The Billionaire Bad Boys Club(23)
Author: Emma Holly

As soon as he was near enough, Rebecca punched his shoulder.

“Ow!” Charlie said, rubbing it.

Pete stuck his head out the front door too.

“You,” she said, pointing her finger of doom at him. “Go back in the kitchen and wait for me.”

Pete made an oh crap face and disappeared. Rebecca looked at the boy named Jesse. To his credit, he seemed to have retrieved his nerve. He squared his bulky shoulders and answered her. “They told me you’d come around once they explained what this was for.”

“Fine.” Rebecca moderated her tone a tad. “Please don’t trash my house any more until I talk to them.”

The boy opened his mouth. Charlie stopped his protest with a headshake. He knew when his sister’s temper had hit its red zone.

“Inside,” Rebecca ordered, shooing him ahead of her.

“We’re not being crazy,” Charlie started babbling on the way. “Pete and I both agreed this is a smart idea.”

“Well, as long as you both agreed,” Rebecca snapped angrily.

Always calmer than Charlie, Pete stood his ground at the kitchen table. At nineteen, the twins were still gangly, but probably their full height. They weren’t as blond as she was—her hair having a little help—but the bright summer sun had streaked their shaggy waves. Naturally, she thought they were handsome, something girls their age were beginning to discover. Their recent rowing obsession had filled them out. To her surprise, Pete’s formerly spindly biceps looked impressive in his ragged gray T-shirt.

When did that happen? she wondered.

“We have a plan,” were the first words out of his mouth. Pete knew his older sister as well as Charlie did.

He slid his open laptop across the well-used butcher-block table. The screen displayed a neat black and white blueprint. Reserving the right to lose her temper later, Rebecca stepped closer to look at it.

“It’s an income suite,” Pete said. “One bed, one bath, with an open kitchen and living room. We’ve planned a stacked laundry in the hall closet, so you won’t have to share yours. I talked to a rental agent. With the right finishes and all the students here who need housing, you should get a thousand a month for it.”

“Pete,” she said, appreciating his pitch but aware this transformation would take dollars she didn’t have.

“It’s smart,” he insisted. “The ceilings are high enough to be legal, and the plumbing’s in decent shape. The only thing you had down there was Charlie and my old junk.”

“Pete, converting basements into apartments costs money.”

“You have it,” he said. “The house is worth way more than the mortgage. And if you don’t want to go to the bank for a line of credit, Charlie and I are working on a way around that.”

“We are,” Charlie agreed, nodding to support his twin.

“Guys,” she said. “You can’t just grab some friend of yours to come here and tear things up. You have to discuss these things with me.”

“You’d have said ‘no,’” Pete justified stubbornly. “You know how you are about this house. Anyway, Raoul told us about you quitting Wilde’s. You shouldn’t have to worry about everything yourself. Charlie and I can help support the family too.”

“Raoul told you!” she exclaimed, annoyed for a new reason.

“Exactly,” Charlie said. “You wouldn’t tell us that, but we’re supposed to tell you. We’re almost grown-ups, Becca, and you treat us like babies.”

They were babies to her, though she couldn’t admit that. “How much is this ‘income suite’ going to cost me?”

“Only eighteen thousand,” Pete replied. “Maybe a little more if that crack in the foundation turns out to be something.”

“Jesus.”

“That’s not so much,” he and Charlie chorused in unison.

They made her laugh, her beautiful darling boys. “Could I convince you to stop if I told you I might have another job?”

“No!” Pete said.

“No!” Charlie seconded.

“Do you have a new job?” Pete asked.

“I think so. I haven’t seen the contract yet.”

“A contract,” Pete said, sounding excited. “Can I read it before you sign?”

Her slightly older younger brother was at least half lawyer. “I’ll read it first,” she said. “Then I’ll consider letting you.”

This was good enough for Pete. He rubbed his lean hands together. “We should celebrate.”

“We should finish tearing out the drop ceiling first,” Charlie corrected. “The permit guy said Becca’s new between-unit insulation has to be sound and fire-rated.”

As much as a brother could be, Charlie was her soul mate. If an activity counteracted worries, he was all for it.

“Why don’t we do both?” she said. “I expect your friend Jesse will like celebrating too.”

~

They spent a few hours on demo, getting disgustingly sweaty. After that, Rebecca showered and cooked a nice lunch for everyone. She expected the twins knew this would calm her, because they didn’t volunteer to chop. Their friend Jesse ate more than he talked but seemed knowledgeable about construction. He was a class ahead of Pete and Charlie, and they obviously looked up to him. Just as obviously, he looked up to his father—whose firm Rebecca planned to Google the second the boys left.

She didn’t bring up the obvious: that Pete and Charlie could save her money by moving home again. They paid for their housing with part-time jobs because their independence was important. No matter how much she missed them, she had to let them practice leaving the nest.

That, however, wouldn’t come to pass today. Relaxed now and happy to have them near, she lingered with the three of them at the kitchen table, sipping coffee while Pete and Jesse teased Charlie about a girl he liked. Given their circumstances growing up, having a guest in the house was a relatively new pleasure.

It made them almost seem normal.

“You can’t take a girl to the library on a date,” Pete was instructing.

“That wasn’t supposed to be the date,” Charlie protested. “That was just where we arranged to meet. I can’t help it if the stacks turn her on.”

“Do you date much?” Jesse turned to ask her quietly.

Rebecca’s mouth fell open. The faint flush on Jesse’s sturdy face said he asked this out of more than idle curiosity. She supposed he was a good-looking kid. Compared to Trey, though, he seemed awfully unformed.