Brothers of Paradise Series

“You only have twenty minutes until your next meeting, and no time to get your regular lunch.”

“You didn’t prepare a plan B? Come on, Miss Alvarez.” Henry shakes his head, eyes clearly disapproving. “My leniency has boundaries.”Text © owned by NôvelDrama.Org.

My mouth hangs open. “Sorry? But that’s not… how could I have known this meeting would run late?”

Only then do I catch the amusement in his expression. He’s so good at hiding it on his face-but his eyes give him away. “It was just a joke,” he says. “Let’s get something on the way. I’m in the mood for kebab.”

He must have seen my surprise, because he raises an eyebrow. “What? You don’t think I eat street food?”

There’s absolutely nothing I can say in response to that, apart from the obvious. “No, but now I’m curious to see it. Lead the way, sir.”

Henry

I choose the seediest place I can find, just to see the expression on her face.

“Let’s eat here,” I say, stopping in front of a hole-in-the-wall kebab shop. There are a few chairs outside, directly on the sidewalk, but no tables. The place smells like fries and grilled meat.

There’s a faint furrow on her brow. “Here?”

“Yes,” I say, wondering if she’ll call the bluff.

She doesn’t, of course-not Faye Alvarez. She’s as competitive as me.

“I love kebab,” she says smoothly, stepping up to order. I watch in amused silence as she gets the biggest kebab on the menu, including fries.

“The same,” I say, paying for us both in cash. “We’ll eat here.”

Faye frowns at me. “But your meeting? We need to get going.”

“It’s with the architects at the firm, and it’s in-house. We can take ten minutes to eat our lunch.”

She nods, but her eyes are wide. I’ve surprised her several times in the past few minutes, and despite myself, I find that I enjoy it. She’s always so sure of herself-of her opinion of me-that it’s impossible to avoid needling her. We’re sitting right on a bustling New York street, and it’s not even tree lined. It’s not my usual place, sure, but it’s worth it to unsettle the unsettlable Faye.

She crosses shapely legs, visible even through her smart trousers, and frowns at me. “You made your point,” she says. “You eat takeout. I underestimated you.”

I run my fingers along the steel table. “You loved that building project.”

“I did? I thought I upset you by saying it was run-of-the-mill.”

“No, not the outcome. You love being at a building site.” It had been clear in her dark eyes when we followed Martin. I’d seen the excitement, even if she tried to hide it behind a cool mask and diligent notetaking. But she wasn’t as good at hiding her emotions as me.

Faye nods, slowly. Her long hair is up in a tight bun, no trace of the shimmering sheet of black she’d worn down at the office that night. But it only enhances her heart-shaped face and the fullness of her lips.

“I do. I can’t describe it… but I always have. There’s something about the potential, you know? The progression each day, the laying of brick and concrete…” She shakes her head. There’s conviction in her voice, and feeling. She burns for this business. “It’s hard to explain, but I’m sure you know. You love it too.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I do?”

“Yes,” she says, eyes challenging again. “At least I think you do.”

“And why do you think that?”

“I’ve met many developers and builders. Most are only interested in dollars and cents, and they wouldn’t visit a building site like this. They’d send their middleman. But you knew everything about that project,” she says. “Either your memory is infallible, or you genuinely find it interesting.”

I glance away from her. There’s truth in her words, more truth than most people guess. It was the reason I was drawn to the same business as my father in the first place. Creating-building-is the closest to making things last. To bringing something to life, something that might or might not outlast you.

But for my father, money and legacy was the important part. Not the architecture-not the art.

“I enjoy it,” I say carefully. “And I find that it’s often more effective if I get involved myself.”

“Remind everyone who’s boss?” Faye asks, her voice clearly teasing. It never stops surprising me how easily she switches between the professional and the friendly.

“Exactly,” I say. “Food’s here.”

She watches me silently for a second, as if she doesn’t really believe I’ll eat a kebab, so I take a big bite to show her just how wrong she is.

She rolls her eyes and digs in to her own. It makes me want to laugh, her incredulity. As if I’m some silver-spooned Upper-East-Sider who would never deign to get my hands dirty. Hah. If she only knew.

She takes a sip of her soda. “I haven’t emailed you yet, but I got a reservation at Salt for Friday at seven p. m.”

Damn, I’d nearly forgotten about that dinner.

Chelsea Moreno lives in the apartment building next to me and drops regular hints whenever we bump into each other at the taxi stand in the morning. I know next to nothing about her, apart from the comments she’d made about a career in fashion, her love of yoga, and that she goes to the hairdresser twice a month to maintain her platinum blonde. She doesn’t particularly interest me. But after my mother’s phone call last week, I needed to take action.

Not to mention I needed to get my assistant out of my mind.

“I’ve been to Salt before,” I tell her. “I know where it is.”

Her tone becomes a shade too innocent. “So, is it a good place for a date?”

This woman. “Miss Alvarez…”

“Just asking for future reference, so I know where to book your personal meetings.” She grabs a fry and it dangles between her slim fingers. “To ensure I’m the best assistant I can be.”

She’s fishing. I resist the urge to smile. “Yes, it’s a good place for a date,” I say, thinking about the soft lighting and the intimate booths, with enough privacy for deep conversations. Faye would look stunning in that environment.

“So you have one planned for Friday?”

“You’re impossible.”

“Sorry. Too personal?”

I take the last bite of my kebab. She doesn’t look the least bit contrite. Usually, this kind of insolence would bother me, but instead I find myself intrigued. A woman like this… no way she’s unattached. There’s no ring on her finger, but there has to be someone-a boyfriend, or two. Women who have her brains and look like her don’t stay single long.

“Relationships are hard in this business,” I say instead, leaning back. “Working the sort of hours we work.”

“Yes. It’s why I haven’t…” She shakes her head, thinking better of it. “You’re right.”

“Why you haven’t what?”