Page 55 of American Beauty

Smoothing my features into a practiced mask of indifference, I sit up straighter and force a smile. “I wish him nothing but the best.”

Pain doesn’t pay the bills. No matter how much my heart aches, rent still needs to be covered, and my business will not build itself. I can’t afford to wallow in my history with Alex Sebring.

Tyson is watching me, his lips twitching like he’s debating if he’ll call my bluff. But I don’t give him the chance.

I flip to a new page and poise my pen over it. I force a bright smile and shift gears. “Do you have a projected timeline in mind?”

“I’m hoping for an aggressive schedule. Six months would be ideal.”

My head shoots up. “Six months?”

“Yes, Miss Steel.”

Tell me you’ve never done a renovation in historical Charleston without telling me you’ve never done a renovation in historical Charleston.

“That’s more than ambitious. More like impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible when you have the budget to get the job done.”

I beg to differ.

“Permits can take time, especially in historic districts. There are a lot of restrictions with renovations—materials, structural changes, even paint colors. The review process alone could push your timeline back.”

He grins, unfazed. “I like the ambitious timeline.”

Of course he does. “We’ll need to prioritize securing those permits early. Some approvals can take many months depending on the scope of work. Are there elements you want to preserve?”

Something flickers behind his eyes. “I trust your judgment on that.”

“You mentioned wanting modern comforts without losing the charm. Are you thinking about incorporating—” I pause, blinking down at my notepad, the words evaporating from my mind.

Shit. What was I about to say?

Tyson leans forward, his eyes watching me with something too close to amusement. “Are you all right, Miss Steel?”

I nod quickly, too quickly. “Yeah, of course. I was thinking out loud.”

A slow smirk spreads. “Right.”

He taps a finger against his thigh, studying me like he’s unraveling a puzzle piece by piece. “Listen, I didn’t mean to rattle you. I assumed you already knew about Alex’s marriage.”

I swallow hard, forcing a tight smile. “It’s fine.”

“I don’t think it is, and I’m sorry for that. I can see it’s shaken you.” His voice takes on a soft, empathetic tone.

I refuse to let him see just how deep his words have cut. “It’s just surprising. That’s all. I’m fine.”

He watches me. “Maybe we should meet another time and give you a chance to process.”

“No.” Panic flashes through me at the thought of losing this opportunity.

I sit up straighter, forcing a steadier tone. “That’s unnecessary. We should keep going.”

“Only if you’re sure.”

Right now, work is the only thing keeping me from falling apart. I can’t let this slip through my fingers. No matter who Tyson McRae is to Alex—no matter what history lingers between them—this is too important.

Clients like him don’t walk through the door every day. I need this.

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