He shook himself and slammed the door harder than he meant, making her jump. He turned away, too unnerved by the girl to remain in the room with her. “Take a seat if you’ve a mind to. I’ll get the boss.”
Her lips parted to say something – maybe ask a question, maybe reprimand him for his bad manners... He wouldn’t have minded the reprimand, not if she could add some glasses and a naughty librarian kind of vibe. He felt like a dirty old bastard for thinking it, but she could whip down her hair and give him a hell of a lecture, and it would have been the sexiest thing he’d seen in years. But Dodge went over to the stairs and shouted up them, “Boss! Got a, er… architect here.”
He’d almost said ‘human,’ which would have required all kinds of explanation. Dodge waited until he heard Evershaw’s tell-tale grumble and cursing, and figured the old man was on his way. Dodge turned to catch the visitor still staring at him, her cheeks flushed, and that pretty perfume wasn’t quite enough to hide the hint of interest in the air.
He swallowed a grin. Maybe she wasn’t so prim and proper after all.
Chapter 3
Percy
It took a long time to process what the hell happened. The guy just reached out and… plucked me out of thin air. Like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t some weird ass impossible superhuman feat. He just reached out and caught the front of my shirt and tugged me upright. And then didn’t release me. It sent shivers all the way through me to feel the easy strength in his grip, holding onto my too-expensive but still second-hand blouse. I couldn’t think straight as he asked what I wanted, and finally managed to brush his hand away.
I missed it, though, when it was gone and he retreated still farther away.
I put aside the regret and instead focused on work. I was a talented architect and a hell of a habitat specialist. I couldn’t afford to be dazzled by a client or whatever strange men lived in their houses. When he invited me into the house, I nearly refused on principle. I didn’t know if I could maintain my self-control in close quarters with the big dude, who was absolutely the worst kind of guy to be interested in. He looked unkempt and rough, bearded and wild-haired, and wore battered clothes that had clearly seen better days. Tattoos marked almost every inch of visible skin on his arms and chest. Even the backs of his hands had something inked on them. He was too handsome to be believed – all rough edges and a few scars and a hard jaw under the beard.
His forearms... made me thirsty. He gripped the back of a chair after shouting up the stairs, flexing until the muscles popped in his forearms. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. God help me. Other women might lust after a tight tush or broad shoulders or whatever, but all I needed were some muscular forearms. I cleared my throat and tried to focus on something safe, something mundane and completely non-sexual, so I wouldn’t be so tempted by the glint of trouble in his hazel eyes. “The, uh... cat. Does he live here? Is the job for him?”
“The cat?” The big dude snorted and shook his head, leaning a bit around me so he could glare at the cat – sitting contentedly in a pile of feathers that he’d kneaded out of some battered pillows. “Cricket has the run of the house and gardens. He doesn’t need anything else.”
“Oh.” I fished for any other topic and came up empty. Asking about his tattoos probably wasn’t a good idea, just in case he offered to show me more, so I just stood there and frowned at him. I suddenly regretted not wearing something a little lower-cut. I tried to present the most professional demeanor during an initial consultation, which translated to conservative suits and blouses, minimal jewelry. I clutched the folio like a shield as I caught his attention drifting down to my pearls and cleavage.
Luckily, heavy footsteps came down the stairs before the big dude had a chance to speak, and I turned to confront... yet another enormous man. This one’s attitude screamed entitlement and business, so he was obviously the homeowner and client. He eyed me from head to toe before shaking his head and brushing his light hair back off his forehead. “I hired the architect, not an assistant. Tell Lawson to come himself if he expects to get the job.”
A familiar and unfortunately necessary mask of cool disinterest settled over me. I squared my shoulders as I faced him and offered my hand to shake. “I’m Lawson.”
“You’re Percy Lawson?” He snorted and ignored my hand, though he shared a look with the other guy. “Come on, sweetheart. Don’t waste my time.”
“You’re wasting your own time,” I said calmly. “I’m Persephone Lawson, and I charge by the hour. Yours started promptly at ten, when our appointment was scheduled. You’ll be charged the full hour whether you want to talk to me or not. Your choice, Mr. Evershaw.”
His eyes narrowed as he studied me, but I refused to react. Most guys his type respected a forthright attitude and a bit of challenge. They wanted to know they weren’t hiring a pushover. Unless I’d grossly misjudged his issues and he just hated pushy women. Seemed possible, if he surrounded himself with men’s men like Mr. Tattoos.
Who also watched me in silence. The back of my neck prickled but I refused to speak first. The ball was in Evershaw’s court.
Evershaw folded his massive arms over his chest. “Persephone. That’s quite a name.”
“My parents were classics professors,” I said. It wasn’t the first time I’d had to explain the weird name they’d stuck me with.
“Interesting,” Mr. Tattoo said, and from his tone, I almost believed him. “They must have figured you’d end up a hippie or something.”
“Well, joke’s on them,” I said, fixing him with a withering look. A hippie? Hardly the most insulting response I’d heard, but certainly the least creative. “I became an engineer and architect. Now, Mr. Evershaw. What kind of habitat are you interested in, precisely, and where will it be located?”
The two men continued to frown at me, clearly trying to figure out how I fit in their world and what to do about the inconvenient fact that I was a Persephone instead of the Percival they wanted. I didn’t care, or at least tried to pretend like I didn’t. I needed the work and a hell of a recommendation, and the kind of money this guy would need to hire me for a single job meant he had to have the kinds of friends whoalsohad a shitload of disposable income for equally lucrative projects. Every job I took could be the one that made my name in the city and set up my career for the next thirty years.
Evershaw finally grunted and pointed at one of the chairs in the living room behind me. “Fine. We’ll see what you come up with, Lawson.”
I nodded and made my way to the loveseat next to the cat, who purred and rolled onto his back to show off his plump belly. I couldn’t picture Evershaw as the cat’s owner, so perhaps there was someone else inside who loved the beast. I opened my folio and laid out a series of designs on the coffee table between us as Evershaw slouched into an armchair. Mr. Tattoo leaned against the back of another chair, still studying me. Perhaps he also had an interest in architecture. I refused to let him make me nervous.
“Without more information on the animals requiring the habitat, I’m not able to provide a unique design right now. However, these are several habitats I’ve designed and am building for a predator sanctuary outside the city. They have quite a bit more land but also require varied ecologies for their animals.”
“A predator sanctuary?” Evershaw frowned as he picked up one of the sketches. “Never heard of it. Seems like a weird thing for this part of the country.”
What a dick. What an absolute tool. Maybe the job wouldn’t be worth all the aggravation of dealing with him. I reached out to rub the cat’s furry belly to comfort myself as I restrained my temper. “They rescue bears, wolves, lions, and other big cats from zoos and circuses. It’s a worthy cause.”
He grunted, unimpressed, and picked up another sketch. “And you’re doing all of the designs for them?”
“Yes.”
