Brothers of Paradise Series

Her eyes lighten. I’ve said something that she approves of again. I hate how alluring that is, how it makes me want to test it, to see what she wants to hear.

“Do you think you’ll go through with it?”

“No. I can’t see myself signing on to this project, for exactly the reasons you’ve outlined. But walking away will make a few people upset with the firm.”

And with me.

“So you’re going there to make it look like you’ve at least properly considered it. Very smart.” She shoots me a smile. “You’re turning them down gently. I wouldn’t have expected it from you.”

“No?”

Faye looks a bit sheepish again, like she’s said too much. “It’s just, in business, you have a certain… reputation.”

I raise an eyebrow at her. “I have a reputation?”NôvelDrama.Org © 2024.

“Yes, and you know you do.”

It takes effort to stop myself from smiling at the consternation in her voice. She crosses her legs, the light in the office reflecting off her dark hair. It’s pulled into a low bun today, but I know what it looks like falling down her shoulders. How would it look spread out on my pillow?

I decide to play along. “Let’s say I don’t. Enlighten me.”

Faye huffs a sigh. “All right. I’m requesting permission to speak off the record here, though.”

“Permission granted.”

She takes a deep breath, as if gathering courage. “You can be bullish. You don’t say thank you or please. Whenever someone is off deadline, you scold them, like you would a child. When you walk through the office everyone sits up a bit straighter. You don’t come to any social events with the company.”

“Of course not. They wouldn’t want me there.”

She rolls her eyes. “That might be true, but it’s beside the point. It’s just… you’re known for being hard on people. On my first day here, I was basically told that the odds weren’t in my favor-I wasn’t going to last.”

I frown. “Who told you that?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says with a small, triumphant smile. “And have I now destroyed my shot at a career by answering honestly?”

“No. Part of what I’m paying you for is your honesty.”

She taps the design in front of her. “Even if it’s hard to hear? I know you hated my suggestion of adding wood.”

“Especially if it’s hard to hear.” I rise from my desk and head to the model in the corner. Sweeping the cover off, I’m struck again by the feeling that something’s missing. It’s something we’re fixing now in the blueprints, with Faye’s additions, but we have to be finished quickly enough that I can commission another model before it’s due for submission.

“Why did your previous assistants end up quitting? Or were they let go?” Faye’s tone is teasing, and curious, sounding just like she did at the gala. It had been intoxicating to have her by my side the whole evening. When I’d dropped her off at her apartment much later, I hadn’t wanted to let her go, to relinquish the intimacy between us.

“Are you asking so you can avoid making their mistakes?”

Faye’s gaze turns amused. “Maybe. Do I need pointers?”

“No. You’re doing better than all of them,” I say. It’s true-and it’s not. Rina had been professional and highly efficient. Never spoke a word to me outside of talking shop, and I hadn’t been surprised when she was head-hunted to a larger firm. Felicity had been good at her job, too. But none of them had been Faye-and none of them had understood architecture.

She smiles again. It’s not her practiced, megawatt smile, the one that shows off her perfect teeth. This is a small curve of her lips. It sets her features alight.

God, but she’s beautiful.

“How did you get into this?” I ask. “Architecture?”

She shrugs, the smile faltering slightly. “I don’t know, exactly. I always enjoyed building and creating as a kid. I had a great teacher at school. She saw my interest in history, particularly in old buildings, and suggested architecture. It stuck.”

My mind paints the images for me. A younger version of Faye with her dark hair unbound, bent over architecture books in a large library, studying angles and structuralism and urban planning.

“And you were good at it.”

“Yes.” Another elegant shrug. There’s no false modesty in her gaze, but no bragging, either. “Like I’m sure you were. Now, should we get started? The deadline is only a few weeks away.”

I tear my gaze away from hers toward the model. The opera house. Deadlines. It feels harder than ever to lock myself away, to become professional with her again. I don’t know how she does it so easily-switches between friendly banter and work. With her around I feel like I’m constantly slipping.

“Yes. You said you had some notes?”

She nods. We dive straight into the restructuring of the opera house. Most of her suggestions are good-some I’ll have to think about. It’s cute, too, how she tries to be encouraging.

“This backstage area is too small, I think. If you make the outer staircases two feet narrower, you’d be able to expand the area without sacrificing any structural features.” She looks up at me, as if worried she’s offended me. “But it’s really smart. Very well-executed.”

I smile wryly. “I can handle criticism, Miss Alvarez.”

“All right.” Faye really works down the list, then. She comments on nearly every part of the structure. I make a few notes of the things that stand out to me. She has a good eye, and she hasn’t commented on things that are clearly stylistic-a good editor, too.

It’s nearly nine in the evening when I notice that she’s discreetly covering a yawn. I close my laptop. “I think we’ve gotten far enough today. The project will keep.”

Faye stands and stretches fluidly from side to side, her body sinuous. “Will you order a new model when we’re done?”

“Yes.”

She comes to my side and we gaze down at the model in silence. It’s a requirement for the submission-juries of these kinds of things like big, flashy showmanship. Of the eight members of the jury, four have no architectural knowledge at all. To win them you have to impress them on first sight.

“Who did you use?” she asks, bending closer to see the details. This close, the scent of her strikes me again, just as strong as it had at the gala. Clean soap and shampoo, and something faint and floral. My eyes find the back of her neck. Left bare beneath the low bun, it looks vulnerable, the skin soft. How easy it would be to pull her close and trace the area with my lips.

She looks back at me. There’s a question in her eyes-what did she ask me again?-but it dies as she sees the expression in mine. There’s not a professional thought in my head.

Faye’s mouth opens slightly. I should speak and put an end to this unexpected intimacy between us, but I find myself unable to.

A smile ghosts across her lips. “Another staring contest, sir?”

The sir is teasing, and I can’t help the twitch of my own lips. “No. I was just wondering how you get home when you work late at the office.”

I hadn’t been wondering that at all, but now that I’ve said it, it rings true.

“The subway,” she breathes. “We can’t all be old, rich stooges.”

“Taxis are on the firm after eight p. m.”