Page 49 of Most Eligible Billionaire

“What?” she asks.

I tear my gaze away from hers, struggling to tamp down the thundering of my heart.Grifter, I remind myself.Grifter grifter grifter.

The reminder steels me. We set up the rest of it.

“This looks good.” I kneel and inspect it from the ground the way I know Renaldo will.

She sets her hands on her hips. “You can’t even tell.”

I check it from another angle. “You can’t.”

“Are you going to tell me why it’s so important to have it right?” She’s been burning with curiosity about that.

“Nope,” I say simply.

“What? You’re justnotgoing to tell me?”

“Hmm…” I press my lips together. “Nope.”

Her lips part. “Justnope?”

I shrug.

“Oh screw off. You think you’re so funny.” She folds her arms. “Henry. All eyes upon Henry, prince of all he sees. He’s New York’s most eligible bastard! He knows all your names and oh my god, he’s soooo funny.”

“What did you just call me?” I ask, biting back a smile.

“You heard me.”

I tweak a tree, trying not to enjoy our wrong friction and how much she doesn’t give a shit.

When I look back up, her focus is on the model. Not on me—on the model. “You said it would look different if you got your way. If it wasn’t so far into the pipeline. How would it be different?”

The question surprises me. She’s serious. She really wants to know. “Have you ever noticed how a lot of new buildings create a dead zone around them? Hunks of metal and stone that stop everything?”

“Well, that’s the point, right?”

“It shouldn’t be,” I say, bending a tree. “I want buildings that aren’t a one-sided conversation. Buildings should never feel like walls. They should feel soft instead of hard.”

I look up, expecting her eyes to be glazed over, but instead, they sparkle with curiosity. This little scammer in her librarian getup turns out to be the one woman interested in my shit. “I don’t get it. How can you make a building like that?”

Of course, she’s a maker just like I am. Making her ridiculous dog collars between grifts.

But suddenly I'm telling her. And suddenly she’s asking for pictures.

I have my phone out. I show her my favorite building, the Pimlicon in Melbourne. “Look at how porous it is. It doesn’t block anything, it doesn’t impose its will.” I show her the curved greenery transitions. “See how it invites and engages?”

She takes the phone, studies the Pimlicon. “Like a dance.”

I go next to her. My skin hums with electricity. “Exactly. Something like this would create a sense of place that draws people. The Ten is good for what it is. Locke is going to deliver better than anyone else, but if I had total control I’d do something vastly superior. Look at the way these structural elements invite…” I pause, because the way she’s staring at my face is unnerving.

She looks back down. “Why design it in the inferior way?”

“It’s a Kaleb project, and he’s protecting our profit. He has a minimum profit-per-square-foot dollar figure that…keeps things boring.”

I feel her gaze trail across my chest, my hands, like a hot caress. Damn if it doesn’t get me hard.

“And you want to make something cool,” she says. “Screw the profit.”

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