Stripping the Billionaire

Amanda Milton, known to all as Mandy for the entire twenty-four years of her life, knocked on Ben’s door, holding a six-pack of imported beer. She had a sofa-sized framed print propped up against her legs.

When no one responded, she knocked again. Then she tried the doorknob.

It had been left unlocked, so she let herself in.

Ben was really sloppy about a lot of things—including locking his apartment when he went downstairs to work out in the building’s gym.

Mandy shook her head as she walked into his Spartan apartment.

There were dishes in the sink and at least two weeks’ worth of unopened mail on the kitchen counter. He had a tower of books against one wall—not in any sort of order, just one piled on top of the other as soon as he finished reading them—and there wasn’t a single picture on the walls.

The man was a mess.

She put the beer in the refrigerator, which boasted nothing but a pizza box and a couple of Chinese takeout containers. Even the cheap beer he normally stocked was almost gone.

Then she brought the print over to his old couch, a hideously ugly piece of furniture he must have bought secondhand.

This was a relatively expensive apartment building, so he must make a decent income at the architecture firm he worked for. She didn’t know why he didn’t make even the most basic attempt to improve his living conditions.

She’d taken off her shoes—they were new designer heels in a lovely dark red—and had stepped up on the couch to secure the picture hanger she’d brought over with her little hammer, when a voice behind her startled her.

“What the hell?”

She jerked and whirled around, almost losing her balance on the couch.

Ben stepped over quickly to help her down before she fell.

Ben Cain was big—tall and strong with lean hips, well-developed biceps, and impressive shoulders. She was just under average height, but she felt tiny as she grabbed at him to catch her balance.

Her eyes were drawn to the sight of his large hands, which had slid down to her hips. His fingers spanned the curve of them over the fabric of her skirt.

She was slightly breathless, for no good reason, as she looked up at him.

But it was just Ben. He was hardly a candidate for romantic interest—much less husband material.

He was her neighbor, and it wasn’t always easy to even be that.

His eyes were very dark, and his face was characteristically grumpy beneath the full, untrimmed beard.

“What’s the story, Cupcake?”

That was one of his many annoying habits. He insisted on calling her “Cupcake.”

“I was hanging this picture for you,” she explained with a smile. She’d learned that blithely ignoring his rudeness was the best way to relate to him—and also had the added bonus of getting on his nerves. “My client wanted to get rid of it, and I immediately thought of you.”

Ben’s frown deepened as he looked down at the picture she was turning around to show him. “Nice to know other people’s garbage makes you think of me.” He paused as he took in the black-and-white photograph that had been enlarged to sofa-size. “Where is that?”

“I don’t know. But you’re always poring over those architectural magazines, so I figured you might like it.”

The photo was of the corner of a building with some interesting historical moldings. The unusual angle of the shot made it look almost abstract. She could tell from the way Ben studied it that he liked it, and she felt a swell of satisfaction.

It was sometimes a challenge to be Ben’s friend, so even small victories felt like a reward.

“So I can hang it up?” she asked.

“I guess. Except I’ll hang it. That thing is as big as you are.”

He took her little hammer, muttering something about “cupcake tools,” and went over to nail in the hanger she’d brought with her.

“It needs to be a little lower,” she told him, gauging the placement with a practiced eye. She was an interior decorator by training, although she was just starting to grow her business, so she didn’t have many jobs lined up. “Pictures should be at eye level.”

“Of course they should.” He raised the hammer and was about to pound the nail in when she stopped him.

“Wait. Move to the right about a centimeter.”

He grumbled under his breath, making her laugh as he secured the hanger and then lifted the photo to suspend it by the wire on the back.

Mandy grinned in pleasure since the one picture made the whole room look a little less stark. “See how nice it looks?”

“It’s not bad.” That was high praise coming from Ben. “As long as your attempts to beautify me are limited to my walls.”