“Easier how?” She moves closer, taking a seat on one of the stools by the counter.
My hands pause on the pasta box. “Fewer complications.” I keep my tone light, but something flickers in her eyes like she wants to ask more.
“So. Is this like your other projects?” she asks.
I’m grateful she changed the subject. “Not really. I’m usually a bodyguard – CEOs with kidnapping threats, celebrities, that kind of thing.”
“Lucky me, being the variety assignment.” She accepts the beer I hand her, already opened. Our fingers brush, and electricity jolts up my arm. “How long have you been doing this?”
“Five years. Since I got out.” I stir the sauce, grateful for something to focus on besides the way she’s leaning against the counter, almost like she’s flirting with me. “You? Always wanted to run construction projects?”
She laughs, and it transforms her face. “In a way. I wanted to be an architect. I used to build entire cities out of Legos.”
“What changed?”
She takes a sip of beer, and I watch her throat move. “Heartland Real Estate is the family business. I’d have needed a damn good reason to pursue anything else. But,” she sighs, and her eyes cloud over, “my dad is resistant to the expansion I want to do, starting with this project. If I can’t design the houses, I figured I could work on building developments like this one. It’s been an uphill battle. I need my dad to see I’m the best person to take over the company.”
“And your brother?”
Her expression tightens slightly. “Not interested in the responsibility. Martin has told me he’s fine with me taking the lead, though he hasn’t said that in so many words to our father. He’ll take the lead if Dad asks, but we both know I’m more interested in the role and better qualified.”
I hear what she doesn’t say. That she has the weight of the world on her shoulders, and a distinct lack of outward support from her parents.
“Must be a lot of pressure,” I say instead, keeping it neutral.
“You could say that.” She watches me drain the pasta and add the sauce. “My father has opinions. Strong ones.”
“I gathered that from the phone call.”
I want to ask more, but that would lead to a conversation more personal than professional.
“This is about ready,” I say, turning the heat off for the sauce. Maya grabs some silverware and napkins and sets the table for us.
We eat in comfortable silence as the storm builds outside.
Thunder shakes the house, and a flash of lightning brightens the dark sky.
Maya jumps slightly, her hand reaching out. As if realizing what she’s done, she quickly pulls it back. “Sorry. I’m not usually jumpy. It’s been a long day.”
I nod, then realize how much I wanted to hold her hand.
The second beermakes everything softer. We’ve moved to the couch, sitting at opposite ends but facing each other. The lightning and thunder have stopped, and rain comes down in sheets outside.
“Your turn.” I gesture with my beer. “Why does your office have zero personal photos?”
She pulls at the wristband of my hoodie, and I try not to notice how gorgeous she looks wearing my clothes. “Same reason yours probably doesn’t. Keep work and personal separate.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
She laughs, but there’s an edge to it. “My family has...expectations. Very specific ones. Sometimes it’s easier to just be Maya Raymond, Project Manager, instead of Maya Raymond, disappointing daughter.”
“Disappointing how?” I keep my tone casual, but I’m genuinely curious.
She peels at her beer label, considering. “Oh, you know. Thirty, single, running construction sites instead of planning my wedding. My mother hasopinions.”
“That doesn’t sound ideal.” I take a sip of beer.
She pulls at the zipper of my hoodie, working it back and forth nervously. “It’s not. Mom calls twice a week with new prospects.”
