Brothers of Paradise Series

I blink at him. “No, we don’t. I know practically nothing about you! You’re the definition of a closed book.”

His eyebrows rise. “Nothing? You know a lot, Faye.”

“I know that you have a sister and you went to Yale. Oh, and that you prefer your bagels without sesame seeds.”

“Well, those are the most important things about me,” he says seriously. “But the sesame thing is deeply personal. Don’t tell anyone.”

I smile. “A joke, Mr. Marchand?”

“Delivered while completely sober, as well.” He glances over at me, amusement clear in his eyes. “Have I shocked you?”

“You are definitely more human than usual.”

He wraps his fingers along the steering wheel, thoughtfully tapping his thumb along the leather interior. “You’re going to have to call me Henry this weekend.”

“Right, let’s set some ground rules.”

“I thought we already had rules,” he says. “You wrote a contract.”

“Yes, but I was thinking…well.” I frown, unsure of how to continue.

He smiles at my awkward silence-a genuine smile. “You’re not usually afraid to speak your mind, Faye. I’m curious now.”NôvelDrama.Org (C) content.

I clear my throat. “What are the boundaries? Do you think we need to touch at the wedding reception, or in front of your family, to sell the illusion?”

“The illusion? You wound me, Faye.”

I roll my eyes at him. “You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I do. And look, they’re not going to be trying to discover some ruse. They’ll be busy with the wedding, with preparations, with guests from out of town. We’ll breeze through the whole thing easily, with plenty of time to work on the opera house design.”

“Mmm.”

“But if you do feel like touching me, you have my permission,” he says, voice wicked, “but you’d be losing a point.”

I want to roll my eyes at him again. “Right, we turned this thing between us into a game. I almost forgot.”

“Much safer than confronting it with adult conversation,” Henry agrees, voice lighter than I’ve heard it in a long while. Warmth spreads through my chest at his words, at the implication, at the way we talk. Outside the office, with open road in front of us, he seems much more himself.

“Of course,” I agree. “The miracle of mutual attraction isn’t something to handle maturely.”

“Especially not when it involves several HR violations, a potential lawsuit, and a career-changing design project.”

“Not to mention a difference in age, class, and race,” I point out. “Honestly, we’re a walking cliché, Henry. Doomed to fail.”

His smile turns wry but doesn’t disappear. “How tragic. We should be cast in a romantic movie, one of the tearjerker ones.”

I chuckle. “Somehow I don’t think we’re the kind of leads that people would cry for.”

“I’m definitely not,” he says darkly, and I have to bite my tongue to stop from asking what he means. That I’m pitiable? Or that he’s not worthy of sympathy? I don’t know which option I dislike the most.

I slip off my shoes and tuck my legs underneath me on the seat, the way I’ve done for years, and contemplate the sudden change of conversation.

Henry glances over at me. “Sit properly.”

“Sorry?”

His voice is glacial-the commanding tone he takes with people at work who don’t meet deadlines. “Don’t sit like that.”

I straighten reluctantly. Everything inside me wants to rebel at his tone of voice. “All right,” I say. “So I’m your assistant, not your date. Thanks for making that clear.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Henry’s hands tighten on the wheel until his knuckles whiten. I turn and focus on the scenery, on rolling hills, trees, houses, and try to ignore my irrational hurt. I keep my legs straight, my hands in my lap, sitting like a goddamn crash test dummy.

He’s not a realistic love interest-he’s not my friend, even-and I would do well to remember that. I have a job to do and a design project to finish. If the jury chooses our opera house, I have a shot at being employed as a junior architect and a future in this industry. The possibility hangs like the most delicious carrot in front of me, spurring me on.

Henry finally breaks the silence, his voice resigned. “Look, I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“It’s all right.”

“No, it’s clearly not.” His profile is strong, the jaw working. “Look, I should probably tell you anyway. My sister was in a car accident when she was younger.”

My hands, folded in my lap, fall limp. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s just… It’s important to sit straight, you know. To wear your seat belt properly. It’s designed for an adult sitting straight. It seems trivial, but if something happens, that can be the difference.”

I can hear the words he chose not to add, the difference between life and death, and I’m afraid to ask, but I have to. “Is she okay?”

“Yes. Lily’s strong, and she nearly made a full recovery. But it was way too close.” He glances at me briefly, before steeling himself. “She has a limp now. It’s nothing major, but you’ll notice it.”

“Thanks for telling me,” I say softly. “Is that why you reacted so strongly?”

His hands relax around the wheel. “I suppose so, yes.”

“That’s understandable,” I say. “How old was she when it happened?”

“Eighteen. I wasn’t home, at the time. Drove from New York while she was still in surgery.”

Part of me wants to reach out, to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he’s still closed off. I try for levity instead. “I was raised in the countryside, you know. Many of my friends didn’t wear seat belts throughout their teenage years.”

A theatrical shiver passes through him. “Stop, please.”

“Will you tell me more about her?” I lean back in the seat. “Who is she marrying?”

A small, indulgent smile plays on his lips. “She’s the youngest. Has always loved art, much to our father’s displeasure, but she was the strong one. She never cared what our parents thought. She opened her new art gallery just a few months back.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It’s a small place in Paradise Shores, but it’s a good start. She’s doing what she loves, which is what I want for her.”