She scoffs and opens her folder with unnecessary force. “Don’t read too much into it. I just wanted to ensure you were okay so I get my fees.”
The laugh leaves me before I can stop it. Because she says it so dryly. So confidently. As if I didn’t know the way she stood up in panic when Ajay delivered the story. As if she isn’t biting back a smile right now.
Her mouth presses into a thin line, but the corners threaten rebellion.
God.
She has no idea how transparent she becomes in tiny moments. “Heartwarming,” I say softly. “Nothing says affection like invoice security.”
“There is no affection.” She rolls her eyes. “Stop over exaggerating things, Golden boy.”
“There is noover exaggerationeither, Sunshine.” That earns me another near-smile. I could live off those almost-smiles for years.
“Let’s get to work,” she says, voice clipped.
I lean back in my chair. “Bossy.”
“Focused.”
“Same thing in your case.”
She ignores that and flips open a page of notes. “I inspected the office.” She winces.
I follow the expression with interest. “That bad?”
Her stare sharpens. “How did the fire happen?” I clear my throat and reach for the water glass though I am not thirsty. There are moments where truth is noble. This is not one of them. Because the real answer is:I had an impulsive idea, poor supervision, bad timing, and a deep desire to see you again.
So instead, I choose survival.
“It damaged almost everything,” she continues before I answer. “Furniture, wall paneling, electrical fittings, ceiling treatment. Smoke spread into the adjoining section too.”
I nod like a serious businessman. Inside, I am thinking about the way one curl has fallen beside her cheek. “I may need two full months,” she says, flipping another page. “Even if I rush it.”
Don’t rush it.
The thought arrives instantly.
Take six months.
Take a year.
Redesign one drawer per week if you want.
Stay near me.
I say none of that. “Take the time you need.” Her eyes flick up to mine briefly, as if surprised I’m not pushing deadlines. “I mean it,” I add. “Do it properly.”
She studies me for a second too long, then looks away. Something warm moves through my chest. Being taken seriously by her feels strangely intimate.
“How did it happen?” she asks again. Persistent woman. I admire that about her when it isn’t dangerous for me. She watches me with open suspicion.
“Insurance officers will handle the rest.” Another lie. There will be no insurance officers because reporting it means questions, paperwork, and possibly discovering I am an idiot. I don’t need any claims, I have got what I wanted.
No thank you.
“Okay,” she says slowly, clearly unconvinced. Then she turns professional. And I am helpless against that version of her too.
She begins explaining layout possibilities, material alternatives, lighting changes, acoustic treatment, a better storage wall, more natural textures, cleaner lines, softer seating for client meetings, concealed wiring, upgraded automation, color balance, functionality, warmth.
