Page 19 of House of Desire

“When I got the call I was cast, I actually had to cancel the safari I was planning. Some friends and I were going to go down to Kenya, Botswana, Tanzania, and Namibia for a month. We had some adventures planned like skydiving at sunrise. It was going to be magical.”

“That sounds so incredible. I’m sure it was difficult to leave that for this. I’ve never left the States, but I’ve always wanted to. We never had a lot of money growing up. We were comfortable compared to a lot of people, but we never really vacationed. It’s always been something I’ve wanted to do.”

“Oh, you must do it one day! I try to take a quarterly trip. I’ll have to give you the name of my travel agent. She’s the best. Hikes, bungee jumping, swimming with sharks, any sort of adventure you’d want, she can find. Plus, she makes sure everything is first class and five stars.”

I almost laugh, but I choke it down. Even though I can afford first class and five stars, it’s not a normal part of my experience. Growing up, my parents instilled in me a love of hard work and living modestly. It took Charlie months to convince me I could buy a house that was larger than five hundred square feet even though it’s just me.

As Persephone recounts her last adventure, a memory swims out of the depths of my mind, assaulting me. Suddenly, Brittany is sitting in front of me. Telling me how our life is too small. Too caged in. Too predictable. She’d talk about how we should ditch everything and backpack across other countries. Work our way around, and have a grand adventure.

But adventure has never been my strong suit.

A hand touches my forearm, but it’s not my ex-wife’s.

“Parker? Are you alright?”

I shake my head, coming back to the present. “Yes, sorry. Got lost there for a second.” I give her a smile before reaching for my glass. The smoky bite of bourbon coats my throat, bringing me back into my body. “Do you do those types of trips often? What do you do for work?”

“I’m head of the board for my family’s philanthropy division. We meet quarterly, so I just have to come back to vote on various matters. It helps me keep track of the year, really. One time, I was in a village that doesn’t use cellphones and my assistant had to show up and get me when it was time for me to go home.”

This woman, while magnificent, isn’t for me. I would stifle her. Just like Brittany always told me I did to her. I wouldn’t be able to travel with her for months on end. And I most certainly wouldn’t be going skydiving and the like.

“I’m sure that was a great trip. Every once in a while, I consider throwing my phone out into the ocean when it won’t stop ringing.”

She laughs, harder than the joke warrants, running her hand down my arm.

“What do you do for work?” she asks, taking a sip of her wine. Her eyes have gone glassy since we’ve been sitting here and I doubt it’s her first drink.

“I build homes,” I tell her simply. I open my mouth to explain more, but she cuts me off.

“Oh, that’s precious! I’ve always thought manual labor is such charming work. It must be nice to work with your hands.”

And that’s the nail in the coffin. Manual labor isn’t charming work. It’s hard, backbreaking work. My people work tirelessly to build homes they will probably never live in. While I pay everyone extremely well and provide the best benefits possible, when you build custom homes, there’s a steep price tag.

I could expand my business into developments. Building two hundred of the same five types of houses. That is where I got my start on understanding the process, after all. We were expected to throw houses up as quickly as possible in the blistering summer heat. Not only that, but the company was wanting to build everything cheaply instead of lowering the profit per house and using materials that would last centuries. But it was consistent work for a kid with a wife.

After Brittany left, I quit.

And I started my own business. It took a long time to get the first contract and I made basically nothing, but seeing a family move into something you put your blood, sweat, and quite a few curse words into?

Priceless.

“It’s very rewarding to build things, but I doubt anyone on my team would consider it ‘charming’ work.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it as a snub,” she tries to backpedal. But as I listen to this woman who has probably never missed a rent payment because her hours were cut at her job, I strike her from my mental list of women to continue on after tonight.

I’ve talked to fifteen women when finally, the one in red who fell out of the limo catches my attention from behind the woman currently sitting on the couch across from me. Her long, black hair looks even darker in dim light.

She points to herself and then to my companion, and I guess she’s asking if she can interrupt. I want nothing more than to talk to this woman who captured my attention from the first moment I saw her, so I give her the barest of nods.

As the woman I’m speaking with finishes her sentence, her name lost to the recesses of my mind, the woman in red walks up, her hips swaying, and I have to force myself to look away. She gently sets her hand on the other woman’s shoulder, pulling her attention up.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt, but you would mind if I stole him for a moment?”

“Oh!” she turns and looks back at me. “I’ve taken up too much of your time. I look forward to seeing you later,” she says as we stand. I make noises of agreement and then she’s off. I’ve forgotten her before she was fully inside the house as my tired, scratchy eyes drink in the other woman before me.

“I don’t think I ever gave you my name,” she says with a smile on her face as she comes to a stop before me. Her eyes are like honey.

“No, I don’t think you did.” While I already know it from production, I want her to tell me. “You were too busy falling for me,” I say, and she snorts. Not a soft delicate thing, but a loud, shocking sound.

---