Brothers of Paradise Series

I stifle a yawn and scan through my mailbox. Everything is replied to… everything’s organized. His calendar is all set for the next day. I’ve made the calls I need to-I’ve answered the people I need to answer. There’s nothing more for me to do. My phone pings, and I swipe at Jessie’s message.

Jessie Moore: Travis is really excited for tomorrow. I can tell!

Oh, no. The man himself had only exchanged two texts with me-one to confirm the time and the second to confirm the place. I didn’t like that Jessie had to be the messenger.

Faye Alvarez: You’re too invested in this. It’s unhealthy.

She responds with a variety of emojis that lets me know just what she thinks about that.

Jessie Moore: What are you wearing

I hadn’t thought about that yet. In all honesty, I was less and less enthusiastic about this date with each passing day. How high were the odds of finding love on a blind date, anyway? But Jessie was objectively right. It had been far too long since I went on a date and put myself out there.

Aiden had been over two years ago. And in the time since, I’d only focused on work, until Elliot Ferris saw fit to let me go over his own wounded pride. He couldn’t have someone on his team who had effectively built Century Dome without any recognition. I was a risk, and I was let go in a way designed to ruin me.

I shake my head. I don’t want to think about that.

The time on my computer reads nearly seven p. m. If Henry doesn’t need anything else, I’m heading home.

I press the intercom button. “Do you need anything else before I head home, Mr. Marchand?”

He usually answers right away, but there’s a nearly minute-long pause before his voice rings out. “Yes. Come inside.”

Frowning, I head through the door to his office. He’s not at his desk. Instead, he’s standing by the model in the corner. It’s the first time I’ve seen it uncovered. It’s definitely not one of Marchand & Rykers’ current projects, because I know those by heart by now.

It doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen before.

The building is shaped a bit like a violin, with graceful curves in steel. Even from the small model, it’s clear the building is planned to be very large. Steps lead up to a concealed entrance in one of the curves.

It’s gorgeous. There’s something elegant about it.

Understated.

My eyes slowly shift to Henry’s. For the first time, his gaze isn’t clinical at all.

He runs a hand along the sharp edge of his jaw. “I want your opinion.”

“My opinion?” I step closer, looking at the meticulous details. Is this another test?

“Yes.” His voice makes it clear he’s not entirely comfortable. “You had good notes for the Rexfield project, about the use of the top floor.”

Ah. Maybe I’ll see something he’s missed, he means. It’s not uncommon for architects to ask each other for input. But by the way he’s holding himself, stiffly and uncomfortably, it’s clear that it’s unusual for him.

“I’d need to see the blueprints for the digital model for that,” I say softly. “But the outside is stunning.”

“Hmm.”

“You don’t think so?”

“I think something is missing,” he says carefully, “and I don’t know what.”

I lean closer, looking at all the details. The model is in complete 3D and beautiful from all angles. My first instinct is that there’s nothing missing at all. But after he points it out, I can see what he’s saying. It’s cold in its beauty. It’s clearly a building meant for the arts-a building to admire from afar.

“I’d add wood,” I say impulsively.

“Wood?”

I ignore his offended tone, the snob. “Yes. Some natural element to anchor the… the floatiness of the curves. These steps here, see? They could be made out of stacked timber. And this portion here could be in dark wood.” I point, seeing it in my head. “I’d play around with a digital model and see how that changes the effect.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. There’s still denial there-I can tell that he doesn’t appreciate my suggestion about a natural component. But he doesn’t protest, just stares at the model like it holds all the answers.

“What is the building for?”

Henry meets my gaze, his jaw clenching and unclenching. “It’s an opera house.”

Oh. I stare at him with newfound respect. “You’re planning on participating in the city’s design competition.”

“Yes.” He throws the sheet over the model, all the beautiful curves hidden again. “I am.”

Damn.

I take a step closer. “Does anyone else know?”

“No one at the firm does. And I’d like to remind you that you signed a non-disclosure agreement as part of your contract.”

God, this man. “I’m not going to tell anyone.”Content (C) Nôv/elDra/ma.Org.

Henry nods and steps back toward his desk. “Good.”

It’s his classic form of dismissal, and I retreat back to the office door. My gaze can’t help but flick back to the model in the corner. I didn’t know that Henry actively designed. Most builders at his level outsource all of that to the architecture teams.

I’d been right, then, when I asked him earlier this week if he loved it too.

It’s clear, with every painstaking detail in his model, that architecture is in his lifeblood too.

Before my date with Travis, Jessie is all rainbows and sparkles on the phone. “It’ll go so great.”

“I’m sure.” I smooth my hand over my dress-red, A-line, perfectly date-appropriate-and roll my eyes at her optimism.

“You’re using the tone that says you’re indulging me.”

I laugh. “I’m just not quite as sure as you. But I am looking forward to it. Now leave me alone, he could be here any minute.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll see you tomorrow at the gym-I can’t wait to hear everything!”

We say our goodbyes and I slide my phone into my purse. I’ve been waiting outside the bar for a few minutes, but so far, no Travis. I head inside and take a seat at the bar. The place is half-full, waiters carrying out fancy cocktails served in intricate glasses. The spot had been his suggestion, and since he’s a bartender, I’d gladly accepted.

“A martini, please.”