Page 31 of One Big Little Secret

“He’s also a fun-hating health nut who melts on contact with sugar,” I tell her. “He only learned to tolerate a pinch of the stuff for his wife’s sake. She’s a baker.”

Salem bursts out laughing.

I hate how that sound sinks through me until I can feel it in my bones—and not in a bad way.

“Oh, wow. How’d that happen?”

“Long-ass story. Let’s just say it was a fake relationship that turned real.”

“Fake? You mean like the setup you see in rom-com movies?” She blinks at me.

“I don’t watch rom-com, but probably. It was the dumbest move Dex ever made, yet somehow it paid off for him. Lucky idiot.” Her face drops after I say ‘lucky’ as I put the car in drive. “For the record, I don’t share his mission to purge the Earth of sugar. I just don’t like too much cream. If I want coffee, I want its soul.”

“You mean you like it bitter?”Like you?The implication in her voice is clear.

“I like to tastecoffee.I’m sure you’re aware that’s not why we’re here, though.”

I take a deep breath.

Business, business.

She knows the real reason.

Now, let’s see if we can get through one whole day together without someone being arrested for murder.

Our first stop is a small, but cozy rental home near the edge of the city. Salem’s face lights up and she gasps joyfully when we step inside.

It’s far from the first time this place has triggered that reaction.

Nobody expects the tropical-looking interior, bright and airy with plenty of natural light, reclaimed wooden walls, and vibrant greens and pinks bursting on the walls behind impressive plants.

“Holy crap. It’s like a trip to the Florida Keys without leaving Missouri,” she whispers. “You worked on this design?”

“My older brother, Archer, he pushed for this look,” I say, showing her around. She fingers the wicker furniture. “A taste of paradise, he calls it. He always loved my mother’s old place down there, back when she had it. She used to spend a lot of time hopping around Florida and the Caribbean when she was young.”

“Well, I love it. All this color, whoa.” We step into the master bedroom. Even the colorful bedspread catches her eye—a brightly colored woven blanket—and she opens the wooden shutters to let the sun in. “Awesome light, even in here. Your brother must’ve had the windows modified.”

“Arch insisted. He was proud of it in the end. It was one of our first acquisitions and it turned out a hell of a lot better than we imagined.”

“So, are you guys always this hands-on with design?” She glances at me expectantly.

“Not exactly. When it’s something as big as The Cardinal, or even our typical multi-unit place, we work off consensus and turn the rest over to designers. We do have a few smaller passion-projects that we handle ourselves, though.”

“Interesting strategy. I love how this turned out; it’s exotic and stunning. Archer Rory must have an eagle eye for detail.” She can’t stop smiling.

Why the hell does my blood heat?

Somehow, I get the feeling she wouldn’t be showering it with so much praise if the idea was mine.

Later, I prove my point when we head to one of my projects. It’s a modern, elegant home, and she wanders around in total silence.

“This is yours,” she says without prompting.

I stare at her, resisting the sinking urge to ask how she knows.

“That’s right,” I say. “What do you think?”

“It reminds me a little of The Cardinal’s look.” She peers out of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the peaceful backyard. “It’s definitely nice and all.”

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