Page 60 of American Beauty

“Please allow me to walk you to your car.”

“Thank you, but I didn’t drive tonight. Knew we’d be having drinks.”

Tyson stops, brows lifting in mild surprise before his lips curve into that same confident smile he’s been wearing all night. “I’m happy to give you a ride home.”

I hold up my phone, flashing the screen. “Already requested an Uber. Two minutes away.”

His gaze flickers to the phone before returning to me, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Efficient as always.”

The soft glow of the streetlights casts long shadows between us. I sense him watching me. And then he steps closer—too close—his voice dropping to something silkier, more intimate.

“You’re beautiful tonight,” he says, his eyes trailing over my face.

I shift my weight, instinct screaming at me to put more space between us.

“Thank you.” Now is the perfect time for me to make things clear. “But just so there’s no confusion… this is a business relationship. I’m not looking for anything. Building my business is my entire focus, and I don’t have the time for anything else.”

His grin doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens. Like he expected my rejection. Like he enjoys the challenge.

“I’m a very patient man, Magnolia.”

Not Miss Steel, but Magnolia. Too intimate. Too presumptuous. He’s trying to step into a space that isn’t his—and he won’t find a welcome waiting for him.

Before I can respond, headlights sweep across the sidewalk, and I spot my Uber pulling up to the curb. Relief floods me like a tidal wave, and I take another step back.

I lift a hand toward the approaching car. “That’s my ride.”

“Allow me.” He steps forward, pulling the car door open for me.

“Thank you.” I slide into the back seat. “Goodnight, Mr. McRae.”

“Call me Ty.”

His hand lingers on the doorframe, waiting.

“Goodnight, Ty.”

I sink into the back seat as he closes the door. He steps back, watching the car pull away.

I glance back at him, my pulse still racing. He stands beneath the glow of the streetlights, hands in his pockets, that damn smirk still playing on his lips—like he’s already won.

Chapter 19

Magnolia Steel

The desk chaircreaks as I shift, my fingers gliding over the trackpad, scrolling through fabric samples. Sunlight filters through the sheer curtains, illuminating the room’s worn elegance—the faded wallpaper, the antique moldings, the heavy wooden furniture that’s seen better days. The hotel is old, but in the best way––rich with history and potential. It just needs a careful hand to restore its grandeur.

My habit has become working from different rooms in the building, letting myself settle into the space, absorbing its atmosphere before I attempt to reshape it. This particular room has a ton of charm, but it’s stiff and uninviting. The bones are good, but the life is missing. That’s what I need to bring back.

I reach for my tape measure, snapping the metal out as I stretch it across the bed frame, making a quick note in my notebook. My pen glides over the page, listing details: plush bedding, warm lighting, deep navy and brushed gold accents. Classic, but not suffocating. Sophisticated, but livable.

I return to my laptop and study the images I’ve collected on my mood board. This project is more than a job—it’s my chance to prove myself, to establish my name in this new-to-me industry.

To remind myself that I haven’t lost everything.

The soft hum of Madonna’s “Love Don’t Live Here Anymore” drifts from my laptop speakers, blending with the scratch of my pen against my notebook. The melancholy melody fills the room, wrapping around me as I fine-tune the details of my design.

Absorbed in my work, I drag and adjust the placement of an accent chair in my rendering, considering how it would look against the restored paneling. The hotel’s history deserves to be honored, but it needs to be functional too. Modern luxury with a soul. That’s what I’m aiming for.

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