Brothers of Paradise Series

“Takes one to know one.”

“You’re good at facts,” he says. “Give me another one.”

I wet my lips and let my eyes wander from his intimidating form to the books on his shelves, across the room, to the model in the corner that he so lovingly labors over.

“You could bring any girl at all to your sister’s wedding next weekend,” I say. “That’s a fact.”

“Debatable.”

“My question is: why me?”

“I told you. The deadline for the opera house is in less than three weeks. We need uninterrupted time to work on it.”

I tut and look at the drink in my hand instead of his face. On the inside, my heart is beating fast. “And you want me to play your date.”

His voice is a slow drawl. “Yes.”

“And what do I get out of it?”

A pause. “Miss Alvarez?”

“I agreed to work as your personal assistant. Accompanying you to the Founders’ Gala was already a favor on my part. Why should I work so hard to help finish your project that I give up my weekend for it? I’m going to have to deceive your friends and family, you know.” I raise my glass at him, my voice picking up steam even as his eyes narrow. Good. I want him on the defensive. It makes it easier to ignore my attraction to him. “As far as I see it, this is beyond the usual rules of my position.”

There’s complete silence from him. His arms are still crossed, and as I watch, his eyes narrow even further. I should look away from the intensity in his gaze, but I can’t. I’m like a deer in the headlights.

“Good,” he says finally.

“Good?”

“You’re standing up for yourself, as well you should. Very well. Tell me what you want.”

A negotiation.

I get up from my chair and head toward his copier. I’m buying for time, but I need it, my thoughts racing. He watches in silence as I grab a single sheet of paper.

And then I do the unthinkable. I take a seat at his desk, in his chair. I don’t even look to see if he objects, reaching for one of his pens and beginning to write.

I hear him walk around the desk. He leans over my shoulder, watching as I scribble. The smell of him-aftershave, man, and leather-nearly throws me off. Head in the game, Faye.

“Very official,” he comments.

“Why not?” I draw a line under the title. A full-drawn contract, that’s what I’m setting up, one where I’m not going to be taken advantage of again.

“Excellent penmanship.”

I hide my smile and keep going. Under parties involved, I list my full name. Faye Lucinda Alvarez.

I hesitate after writing Henry. I should know if he has a middle name, shouldn’t I?

Henry knows what I’m pausing for. “Skip it.”

“You don’t have one, or you don’t want me to know it?”

“That’s beside the point.”Property belongs to Nôvel(D)r/ama.Org.

I nod to myself and keep writing. “So you don’t want me to know it. I’m picturing the worst now, you know.”

His voice is dry. “I can imagine.”

I lean back in the chair and look up to meet his gaze. It’s steely, staring down into mine, his hand knuckled around the back of the chair. “My terms, then. I want my name on the opera house.”

There’s immediate refusal in his eyes.

I raise my hand. “Before you say no, I’m not trying to usurp anything. It’s your project. But I have made a few changes, and I want that reflected. You can list me as a junior architect. Assistant architect. But my name is going into the submission.”

The fire in his eyes softens and shutters. “I’m not Elliot Ferris.”

“I know you’re not.” There was nothing remotely similar about the two men. “But I want to make it clear. No ambiguity.”

“Your name will be in the proposal, including your middle name,” he says. “Junior architect, assisting function. Is that acceptable?”

“It is.” I tap my pen against the desk. He had been willing to give that up far too easily.

“If you need incentive to finish the project, is that enough?”

“Yes.” I frown, thinking of the future, of my unstable position here. I can’t be a personal assistant forever. “No. If you do win the project, I want you to consider hiring me as one of the junior architects managing the build.”

He nods slowly, the light catching on the sharp edge of his jaw. There’s just a faint hint of a five o’clock shadow. “I’ll consider you.”

“A fair consideration.”

Whatever flashes in his eyes, it isn’t pleasant. Have I impugned his honor somehow? But I need to cover all my bases, and knowing how this industry works…

“Yes, a fair consideration. I’m not Elliot Ferris,” he repeats.

“And as for being your date to the wedding…”

“So that we don’t lose several days of work on the project.”

“…yes, that.” I let my hand hover above the contract, looking up at him. He’s so close. The hand on the back of my chair is just inches from my face. Broad and tan, big and strong.

Focus.

“What do you want, exactly? For me to act like we’re a couple?”

“You want ground rules?”

“Yes.”