Page 197 of Merciless Desires

“I’m guessing conversation isn’t your strong point.”

“Maybe not, but I don’t have much call for it these days.”

“Don’t you work?” She popped a piece of croissant into her mouth, chewed briefly, then stopped. My eyes were glued to her lips. They were the same colour as the jam. Slowly, she resumed chewing, swallowed, then popped another piece into mouth.

“Yes, I work. But in my line of work, not a lot of conversation is needed. I have people do that for me.”

She curved an eyebrow. “You have people converse for you? Oh my, how the rich live.” She nodded to my empty plate. “Aren’t you eating?”

I reluctantly reached for a slice of toast. The thought of sitting in front of this beauty as she watched my deformed face consume food made me feel physically sick.

“On the contrary, in my experience most rich people love the sound of their own voice.” I spread butter and jam on my toast and took a small bite.

“So, what do you do?” she asked, brightly.

Every bite felt exaggerated, as though the entire building could see and hear the motion of my chewing. I swallowed and reached for a napkin. “I work in real estate.”

“As in, you buy and sell buildings?”

“Buy, sell, flip, break up, manage.”

“Break up?” She popped the last piece of croissant in her mouth and I reached for another, this time going a little heavier on the jam.

“Yes. If a building is in the right location and the market demands it, I will break it up into smaller dwellings, then sell or rent them out.”

She stilled for a few seconds. “But, what about the character? If you break up a beautiful six storey town house into apartments, it takes away the building’s character.”

“Not the way I do it.” I cut the second croissant into pieces then handed it to her.

“So, how do you do it?”

I narrowed my eyes. “You really want to know?”

She nodded quickly. “I want to be an architect someday, so forgive me for wanting to geek out on this stuff.”

My heart stuttered. “You want to be an architect?”

“Yes. Eventually. I love interior design too, so I’m hoping to get some part time work doing that while I study.”

My whole torso stiffened, bracing around my heart. This woman was becoming more and more perfect with every damn breath. Not only was she scarred like me, but she was also sharp, gorgeous and shared the same passion I had for buildings.

“If things were different, I’d be using my architecture degrees too.”

“You’re qualified?” Her eyelids popped open. “Why don’t you practice?”

I shook my head lightly, enamoured at the sight of her eating food I’d prepared for her. “In my family, art is deemed somewhat… frivolous. Why spend my days drawing pretty pictures of houses when I could be charging barely affordable rents to people who want to live in those we already own?” I glanced at the table, not even able to smile off the bitterness in my tone. “We have something of a portfolio, let’s say, that needs managing. So, that’s what I do. I manage property.”

She thinned her lips in a sympathetic smile and I mentally shook it off. There was no way anyone could feel pity for my professional situation – not when they’d probably used up all their pity credit on the right side of my face.

“So, architecture. Where do you hope to study?”

She picked up a napkin and wrung it in her hands while looking off to the side. I studied her profile. She had wide-set eyes and a small nose that curved up slightly at the tip. Her lips were full but petite, leading down to a dainty chin and long, swan-like neck. I had to focus on hearing the words that came out of her mouth.

“I’ve got a place in Edinburgh.”

“That’s a good college. Your mum must be proud.”

“She might be, if she knew. But I’m not so sure anymore.”

---