Escaping Reality (The Secret Life of Amy Bensen #1)(38)

“Hey,” he says softly.

I swallow the knot in my throat and glance up at him. “Hey.”

“What just happened?”

I don’t have an answer so I don’t offer one. “I was just wondering about your meeting.

How did today go?”

He narrows his eyes and studies me a moment, and I do not know what he sees, but it’s probably too much. “Better than it should have,” he finally says. “And they have you to thank for that.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’ve decided to stay around a while. If I can create something I’m excited about in the process I’d like to.”

“You’re staying?”

“Yes. I’m staying. Any problem with that?”

I’ve proven I don’t have coy or goodbye in me with this man. Why change either now? “I won’t complain about seeing more of you.”

His eyes light with approval. “That’s good to hear, considering you were ready to kick me to the curb earlier.”

“I wasn’t. I just…” I need more time to think about what to say to him. “Did they like your design?”

He plays dodgeball like the pro I am. “All but one of the investors, who is a complete prick.”

“You like him that much, huh?”

“Yes. That much.”

“What don’t you agree on?”

“Everything.”

“Everything?”

“He still wants the tallest building in existence.”

I remember his comment on the plane and smile. “Is he short?”

He laughs and it is so warm and wonderful that I could roll around in it like sunshine on a cold day. “Actually, yes,” he says. “He is.”

“Hmmm,” I say, pondering. “That doesn’t sound good. So what do you think? Will you find a compromise with him?”

“Too many people involved want my name, and skill, attached to the project to not try to make this work.” Amazingly, I think, as he continues, he doesn’t sound arrogant, but matter-of-fact. “Two of the biggest financial investors won’t arrive until Monday. If I win them over with my design, then it’s probably a done deal. I’ll still need to meet with the engineers and make sure everyone is on the same page, but all in all, I’m probably only a week from a decision.”

I know that he’s said he’s staying, but some part of me aches for further confirmation.

“So I get you for at least a week?”

“I told you, baby. Deal or no deal. I’m not in any rush to leave.”

I am too relieved, too emotionally dependent on someone I barely know, and I do not understand why. I have had no one. I have relied on me.

What is it about this man that makes me want to lean on him, and is that good or bad?

“Food is here,” the waitress announces, and feeling exposed and vulnerable for reasons I can’t quite understand, I take the excuse to look away from Liam, as she adds, “And I’m sorry I didn’t give you much time on the salads. The kitchen was fast.”

It’s not long before we are sipping more champagne and enjoying our pasta dishes, but I have a raw nerve still bleeding vulnerability I cannot seem to seal. Reflexively, I launch into my standard question-asking strategy meant to prevent question answering. Easy to do with Liam when I crave every detail I can learn about him. “Will you tell me about how you started apprenticing at such a young age?”

“The real story or the one I tell the media?”

“There are two versions?”

He sips his champagne. “One for the press. One for me.”

I stab a bite of pasta. “I’ll take both, please.”

“I had a feeling you would. Alex met me at a public event and learned of my interest in architecture and took me under his wing.”

“And the real story?”

“What makes you think that isn’t it?”

“Is it?”

His jaw hardens. “No. The real story is that I was obsessed with drawing buildings and I told my mother I wanted to be a famous architect.”

“How old were you when this started?”

“Per my mother’s old stories, I was six. At thirteen I hadn’t stopped talking about it and had stepped up my interest. I was trying to self-teach via books. My mother heard Alex was in the city unveiling a building, and despite working two jobs at the time, she found the time and means to get me there. We were living in the Bronx. And that’s when I met Alex and he saw something in me.” He goes on to tell me all about going to Alex’s house on weekends and summers.

Until this moment, I had not let myself connect the dots of his past to mine. I too, had been a child protégé to my gifted father, and I reach for my champagne to keep from letting the confession fall from my lips. That was my old life, my real life. Amy Bensen has a business degree. She didn’t have a famous archeologist for a father. Dead father. My father is dead.

“Alex tortured me with hours upon hours of math equations,” he continues, and I set down my glass, saved from my past by my interest in his.

“I hate math.” Although his tattoo could make me change my mind.

My lips curve. “You seem rather fond of it.”