but life has a funny way of fucking over our best-laid plans.” He dismisses me with a flick of his gaze.

“We’re working on a project together, not falling in love.”

Dahlia made sure that wasn’t possible once she began dating my ex-roommate after I dropped out of Stanford.

He snorts. “Because working together went so well the last time.”

My teeth grind together as I remember the one and only time Dahlia and I teamed up: on a college psychology project. It was a decision made out of jealousy and became the first in a long list of mistakes I made when it came to her. Flirting. Kissing. Pushing her away because I didn’t have the skills to process my fear of losing someone else I loved after my father’s death.

“That right there is what I’m worried about.” Rafa points at me.

I blink a couple of times. “What?”

“That look on your face.”

“What are you talking about?”

He replicates an expression that sure as hell can’t be mine.

I toss a crumpled napkin at him. “No mames.”

“I thought you were over her.”

“I am. I was just…”

“Reminiscing?”

“Thinking,” I correct.

“Please consider doing more of that, because clearly you haven’t been lately.”

“Helping Dahlia get over Oliver is the right thing to do.” After all, I’m the one who introduced them to each other.

You’ll be back soon, right? Oliver asked in the middle of me panic-buying a plane ticket home after I heard about my dad’s heart attack.

Dahlia came over to help me pack up your stuff and ship it since you’re too busy to answer a single text, he messaged me a month after I dropped out of Stanford. And thanks for letting us know you weren’t coming back, dickface. So much for us being friends, he added.

No mames: Stop messing around.



Next thing I knew, Dahlia was in a relationship with the asshole who had his head stuck so far up his ass, I’m surprised he hadn’t suffocated yet.

Not a single week goes by when I don’t regret becoming friends with Oliver and the mistakes I made that pushed him and Dahlia together in the first place.



My fingers cramp from how long I’ve spent tapping them against the conference room table. It’s hard not to feel antsy after a day full of meetings with project managers, architects, engineers, and interior designers.

My general manager, Mario, shuffles a few papers in front of him. “All submitted permits for our projects have been paused due to the person in charge going on paternity leave.”

I frown. “And no one else can take over for the time being?”

“No. The same thing happened two years ago when Abbie was having her twins.”

I release a frustrated exhale. If I worked in a bigger city like Detroit or Chicago, I wouldn’t run into these kinds of issues. My life would be much less stressful if daily operations didn’t cease because a few people caught the flu or one person was out having a baby.

And lonelier. The idea of moving away from my family again has me shutting down that thought.

I speak up. “Readjust schedules so all our guys have consistent work for the next few weeks. It shouldn’t be too hard since city hall approved our permits for the townhouses.” I turn to Ryder. “Any updates?”

Ryder, my project manager, quits tapping his pen against the clipboard. He’s been working with me for seven years already and worked his way up to his current position before turning thirty-eight. Thanks to him, I can sleep easier at night knowing he can manage my crew like a disciplined drill sergeant.

He leans back and tucks his hands behind his dark head of hair. “I think we no longer need to worry about Mr. Vittori.”

My fingers stop tapping. “How so?”

“He withdrew all his offers on the available houses in the area.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure. According to city hall, he hasn’t purchased any properties or lots, so maybe he moved on to another town. It’s not like you gave him much of a choice.” His dark brown eyes light up.

“I don’t like it.” Or him.

I’ve been wary of Lorenzo Vittori since he randomly returned to Lake Wisteria twenty-three years after his parents died, and it isn’t because of him bidding against me on lakefront properties or the gossip spreading around town about him wanting to run for mayor.

The town might have welcomed him back, but I don’t trust him or his fake acts of altruism. It doesn’t matter how many times he attends Sunday Mass or how many hours he spends volunteering at the animal shelter. For all I know, he is funneling his uncle’s dirty money through different businesses and charities, all under the guise of being a good Samaritan who wants to make a difference.

He might have spent the first ten years of his life here, but a lot has happened in the years since then.

My twenty-five-year-old assistant, Sam, waltzes into the conference room armed with his headset, tablet, and a bright smile that reaches his brown eyes. “The architect team is waiting in conference room B to review the plans for the townhouses. I also set up the design team in room C, so once you’re done there, head on in so they can present their ideas for the cul-de-sac.”