Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 102560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
He nods. “Well, there’s a reason for not pointing out the property too far in advance. And your first impression of the buildings?”
Cocking my head to the left, I lift a brow. “I thought I was the one interviewing you.”
“Humor me.” His lip tips up into a smirk, and I swear my tongue feels heavy. Dammit, I thought I could be all business, but then he has to look at me like this.
Dear God, this man is deadly.
I open my mouth, and it feels dry. “I didn’t even see the road. It was flawless. The transition. And then the building. The residences are all breathtaking. But . . .”
“But what?”
“No.” I nibble on my lower lip. “It’s nothing. Forget it.”
“Layla.”
“The faucets.” Dear God, am I doing this? Just because I wrote a few articles on faucets does not make me an expert.
“The faucets?” he presses.
“The spread of the faucet is all wrong. I’m not sure if it was an oversight, but they are only four inches, it’s not comfortable. Eight inches is standard now. Easier to use and clean.”
His lips part wider. No longer a smirk, now a full-fledged smile. “You’re right. That will be fixed.” I think I might combust. The look. Yep. It should be illegal. This man should come with a warning label: May cause idiot journalists, who are supposed to be professional, to pass out. “Anything else?”
“How long do you have?” I wink. “But in all seriousness, the way I see it, architecture is supposed to be art that we live in. But being at The Elysian, it’s more than that”—I take a deep breath, trying to gather my words— “The Elysian feels alive. I can’t even imagine how spectacular this place is going to be once it’s open. Especially since you’ve already done such an incredible job.”
He nods to himself and then turns to look at the menu. I wish I could read his mind. Better yet, I wish I could see the expression now on his face. I think I’ve pleased him with my answer, and for some reason, it makes butterflies take flight in my stomach.
A big swarm of them, too. Wings flapping and all the flutters.
This is a strange turn of events. It’s not often anyone gets to me like this. Normally, I also don’t make an idiot of myself by gawking at the hot subject of an article, but I guess there is a first for everything.
The thing is, I want his approval. I want him to see me as the journalist I know I can be.
This man is a genius, and I want him to think I’m worthy of his time. That thought alone has me straightening my spine and getting back into work mode.
“Enough about my thoughts on the property. Let’s talk about you.”
5
Cain
“About me?” I ask. This beautiful woman has me captivated.
For the first time, I want to spend time with someone. I want my grand design appreciated and to hear what she has to say. But I also will not forget what I have done, even if, for a moment, her presence enthralls me. A couple of unforced smiles don’t make me normal.
Clearing my throat, I say, “There isn’t much to talk about besides The Elysian. I’ve worked hard and cultivated the right connections. I have finally brought this project to life. It’s people like you, who see what this will be when complete, that I hope will be the residents here.”
Layla stares at me as I speak, but this feels different than when I speak to financial backers and real estate brokers. It looks like she cares.
What is going on in my head? My thoughts are everywhere but where they should be.
From across the table, Layla leans forward, placing her elbows on the table. “And Barbara? Have you known her for long?”
“Yes, she was the first hire the temp agency sent when I started my own architectural firm. She’s stayed with me ever since.”
“Oh, so I should get in good with her for my interview,” she says with a laugh to her tone. “I’m young, but I’ve been told the admin assistants are gold mines of information. They know where all the bodies are hidden.”
I blench at her words. Oh, you have no idea, sweetheart.
“Everything okay, Mr. Archer?”
Shaking myself out of the fog, I nod. “I told you to call me Cain . . .” I give her a pointed look, and her cheeks flush that pretty shade of pink I like. It looks good on her. I wonder if her whole body flushes that color when she’s nervous. “How did you get into architectural journalism, Layla?” I ask, trying to turn the tables back on her.
“Well, that’s easy. It pays the bills, and I have a lot after majoring in journalism at NYU.”
“Didn’t your parents help pay for college?”