Page 28 of The Billionaire in Her Bed

Her mother waved a hand. “Take your pick.”

Fine. She’d give her mother enough information to make her squirm. “His name’s Eli Ward.”

“The real estate developer?” her father said, sounding positively gleeful. “One ofFortune’sforty under forty most influential people in business?”

“He and his sister run a charitable foundation,” her mother added. “Something about girls and science. Such a worthy cause. We’re hosting their black-tie fundraiser next month at the hotel. I expect you’ll join us.”

Brooke drained the last of her drink. “Not my Eli. Sorry to disappoint you, but Ward’s a pretty common name.”

Her Eli. She tried to ignore the frisson of excitement the words sent through her.Not mine. We’re not in a relationship.

“How did you two meet?” Mallory asked.

Abort, abort.Brooke was so not going there with her parents in earshot. That sordid tale would only confirm her mother’s worst fears about her disreputable daughter. “He’s my neighbor. He moved in a few weeks ago.”

She was saved from any more of her family’s version of the Spanish Inquisition by the simultaneous appearance of their waiter and the dinging of her cell phone. She glanced at the screen and saw a text from Charise.

Mom sick. Can you watch Jaden? Boss says he’ll fire me if I’m late one more time.

Hallelujah.A genuine emergency. A miracle on par with the loaves and the fishes. Or 1980’s “Miracle on Ice” United States men’s Olympic hockey team.

She banged out a quick text to let Charise know she was on her way and stood. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have to get back to Brooklyn. My neighbor’s in trouble.”

“Eli?” her mother asked, her lips pursing in disapproval.

“I do have other neighbors, you know.” For now. Rumors had been swirling that a potential buyer was sniffing around Candy Court. But Brooke was ready for him, whoever he was. She’d already contacted the preservation commission about having the hundred-year-old building designated a historic landmark. If that effort was successful, the new owner would have his hands tied when it came to renovations. Without the threat of a major overhaul, hopefully Brooke and the other tenants would be allowed to stay and live in peace.

She threw down a twenty-dollar bill and hitched her hobo bag over her shoulder. “That should more than cover my share.”

Her father pushed it back toward her, a game they played at all of their monthly brunches. She ignored it. “Until next time. It was nice meeting you, Hunter.”

Not.

Her sister mimed a phone with her thumb and pinkie finger, held it up to her ear, and mouthed, “Call me.”

Brooke mouthed back, “Will do,” and headed to the coat check to retrieve her jacket before either of her parents could protest. She needed to talk to her baby sister about her less than stellar taste in men, that was for sure. And soon.

But first she had a baby to sit.