Page 44 of Coldhearted King

She nods and looks at Delilah. “Anything for you, ma’am?”

“An orange juice would be nice. Thank you.” She smiles at Marigold, who nods and heads to the galley to get our drinks. Delilah meets my gaze and tilts her head. “What’s that look for?”

“You’re very polite.”

Her brows arch. “Aren’t most people?”

I shrug. Not the people I spend my time with. The competition to always be on top—to be the richest, the most powerful, the most beautiful—means they can be vicious if they think someone is vying for whatever it is they have or want. Not that Delilah seems to want me that way. Maybe that’s the difference. But I don’t miss the hitch in her breath when the plane jolts forward and my leg presses against hers.

“Are you looking forward to seeing the site?” I ask.

“I am. 3D models are all well and good, but there’s nothing like being on the ground and seeing how the building is actually going to exist in its environment.”

Her enthusiasm is obvious and infectious, and her smile is bright. I’m only visiting the site because I need to be in Chicago for the gala anyway. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have bothered. I certainly don’t have time to visit all future development sites. Although it might also have something to do with it being a good excuse to have Delilah come with me.

She’s like an itch I can’t scratch. I can only hope that more time with her will ease that itch, make me stop lusting over her. Or maybe it will only make things worse.

Who the hell knows?

Marigold brings our drinks, passing Delilah’s juice with a warm smile. When she meets my gaze, the smile she gives is perfectly professional and polite. She must think Delilah is my girlfriend.

As the engines spin up and the jet roars down the runway, Delilah closes her eyes, her fingers tightening around the armrests. I wasn’t expecting this reaction from her. “Are you scared of flying?” I ask.

She blinks a couple of times, then focuses on me. “A little. It’s manageable. Just the takeoff and landing, really.” A minor bump as we rise through an air pocket has a gasp falling from her lips.

It bothers me that she’s scared. “Our pilot’s an ex-naval pilot. He’s incredibly experienced.”

The corners of her mouth lift. “That’s reassuring. Thank you for telling me.” But her fingers don’t relax until the plane levels out and the engine noise drops.

“Better?” I ask.

She gives me a smile. “Better.”

I relax as well. “So tell me, why did you decide to become an architect?” I find myself genuinely interested in her answer. In my experience there are very few licensed architects of Delilah’s age. I’m curious about what’s behind that level of hard work and commitment.

“I was always good at math and art in school. Architecture seemed like a natural combination of those two things. And there’s something amazing about imagining a structure in your head, putting it on paper, then seeing it converted into a reality that will hopefully last long after you’ve gone. Knowing your work has a long legacy is an incredible thing.”

I nod. I can understand that.

“Plus it pays well,” she adds.

“Always an important consideration.” I tap my fingers on the leather armrest. “How did you get your license at such a young age?”

She laughs lightly. “It’s called not having much of a life.”

“So explain why a smart, young, beautiful woman would put her life on hold to achieve that.”

She looks down at her glass and runs her finger around the rim, then lifts her gaze to mine. “My mom had me when she was young and raised me on her own. She had to work multiple jobs to earn enough to keep a roof over our heads and food on our plates. Growing up, seeing how hard she worked, how she put aside her own dreams to take care of me, all I wanted was to take care of her. The sooner I could become licensed, the sooner I could start earning the money to do that.”

Her upbringing is the complete opposite of mine. It takes me a moment to realize that the sharp tug in my chest is another surge of regret over accusing her of trying to manipulate me. “That’s admirable.” I take a sip of my drink. “Do you mind me asking what happened to your father?”

Her expression shutters. “He didn’t want to be in the picture.”

It’s obviously an uncomfortable subject for her, so I change back to safer topics. “How did you manage to pay your way through college?”

“I was lucky and received a scholarship. That meant I only had to work part-time to cover my remaining expenses. I interned the rest of the time so I could get a head start on logging my practical hours.”

“I’m impressed.” And I am. Very few people surprise me, and even fewer impress me. Delilah’s just done both.

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