Love Redesigned (Lakefront Billionaires #1) by Lauren Asher

Sure, I could order supplies online, but the estimated two-week delivery times have me quickly tossing out that idea. It’s either join Julian on this trip or wait two weeks for supplies I needed yesterday.

The two-hour drive flies by, with Julian quickly vetoing my playlist for his own. I’m pleasantly surprised by new artists I hadn’t heard of, and I find myself saving some of his songs to my own playlist.

Julian drives down a row of dark warehouses before stopping in front of the address his mom sent him.

“Is this it?” I look around the quiet street.

“According to my mom’s pin, yeah.”

I hop out of the truck despite Julian’s protests.

“Do you have any survival instincts?” He slams his door shut.

I pat my purse. “Of course. I’ve got pepper spray and enough self-defense classes to hold my own.”

“All it would take is one punch to your broken arm to have you begging for mercy.”

I blink. “You clearly thought that one out.”

He shoots me a look before heading toward the door. “Fuck.”

My brows rise. “What?”

“They’re closed.”

“No.” I check out the sign and confirm that fact while Julian calls his mother and explains our situation over speakerphone.

“What do you mean they’re closed?” Josefina asks.

Julian shuts his eyes. “You got the hours of operation wrong.”

Josefina gasps like one of her telenovela stars, which makes my brows rise. “Me? No. I would never.”

And the award for the worst performance goes to…

“Ma.” Julian shares a look with me.

She’s up to something, I mouth. I should have known Josefina was planning something when she started drilling me with questions about the supplies I needed to pick up in Detroit. When I mentioned having them delivered instead, she insisted on me picking them up to prevent any more delays.

Julian shakes his head.

She laughs. “Qué pena. I guess you and Dahlia will have to stay there until tomorrow.”

Julian’s brows scrunch. “How did you know Dahlia was with me?”

“Fred promis—told—me that when he stopped by the volunteer tent.”

“Por supuesto.” He frowns hard enough to create permanent wrinkles.

“Gotta go, mijo! Someone left the petting zoo gate open. Te quiero. Give Dahlia a hug for me!”

The phone beeps twice before Julian’s screen goes black.

He runs his hands through his hair. “I’m going to kill her.”

“Feel free to do it after the festival; that way no one gets upset at you.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “She gave me the wrong time on purpose.”

“Honestly, it’s a genius ploy to get us to spend time together.”

“I’ll call Sam and have him book us some rooms while we head to the store for clothes and your supplies.”

I pull out my phone while Julian taps away at his.

“The mall closed an hour ago,” I announce with a frown.

“We can shop at a big box store instead.”

“Perfecto.” On cue, my stomach growls loud enough for Julian’s brows to rise. “Can we stop somewhere for food?”

“Together?”

Qué pena: How unfortunate.



Por supuesto: Of course.



My eyes roll. “I was going to suggest separate tables, but if you’re that desperate for my company, I’m willing to make a sacrifice for you.”

“Get your ass in the truck before I cancel our trip to the art store.”

“Asshole.”

“Sweetheart.” His nickname penetrates my cold heart like a flaming arrow.

I instantly recognize the feeling. I’m tempted to carve out my heart and stomp all over it solely to remind me of what it felt like to be crushed by Julian all those years ago.

You’re leaving in January to film your new show anyway, so no reason to get all flustered over a silly nickname.

Easier said than done.



Julian gets a call as soon as he parks outside the art store, so I take it as a sign of divine intervention. Spending time around him is one thing, but welcoming him into my sanctuary?

Absolutely not happening.

I reach for the handle, only to be stopped as he grabs my left hand. It’s not meant to be an intimate gesture, yet my heart picks up speed anyway.

Wait, he mouths before releasing me from his grip.

He pulls a Centurion card from his wallet and holds it out for me. I blink at it a couple times and rub my eyes to be sure the name on the front of the card is correct.

How is he the same guy who lived off gift cards during his youth?

Why? I mouth.

Company expense, he replies.

I must not reach for the card fast enough for Julian’s liking because his eyes roll as he tucks his Amex into the front left pocket of my jeans.

The heat from his fingers remains long after I rush out of the truck and head into the store.

With the art supply store closing in less than thirty minutes, I make quick work of my shopping list. Although it doesn’t have everything I prefer to use while designing and planning, it has what I’ll need to get me through the Founder’s house project.

I throw a few extra things in my cart since this trip is being sponsored by Julian’s bank account, including a few picture frames for my office, an artificial Christmas tree because ’tis the season to be spending, and enough yarn to crochet a scarf for every single person in town. I don’t even crochet, but I had an insane urge to try after touching a hundred different balls of yarn.